Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1877-01-27
The Broken Hearted.

strong man fiercely breathing out his
soul upon the field of battle-the mser-
able convict standing upon the gallows,
with deep curse quivering on his lips
i have viewed death in all its forms of
darkness and vengeance with a fearless
eye, but / never could look on woman,
young and lovely woman, fading away
from earth in beautiful and uneomplain-
ing melancholy, without feeling the
very fountains of life turned to tears and
dust Death is always terrible, but
when form of angel beauty is passing
off to the silent land of sleepers, the
heart feels that something lovely in the
universe is ceasing from existence, and
broods with a sense of utter desolation
over the lovely thoughts that come up,
like specters from the grave, to haunt
our midnight musings.
Two years ago took up my residence
for few weeks In country village in
the eastern part of New England. Soon
after my arrival / became acquainted
with lovely girl, apparently about sew
enteen years of age. She had lost the
idol of her pure hearts purest love, and
the shadows of deep and holy memories
were resting upon her brow. L first met
her in the presence of the mirthful. She
was indeed creature to be worshiped-
her brow was garlanded with the young
years sweetest fiowers-her yellow locks
were hanging beautifully and low upon
her bosom, and she moved through the
crowd with such floating and unearthly
grace, that the bewildered 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 her gayety 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 a tear-and her eyelids at
times closed heavily down, as if strug-
Cling to repress the tide of agony that
was bursting from her hearts secret urn.
She looked as if she could have left the
scene of festivity, and gone out beneath
the quiet stars, and laid her forehead
down upon the fresh green earth, and
poured out her stricken soul, gush after
gush, till it mingled with the eternal
fountain of life and purity.
Days and weeks passed on, and that
sweet girl gave me her confidence, and I
became to her as brother. She was
wasting away by disease. The smile
upon her lip was fainter, the purple
veins upon her cheek grew visible, and
the cadence of her voice grew daily more
weak and tremulous On quiet even
ing in the depth of June, / wandered out
little distance in the open air. 1t was
then she told me the tale of her passion,
Df 1io,ht hot ho1 =,
like mildew on her life. Love had been
portion of her existence It's tendrils
had been twined around her heart in its
earliest years and when they were rent
away they left wound which flowed till
all the springs of her soul We're blood.
81 am passing away" said she, "and
it should be 50. The winds have gone
over my life, and the bright buds OF
hope, and the sweet blossoms of passion,
are scattered around and lie whitening
in the dust, or rotting away upon the
chill waters of memory. And yet I can
not go down among the tombs without q
tear It is hard to take leave of the
friends who love me, it is hard to bid
farewell to those dear scenes which from
day to day have sought the color of my
life, and sympathized with its joys and
SORROWS. That little grove where | have
50 often strayed with my buried love
and where at times, even now, the sweet
tones of his voice come stealing around
me till the whole air becomes one intense
and morunful melody, that pensive star
that we used to watch in its earliest
rising, and on which my fancy can still
picture his form, looking down upon me
reckoning me to his own bright home
every flower, tree and rivulet in which
the memory Of our early love has set al
undying seal, have become dear to me
and ] cannot, without sigh, close my
eyes upon them forever"
! have lately heard that this beautiful
girl of whom [ have spoken is dead The
close of her life was as calm as the fall
ing of quiet stream, gentle as the sink
ing breeze that fingers around the bee
of withered roses, and then dies, as i
were, " from very sweetness.
1t cannot be that earth is mans abid
ing place. 1t cannot be that our life il
bubble cast up by the ocean of 3terni
ty, to float moment upon its waves ant
sink into darkness and nothingness
Else why is it that the high and glorious
aspirations, which leap like angels from
the temple of our hearts, are foreve
wandering abroad linsatisfed? Why i
it that the rainbow and the cloud COM
over us with a beauty that is not O
earth, and then pass off, and leave us t.
muse upon their faded loneliness? VIII,
is it that the stars, which "hold thei
festivals around the midnight throne,
are set above our limited faculties, for
ever hooking us with their unapproach
able glory? And, finally, why is it tina
bright forms of human beauty are pre-
sented to our view and then taken fror
us-leaving the thousand streams c
their affection to flow back in an Alpin
torrent upon our hearts We are Dor
for higher destiny than that of earth
There is a realm where the rainbo,
never fades, where the stars will b
spread out before us like the islands tha
slumber on the ocean, and where til
beautiful beings which here pass befor
us like visions, will stay in our presenc
forever. Bright creature of my dream
in that realm see thee again. Eve
now the lost image is sometimes wit
me. In the mysterious silence of mic
night, when the streams are glowing
the Light of many stars, that imag
comes floating upon my pillow, an
stands before me in its pale deep Lowell
ness, till its own spirit sinks like a