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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
•CM, €. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
©rijinal Jjloetni.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A SONG FORGTHE ROSE.’
/
J . M . LEG ARE .
There are leaves ip the forest,
And bloom on the plain,
And the swallows return
To the cottage again.
And my darling and pet
Has forgotten her sighs,
By the blush on her cheek
And the light in her eyes.
But the blossoms were gone
And the scent from the gale,
And the hawberries hung
In long clusters and pale,
And the screen of dark firs
Barred the red in the West,
When last her fair temples
Were leaned on my breast.
From the brow of the steep
Overlooking the vale,
How blue the far hills,
And how balmy the gale
That rocked the tall pines
At the feet of my quoen ;
Like chords ol great harps
Which her voice moved between.
How still were the woodlands!
I heard the wet leaves
Drip fresh from the shower,
And under the caves
The twittering swallows,
And from the cool dells
The kiue wending homeward
With tinkling of bells.
* Ah, peace !’ my heart said then-.;
And ‘ Thanks be to God!’
That this green-fringed path is
No longer uutrod
By the feet 1 love best.
Yet my words half belied
The deep joy in my breast,
When abruptly 1 cried ;
‘ It is ym with your brown eyes
That haunt all my dreams !
Do you think I’ve no joy
In the flowing of streams,
In the singing of birds,
In the flights of wild-bees,
In the voices that moan
In the tops of these trees 1
That you move my whole soul
With the love in your looks,
Spying lovelier things
, Than are written in books ;
Yes, in all ray pet-books.
Is it so’? —that I’m thine
For aye ; and thy being
Coeval with mine 1
And for answer, she only
Drew closer my heart,
So happy, so quiet,
So loved, so apart
From the stir and the tumult !
Oh happiest fate,
Where the head found a rest,
And the spirit a mate.
Aiken, S. C\, 1848.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
TO FANNIE,
BY LEILA CA ME R O N .
I loved you in those early days,
When you, a happy child —
Amid vour sister blossoms fair.
Roved carelessly and wild.
I lealth, dimpled on your blooming cheek —
Grace waved in every tress;
Ynd to my thoughts each fleeting year.
Increased your loveliness.
Ves ! Fannie dear, I loved you.
And as you older grew,
1 joyed to see each budding charm.
Unfolded to my view.
And o’er my heart unconsciously
’’he spell of love was wound.
2tn illustrated Ittccklrj Journal of Belles-fiettrcs, Science and tljc Jlrts.
Till in its bright and glittering chains,
My very soul was bound.
Do you remember Fannie dear,
That pleasant vine clad seat,
Where we were wont on summer eves,
At set of sun to meet 1
Your eye grew brighter when I came,
Your step, more light and free —
And when I spoke, your silvery laugh
Rang forth, more joyously!
I culled for you the fairest flowers,
And twined them in your hair,
And thought your smiles a rich reward,
For every gentle care.
But when the shades of evening stole
All softly o’er the sky,
Your brow, a deeper meaning wore —
A milder look, yonr eye !
And then, you placed your little hand,
Confidingly, in mine,
As though you knew my spirit thrilled,
Responsively to thine.
The breeze that fanned your glowing cheek
Caressed the summer flowers —
Then bore away upon its wings,
Those golden twilight hours!
We do not meet dear Fannie now
Where we so often met;
But still I clasp your little hand,
And sit beside you yet.
And in your downcast eye I read,
And on your blushing cheek—
The tale your maiden modesty
Forbids your tongue to speak.
And dearly as I loved you then,
I love you Fannie, now,
And fervently as in those days
1 breathed a lover’s vow.
Then dearest, will you promise,
Through all your future life,
To be my own, in weal or woe,
My faithful, loving wife.
Sparta.
©rijinat Sales.
For the Southern Literary Gazette
THE LADY PILGRIM*
BY MISS C . W. BARBER.
