The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1877-03-25
THE BROKEN HEARTED.

1 have seen the infant sinking down, like
stricken flower, to the grave-the strong
man fiercely breathing out his eoul upon
| the field of battle-the miserable con vict
standing upon the gallows, with deep C arse
| Quivering upon bis lips-I have view ed
! death 10 all it's forms of darkness and ven
geance with a fearless eye, but 1 never
could look on woman, young aud lovely
woman, fading away from earth in beautiful
and accomplishing melancholy, without
| feeling the very fountains of life turned to
tears aud dust. Death is always terrible ;
bnt when form of angel beauty is passing
off to the silent land of sleepers. the heart
feels that something lovely In the uni verse
is ceasing from existence, aud brooGs with
q sense of utter desOlation over the lovely
thoughts that come up like spectators from
the grave, to haunt our midnight musings.
Two years ago l took up my residence
for few weeks in country village in
the eastern part of New England. Soon
after my a rival became acquainted with
a lovely girl, apparently about seventeen
years of age. She had lost the idol of her
pure heart's purest love, and the shadow of
deep and holy memories were resting upon
her brow. l first met her in the presence
of the mirthful. She was indeed q creature
to be worshipped-her brow was garlanded
with the young years sweetest flowers
her yellow locks were hanging beautifully
and low upon her bosom, and she moved
through tue crowd with such floating and
mccarthy grace, that the bewildere1 gaZer
almost looked to see her fade in the air,
like the creation of some pleasant dream
She seemed cheerful and even gay yet
saw that the gsyety was but the mOckery
of her feelings. She smiled, but there was
something in her smile which told that
her mournful beauty was but the bright
reflection of q teaT--aad her eyelIds at
times closed heavily down, as if struggling
to repress the tide of agony that was burst
ing from her hearts secret urn. She looked
as if she could have left the scene of festi
witty, and gone out beneath the stars, and
laid her head down upon the fresh green
earth, and poured out her stricken soul,
gush after gush, I'll it mingled with the
eternal fountain of life and purity.
Days and weeks passed on, and that
sweet girl gave me her confidence, and l
became to her as brother. She was
wasting away& by disease. The smile
upon her lips was fainter, the purple veins
upon her cheek grew visible, and the ca
dence of her voice grew daily more weak
at d tremulous. On quiet evening in the
depth of June, wandered out little dis
tance in the open air. 1t was then she told
me the tale OF her passion, and of the blight
that had come down like mildew on her
life. Love had been a portion of her exis-
tence. Its tendrils had been twined arOuud
her heart in it's earliest years and when
which flowed till all the springs of her sO1l
were blood.
am passing away" said she, " and it
shoUld be so. The winds have gone over |
my life, and the bright b1ds Of hope, and
the eweet blossoms OF passion are scatter-
ed around, aud lie WiEheriBg in the dust,
oT fetting away aPOn tho chill uatals Of