to its beating! It was fearfully distinct in that house of death. -- "This way, if you please, madam ;" and I followed the young girl who roused me from that mood. Never shall I forget the scene which greeted me as I entered an apartment decorated with no less care and taste than those I had just left. The winter sun stole struggling through the half-closed blinds, and lingering in the crimson curtains, sent a faint, rosy flush through the room. The gilded cornices, the velvet couches, a snowy statue gleaming in the twilight of a distant recess and there, in the centre of all that luxury, lay the being for whom it had been gathered· pale, lifeless -the seal of death upon the sweet mouth, the smile of an eternal rest upon the calm, pure forehead. There was no pain, no suffering there, darling Sophie! no discord to torture the loving heart-those eyes were never more to be blinded by tears! But one knelt by that silent couch, whose anguish gave wild contrast to its dreamless repose. Alas for thee, proud man, that the flower perished on thy bosom ! its life and beauty were yielded to thee as a guardian, not as a destroyer! Hide it as thou wilt, seek to banish it as thou mayst, there is a secret remorse that will cling to thee through life; that hour, that room, beheld its first agony. Hours yes, I am sure hours passed, before a word was spoken. I could but kneel beside the couch, and yield to an agony of tears, as I recalled the brief existence of my poor friend. The pet of a household where she had been nurtured in love, dying far from home-perhaps alone in the dark hour. Not alone, as I learned when at length my hand was grasped by Harold Edgar, and he poured out to me, as the friend of his poor wife, the bitterness of his heart. He told me how he had wooed her from her quiet home; that intoxicated with her beauty, and delighted with the simple earnestness of her nature -so different from the formal circles by which he had ever been surrounded-he did not pause to think that affluence might prove a blighting atmosphere to one so differently nurtured. He had rejected the counsel of her parents-the sneers and remonstrances of his own made him but the more determined; so he called her his own, and for a time there came no shadow to their young hearts. I will not again recall the sorrowful story of their estrangement. Sophie had told me the truth; but with woman's shielding devotion, she had touched too lightly on her own wrongs. How was that proud spirit humbled as he recounted the effect of his own misdeeds of his neglect — and, worse than all, the blinding jealousy which had goaded him to add insulting reproaches, and even taunts, to the sum of misery her gentle nature had already endured. "I did not deserve her love- I had no right to the holy forgiveness which her last word, her last look, breathed. She told me all, when my repentance was too late; when my poor victim" —and he struck his forehead wildly-" was beyond the reach of reparation. God will not forgive me as she did—I can never pardon my own cruelty." Thus raved the once cold, proud Harold Edgar; and thus I gathered, through his self-reproach, and through his agony, that Sophie had died upon his breast, with her arm clasped tenderly about him. Oh, the endurance, the long-suffering of woman's holy affection-forbearance in life, forgiveness of wrong in the death hour. The shadows of evening rested on the calm forehead of the sleeper, when I pressed my lips for the last time upon the sweet mouth which was now so coldly rigid. That bright head that had so often rested near my heart, was soon to be hidden for ever from the light of day; the thin hands, clasped upon the icy breast, would never more be loosened; the marriage-ring glittered through that clasping, at once the author and symbol of her misery. So I left them - the young bride of Death, and the heart-stricken watcher "To the lonely marriage pillow, and the tears which he must weep." As I trod silently through the desolate splendour which surrounded me, marked the tokens of wealth and taste glittering upon every side, and then returned in thought to the scene I had just beheld, verily, I thought— ""Tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, TOO LATE! "I have outlived all love."-Bulwer's Richelieu. OH! weary thought! Oh! heart cast down and lone ! Oh! hopeless spirit! — burdened with a grief That giveth utterance to the mournful tone Of this low murmur - words so full so brief "Outlived all love." Did God deny thee gifts by which to win Affection from the crowd that 'round thee throng? Or didst thou lose, by folly or by sin, The hope that else had made thy soul most strong, Of gaining love? When first thy mother clasped thee in her arms, Childhood mourns not for friends. It passed away – Then on thyself depended future joy. Retrace thy footsteps, did those friends betray The trust bestowed by thee- a fair-browed boy – 25 Living in love? (289) Nay-one by one they turned-thy heart was proud, That asked for love. Thy manhood pride was glorious-it is past; a dreary void Taketh the place of schemes that once so fast Hurried thee onward; life and thought employed, Shutting out love. Too late-too late! Thou canst not win them back- Which thou hast chosen-learn with bitter tears, 'Tis God's best gift-be wise, and scorn it not, Thou who art strong in pride of hope and life. The brightest gleam that gilds our darkened lot, Lighting us onward through its fearful strifeOh! priceless love! And if thy soul is steeled against mankind, To outlive love. |