Urbana union. [volume] (Urbana, Ohio) 1862-1872, 1871-09-13
Romance.
The Last Appeal.

ho AaHN appear
Is not this fair prospect that lies be-
fore me? Do not look from my lofty
windows over miles and miles of green
fields and rounded hills? Do not the
far-Off mountains lift their white tops
sheer into the blue heaven, while the
purple mists roll down their slopes like
the waves of some amethystine sea?
There winds the river yOnder, like
silver ribbon UncOiled; it bends round
about the bases of the swelling hills, and
the murmur of its splashing waters plays
between the bird-sOngs that break upon
the sunny AR, 1t is spring now, is it
not? The orchard trees are snOw-white,
and the next wind sweeping the domes
of bloom brings hither to one the sweet
fragrance 1t has stolen from them. Can
you see the garden far down there? Do
you mark the crimson tulips, the milky
lilac cones, the bending lily bells? And,
look, do you see a path leading away
through those beds of vivid blossoms,
past the azalias, by the fir-trees, into a
dense thicket? Then the arching
boughs twine together, and the honey
suckle climbs over with its long tendrils
and wreaths them in verdure and bloom.
Now look closely. and you shall see a
white shrouded figure kneeling there,
with cIasped hands, uplifted eyes, and
lips that supplicate in vain. Come
away. See, drop the curtain. You do
not see her! Why not ? To me she is
always there, always white, wan and
trembling, kneeling always, and be-
seeching always in vain. Ishut out the
sight of it-that CHASTITY figure is my
life's bane. That is why 1 cannot look
at the fair soane that lies before my win
dow. Do lift my eyes to the mist
veiled hills, she floats above them. Do
I seek to rest my weary brain by the
undulating seas of green, where the sun
shine and shadows come and go, always
she is there, dimming their brightness,
and cleaning Whitley from the sOft-fall-
ing shadows. Would I follow the river
in its windings, her white robe flashes
from its waves. Only wreath,
you say? Ahr you do not know! Pray
God you may never be spectre-haunted.
1 draw thick cuatains about my win
dows; 1 sutiocate in gloom; cool fra
grant air comes not to sOOthe me. How
thick these curtains are! Pass over
the soft fOlds-velvet are they, thick,
and black, and heavy-black like the
pail which covered her when they hid
her away from my sight And yet,
would you believe it, they do not shut
her out! else, why should her presence
evermOre haunt me? For, look you,
the doors are massive, Oaken, irOn-bar-
red. She cannot enter them, and yet
even nav her garments rustic in yOnder
corner. A beautiful room, is it nOt-it
dwellipg-pIace for the last of the Nor
manbys? Look at the side-bOard there;
examine its rich mouldings, its curious
carvings; look within its drawers, and
there you shall find vessels Of cleaning
silver; look them over, pile them up
rich, are they not, and costly y?-but,
listen, you shall have them all, if you
will but take from me that pale spectre.
There are luxurious couches; soft velvet
cushions; massively-set, silvcr-rimmed,
downy carpets, like the young moss in
the woods in spring; pictures rare and
quaint; vases LUCENT as the autumn mist
all so beautiful. Would you like them
TO be yours? Time was when l glOated
over them. What are they worth to
me? Would not give them all in eX-
change for one hour Of sweet peace, Que
blessed season Of fOrgetrulness
Once was beautiful; now there are
deep lines crossing the brow that once
was fair anG smooth. Silver threads
CLEAN In my long, black hair; the fire
that famed i'm these large eyes has gone
out now, and they are sumken in deep
hOllows. Sorrow, ami sin, and remOrse