Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1871-09-14
TPtt6tiahed 6y request
INTERSECTION.
BY GEORGE ARNOLD.


given her back her rings
Have you Tried to forget the haunting songs
that you loved 70 hear her singf
Have you cursed the day you met her frst9
thanked God that you we're tree.
And said In your inmost heart, as you thought,
.-She never was dear TO me7"
You have cast her OF; your pride is touched;
you fancy that all is done;
That for you the world is bright again, and
brsvely shines the sun:
You have washed your hands Of passion; you
have whistled her down the wind
Oh, Tom, old friend, this goes before. the sharp
est comes behindi
Yes; the sharpest Is yet 10 come, for Love is a
plant that never dies;
Its.roots are deep ss the earth ITSELF its branch
IS wide as the skies;
And wherever once it has taken hold, It
branches evermore,
Blossoming still. and bearing its beautiful fruit
With the bitter core.
You will learn this Tom, hereafter when anger
has cooled. and you
Have time for introspection; you win find my
words are true;
Yon will sit and gaze in your IRE alone, and
fancy that you can see
Her face with its classic oval, her ringIets hut-
tering free,
Her soft blue eyes, wide opened, her sweet red
lips apart,
Asshe used to look in the golden days when
You dreamed she had heart:
Whatever yon do. wherever You turn, yon will
see that glorious face
Coming with shade Wy beauty, to haunt all time
and space;
Those songs you wrote for her singing viii sing
themselves into your brain
TIN your life seems set to their rhythm. and
your thoughts to their refrain
Their old, old burden OF love and grief-the
passion you have foresworn-
| tell you Tom, At is not thrown on SO well as
yon think this morni
sIIL
But the worst, perhaps the worst OF ell, will be
when the day has flown,
When darkness fayors reflection, and your
ceharades Iesve you alone:
fouwil try to sleep. but the memories Of nm
forgotten years
VIII come with storm Of wild regret-mayhap
with storm Of tears
Each look, each word, each playful tone, each
timid little caress,
The golden gleam Of her ringle:s the rustling OF
her dress,
The delicate touch OF her ungloved hand, that
woke such an exquisite thrill,
The flowers she gave you. the night of the ball
Il think you treasure them still
All these will come, till you slumber, worn out
by sheer despair,
And when you viii hear vague echoes of song
on the dsrkened air-
Vague echoes, rising and falling, OF the voice
you know so well,
Like thesongs that were sung by the Lurlei-
maids. sweet with deadly spelli
".
In dreams, her heart will ever again be yours
and you will see
Fair glimpses OF what might have been what
now can never be;
And as she comes to meet you, with sudden
wild unrest
You stretch your arms forth lovingly, 10 fold
her to your breast:
But the Lurlei-song Will faint and die, and
with its fading tone
You wake to find you clasp the thin and empty
al alone,
While the nre-bell's -clanging dissonance, en-
the gusty night-wind borne
WIN seem AN iron-tongued demons voice,
Laughing your grief 10 scorn.
Oh, Tom, you say 1t is over-you talk OF letters,
and rings
Do you think THAT loves mighty spirit then, is
held by such trining thingf
No; II you once have truly loved. you will still
love on, know,
TIL the church-yard myrtles blossom above.
and you lie mute belowl
How is II, 4 wonder, hereafter Faith teaches ms
little, here,
OF the ones we have loved and lost to earth-do
youthink they VIII still be dear7
Shall we live the lives we might have led?-shalI
those who are severed now
Remember the pledge Of lower sphere, and
renew the broken vow?
II almostdriyes me wild when think of the
gifts wethrow away
Unthinking whether or no we lose Life's honey
and wine for ayeI
But then, again, tits mighty joy-greater than
loan tell
To trust that the parted may sometime meet
that all may again be well;
However it be, ! hold that all the evil we know
on.earth
Finds in this violence done to Love its true and
legitimate birth,
ndthe agonies we suffer, when the heart is
LETT alone,
oking through charity should fully and well
Rtonei
90 VI
ee that you marvel greatly Tom, to hear snch
words from me.
ut If you knew my innermost heart, 'twould
be no mystery;
Experience is bitter, but its teachings we eretain
1t has taught me this, Who Sonee has loved
loves never on earth agsinl
And i, too. have.my closet, with a ghastly form
inside
The skeleton of perished love, killed by
cruel pride.
/ sit by the fire at evening. as you will some
time SIT,
And watch. in the roscate half-iight, the ghosts
Of happiness fIt:
I too, awaken lat midnight, and stretch my
arms TO enfold
A vague aud shadowy image, with tresses Of
brown and gold:
Experience is bitter indeed-I have learned at
aheavy.cost
The secret of Loves persistency-I, too, have
loved and losti
In an idle hour, twenty-One years
ago, Alfred Townsend, a Cape Ann
jeweler. engraved his name on an old
fashioned copper cent, and paid it out
in the course of trade. The cent took
up Line of march and wentoutupon
the world, strange countries for to see;
huf like tho nrodiUaI oon it firad Of