The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1873-10-23
Che Gribuue.
BIZ H. eHoLNoNpELKY-PEssELL

And she is gonei-my beauty, my sweetheart,
My first, last love-and with her. light,
And all that has made the gladness. minute ago
She here; 10 not that the scent
Of Byzantine the wreath she wore in her hair2
minute ago l-but a century
Stands betwet Now and Then;
Th,n. life WIS diyins-Joy's cup sparkled up the
Hope trod upon air; but now,
Now they are ashes and dust-joy dust,
Hone and its blossoms wthered in bud. life
Is barren, and salt, and bitter as Dead ses .ruit.
And yet thought she loved me
She whom 1 loved
with love thatswas lover and father and brother in
And that craved but Q word
To pour itself out at her feet-yea, body and soul
And the spirit and every thought
In . passionate incense of loving at her own shrine
But she could give none in return;
She told me the truth but now;
Like me. and 50 on (of course,) as a friend;
But for lore-Bahi Mad that was
Mad to have wooed her; blind to suppose had won;
Fooled by myself to the top of my own wild benti
But never wooed her fairly hadn't a chance from
the FIRST;
For who eau win race that has not been entered
How shall he win the heart that has known him
never az wooer,
cut myself of from hope
My own hand cut me of from the pitiful chance
that with time,
And truest tendance of whatsoever a man can give
The woman he whispers, love had bsgotten love.
And fsncied she knew it all. That passion like
mine,
b.
At the shrine where its daily hourly incense
could be unfelt
At the very alter from which its fire fed.
But understand 1t now;
i see lie thing at a glance;
The young heart shadow of love had crossed
So quick be kind for Kindness and say the thing
that sweet
The girl such a very woman-ths woman still but a
girl,
80 utterly trusting in friendliness, .fancy free,
And 1, that would fain have been
And dearer than friend, msconstruing all;
The blush when praised her songs, the sigh,
The tsl-tale drop of the fringed lids,
The something that still naught, but which love,
Felgning its reflection in her it loved
wove into proofs fate strong, and that blind judge
The heart summed up amiss-Oh, fooled fooledi
But not hers the blame no fault,
No speck for my sweet white lily, no hint
OF a wrong in her;
Unless a blame be her sweetness-unless 1t
Her fault be that could not choose to love her
OIL unless
Those exquisite depths of blue, her eyes,
That were my heaven, be wrongs
But what remrains
Despair; ablank; empty heart acting false smiles
Like howery urns that glitter decay.
These; and the la t, and worst than hooking Time
Can do to humble proud humanity.
Mean resignation" base "contentment," tame
Dull acquiescence in the thing that is, and loss
Even of the consolation of great woe,
For misery cuts like sharp sword yet slayeth not
o, for death.
In some strong batteshock, where steel meets stee
and no man turns
To dash out life
Against the giant wrongs of the world striking one
gallant strike
In help of helplessness and scorn of odds........
But death
Comes not at all, even to the tortured wretch
Praying for his advent shall live
Live to act out to the last my part in destiny.
Nor like a coward turn my back fate.
Duty must teach Existence to endure
IT'S nothing, but one broken heart the more.