“ Alas ! that clouds should ever steal
O’er Love’s delicious sky ;
That ever Love’s sweet lip should feel
Aught but the gentlest sigh !”
L. E. L.
It was early morning, in one of the old
palaces in England. The night had been a
tempestuous one, but the heavy clouds were
rolling away before the dawn, and the grey
mist was creeping slowly up the sides of the
mountains, and hanging in dense wreaths
over the little streamlet which watered the
valley below. Large drops of rain hung
pendant upon the foliage of the gnarled old
oaks, which bordered the gravelled walks in
the parks, while a flood of periume came
from the half-opened buds of the sweet young
wild-flowers.
The proud Earl of Lincoln sat alone in his
rich, but antique reception room. His atti
tude was one of intense thought, for both
arms rested heavily upon the marble table
before him, and his head was dropped upon
them as if he were entirely absorbed in his
rnusings. The strong beams of light, now
fast thickening, streamed in through the high
stained windows, and tinged with a silvery
brightness the grey locks which wandered
over his venerable forehead. A loose dress
ing-gown, which his faithful old servitor,
Dudley, had thrown around him, was care
lessly looped over his chest, and swept the
heavy oak-floor upon either side of his chair.
♦Perhaps the authoress should acknowledge that
she is more indebted to imagination than to history
for the incidents of this sketch. Os the life and suf
ferings of Lady Arabella Johnson, it is believed, lit
tle is known.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1848.
while his feet were thrust into a pair of deli
cately embroidered slippers, wrought by his
idolized daughter, the Lady Arabella.
The Earl had long sat in that same posi
tion. Two or three times Dudley had passed
in and out, pausing each time by the door,
anxiously regarding his master, and wonder
ing what had called him up that morning,
long before another inmate of the casile was
stirring.
“ What can be the matter ?” he muttered,
as he turne.J away the last time, with an air
of unsati.sfieJ curiosity ‘‘He is not wont to
be in such an unsocial mood. It is early,
too,” he continued, as he glanced up to an
old clock, which ticked in a curiously carved
case, in one corner of the hall. “ Something
more than usual is in the wind, for sure!”
“It cannot be!” exclaimed the Earl, lifting
his face with a troubled expression from his
hands; ‘ S I had strong hopes of it, but it can
not be 1 The Lady Arabella is determined to
dash from her lips every cup of happiness
and honor I, in my doting fondness, would
mingle for her; she will never be a peeress in
the proud realm of England—she prefer* an
untitled plebian to one of her own rank—she
laughs at all titles of distinction, and speaks
even jestingly of stars, garters and diamonds.
From whom does the girl take her disposi
tion I Not from me! Heaven knows, not
from me! My earliest dreams were of pow
er; my infantile graspings were after the
trappings of royalty : but the Countess, her
mother, was a true prototype of the child —
modest as the violet which hides iti the moss,
unassuming as the humblest peasant girl in
the kingdom. And yet she was all that a
true woman should fee,” continued the Earl,
at his eye moistened over her memory.—
“ When alone with me, she was blithe as the
spring-bird, and her heart was brimful of all
the kindly affections of our nature. She is
dead, and Arabella alone is left to me —sole
heiress of the honors and riches of my house.
I would link her with the house of Devon
shire, for I cannot bear that plebian blood
should ever flow through a vein which claims
kindred with me; but the girl told me last
night that she loved one without a title—one
as careless of the world’s honors as herself.
Isaac Johnson! Who is he 1 They say
that he has vast wealth—that in my eye is
his only recommendation. Had it been oth
erwise, I would have punished his presump
tion in aspiring to the hand of my child.”
Again the Earl dropped his head, and mused
moodily.
“My Lord,” said Dudley, opening the
door, and cautiously peering in, “a gentle
man in the hall desires an audience with you.
Shall I admit him I”
“ Who is he, and what is his business at
this hour V’ asked the Earl, half angrily. “ Can
I never have a moment to spend with my own
thoughts'? Who is it, Dudley I”
“I do not know, for true,” said the old
man, brushing his ear-locks back “If I
might hazard a guess, I should say it was the
young Duke of Devonshire —the same who
aided in rescuing my young mistress last sum
mer, when she was thrown from her palfrey
among the jutting rocks in that terrible chasm,
over which the hounds leaped while in pur
suit of the stag: it may not be the same, but
it looks wondrously like him !”
“The Duke of Devonshire!” exclaimed
the old man, his face brightening with anima
tion at the mere supposition. “Impossible,
Dudley! Whence does he come at this early
hour I”
“I cannot say, my lord, from whence he
came. As I was standing on the eastern
steps, 1 saw him coming through the park-
VOLUME I.—-NUMBER Is.
gate, with his hounds around him, and hi*
hunting-bugle in his hand. I am sure that
he is a nobleman, for his bugle is of ivon
wrought with gold, and his dress is such a
no commoner wears. He came directly up to
where I was standing, and, shaking the bright
drops of water from his velvet hunting-cap.
said, ‘Old man, l want to see your master,
inc Eail oi Lincoln, is he up f If so, go and
ask an audience for me, directly.’”
•Dull my dressing-gown around me, and
then show him in,” said the old nobleman,
animatedly. “If it is the young Duke of
Devonshire, he possesses claims upon the
house of Lincoln, which shall not long re
main unacknowledged. I have imagined that
in him was combined every thing the lady
Arabella can desire in a husband, but”—
The old Earl checked himself, as if fearful
he was choosing an improper confidant in the
person of his servant. Dudley did not reply,
but, as he closed the door behind him, he
muttered half aloud,
“The Lady Arabella will not smile upon
this new lord. Isaac Johnson wins the bright
bird, or I am no prophet.”
“What is that you are prophesying about,
old man I” said the stranger, who had caught
a faint echo of the last word.
“I was replying to my master,” said the
steward, evasively. “He waits your lord
ship’s presence in the reception room.”
“ Who told you, old man, that I was a
lord?” said the stranger, with a look of sur
prise. “ Lords do not usually choose an hoot
thus early for visiting.”
“ Very true; hut I was with my Lady Ara
bella, last summer, when she met with a fear
ful accident. If I mistake not, you aided in
rescuing her from a watery grave.”
“Ay!” said the young Duke, while a
pleased expression at finding himself thus re
cognized came over his fine features, and set
tled upon his lip. “How is her ladyship,
this morning I”
The reply was unheard,for the savant
opened the door of his master’s room, and
stood respectfully back behind the guest he
was ushering in.
The Earl of Lincoln rose, while the young
and handsome Duke came forward and bowed
gracefully in his presence. He still retained
his hunting-cap in his hand, the heavy plume
of which nearly swept the floor, and his ra
ven hair fell in rich masses over a brow,
which would not have looked out of place
beneath a crown.
“ I throw myself upon your hospitality at
an unusual hour,” he said, as he took the ex:
tended hand of the Earl, and pressed it fer
vently and respectfully. “I oweanapology,
perhaps, for such an unceremonious intru
sion; but the morning was inviting, and 1
came forth early with a band of followers to
the chase. The sight of your castle-turrets
arrested my attention, and, leaving my ex
pected train to follow a deer they had aroused,
I turned in hither to avail myself, for a few
hours, of your hospitality.”
“While the master of the castle lives,”
blandly replied the Earl, u any hour which
the Duke of Devonshire may choose for bis
visits, will not prove ill-timed or unwelcome/ 1
The Duke bowed, as if grateful for the
honor shown him by his distinguished host :
then sinking upon an old and curiously carved
divan, which occupied a prominent position
in the room, he began to dally with his plume,
and converse in his most insinuating style.
The servant closed the door upon his mas
ter and guest, and then turned to kennel the
hounds, which were left in the yard. As he
passed down the eastern steps, where he Lad
been standing, when interrupted by the hunt-