Newspaper Page Text
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
mU C. RICHARDS, EDITOR.
©riginal Jpoctrg.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE DYING GIRL’S FAREWELL.
BY LEILA CAMERON.
Mother! clear mother ! I tun dying now —
The damps of death are gathering on my brow,
And in my veins, the blood so icy chill,
Is slowly flowing —soon it will be still.
Come nearer, mother, nearer; let me feel
Your breath across my forehead softly steal;
Clasp me still closer to your loving breast —
I’m weary, and I fain would be at rest!
I scarce can see you, mother, for my eye
Is growing dim with the last agony;
Hut oh ! restrain those sobs of grief so wild,
And smile once more upon thy dying child!
The bitterness of death, with me, is past
When I have said to you “Goodbye”—the last,
Last sad “ Good-bye”—then I will gladly go,
Where murm’ring streams through bow’rs of Eden
flow!
Sister! I leave you r.ow, but do not weep—
Your tears have power to stir my spirit’s deep—
And I would fain he calm as I draw near
My final hour. Then, Sister, let no tear
Disturb my parting soul, but sing to me
The songs we sung beneath our fav’rite tree —
And sometimes, when in death I calmly sleep,
Sing them again—but, Sister, do not weep !
1 know you will be lonely when I'm gone,
And you will miss me, when at early morn,
You ramble by the brook and through the dell,
To seek the early violets I loved so well:
And Sister, when above my quiet grave,
The wild flower and the meadow grass shall wave,
You'll fondly think of her whose youthful head,
Keposes sweetly with the silent dead !
Tie kind unto our Mother when I die,
Nor let her grieve that I no more am nigh ;
To cheer her hours of widowed loneliness,
And with my love her saddened heart to bless.
Do not embitter by one basty word,
A spirit, whose exquisite chords are stirred
fly mournful thoughts—for you will be her all,
When death has wrapped me in his gloomy pall!
When I am dead, sweet Sister, don’t forget
The love I’ve borne you—let it linger yet
Within your heart. Farewell! my hour is nigh,
Kiss me once more, sweet Mother, ere I die!
Clasp me again within your warm embrace,
Before I seek my last cold resting-place:
Angels are calling me —I come !—1 come !
Bear me, bright seraphs, to your heavenly home !
i
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
I THINK_OF THEE!
In fancy’s dream, or pleasure’s beam,
llow bland so e’er it be—
’Mid brightest eyes, in star-lit skies —
I think of thee !
At morning’s rise, when golden skies,
Tint mountain, glen and lea—
When all that's bright then shines in light —
I think of thee !
M hen skies are clear, and stars appear,
And joy is o’er the sea —
In midnight’s deep, unchained by sleep—
I think of thee! [J. C. W.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
SONNET—TO_ELIZABETII,
“Then whence it is I cannot tell—
But there is some mysterious spell
That holds me.”— Kirke White.
■‘dy heart, sweet girl! exults with pride to hear
I’hy lips of purity have asked my line,
Inspired haply by the tuneful Nine,
Ki honor of thy charms unrivalled here !
But, oh! believe if I could ever dare,
Magician-like, to raise an aid divine,
hose mvstie incantations might combine
In magic syllables, such words as ne’er
A Bard yet breathed at Beauty’s sacred shrine,
And sing the graces of thv form so fair:
‘ till all too vain would be the fond design
Lliy portraiture in words to paint sincere !
for man, in gazing on such charms as thine,
-dust be content to feel, what words can ne'er
declare! ALTON.
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.
JJopular (Ealco.
____________________________ I
A LEGEND FROM ANTWERP:
A CAPITAL STORY FROM BLACKWOOD.
CHAPTER II. —TIIE LOVERS.
Whilst the above occurred in the beer
house, a fair young girl waited Gerard’s
coming, her heart beating fast from appre
hension that some evil had befallen him.
To the headsman’s son she was the angel of
hope and consolation; she alone loved him,
partly, perhaps, because she knew that the
world hated and despised him. Her love
had braved her mother’s censure, her neigh
bors’ reproaches, her companions’ sneers.
Nay, more than this; when they shouted
after her, by way of scoff, the office of Ge
rard’s father, or called her the headsman's
bride, and the like, she rejoiced and was
glad ; for then she felt her love was noble
and puie, and acceptable in the sight of God.
For was she not, in loving Gerard, doing as
she would be done by, comforting and sup
porting him whom all men oppressed and
persecuted ?
This poor girl, whose name was Lina, liv
ed in a small apartment in the Vlier Street,
with her old mother and her brother Franz, a
good-hearted, hard-handed fellow, who work
ed like a slave for five days out of the sev
en, spent half a day in church, and a day
and a half in the beer-house, where he drank
and sang to his heart’s content, and which
he seldom left without a black eye. During
the five days allotted to labor, there was not
in Antwerp a more clever and indefatigable
carpenter: and punctually each Saturday
night he brought his mother a round sum
from his earnings, wherefore the old woman
had him in particular affection.
On the night of Gerard’s ill-timed visit to
the tavern, Lina sat opposite to her mother
in their humble chimney-corner, a single slen
der candle burning between them, their fin
gers busily engaged in lace-making. On the
other side of the room stood a joiner’s bench
at which Franz was hard at work. The
room itself was clean and neat, and strewn
with white sand ; a crucifix and a few pic
tures of saints decorated the walls; but oth
erwise it contained little beyond the most ne
cessary furniture, for, labor as they would,
its inmates’ combined efforts could earn but a
scanty pittance.
Eight o’clock was the usual hour of Ge
rard’s visit, and hitherto lie had never come
later without warning Lina beforehand of
the probable delay; but now it was ten, and
there were no signs of his appearance. The
maiden knew not what to think of this ir
regularity, and was so uneasy and absent,
that she neither heard nor answered a ques
tion put to her by her mother.
“ Now, then, child,” cried the old woman,
“your wits are surely wool-gathering.—
| What’s the use of fretting? If he come not
to-day, he will to-morrow. There are days
enough in the year.”
“True, mother; but [ fear some harm has
happened to him, that he misses coming.
People are so ill-minded towards him!”
“ Aye, that are they; but then he is the
headsman’s son, and hatred is the portion of
his tribe. Did not the mob murder Heads
man Hansken with stones, and drown Heads
man Harmen, hard by the Kroonenburg tow
er ?”
“ And what had they done, mother ?”
“ I’m sure I can’t tell. Nothing, I believe.
But it so happens, because the executioners
hang many innocent people.”
“Surely, mother, the headsman must do
what the judge bids him. Why not drown
the judge, sooner than his servant ?”
“Aye, aye, Lina, but it has always been
so. Mind the proverb— 1 In a kennel of dogs
the smallest gets fewest bits and most
bites.’ ”
“ That is a stupid proverb, mother.”
And the two women gossiped on, till the
old one got weary of watching, and said to
her daughter—
“ Leave off work, child, and let us to bed.
The night grows late.”
The young girl was ill pleased with the
order, for she had not yet given up hopes of
Gerard’s coming; but she could think of no
pretext to keep her mother from her bed.
After brief reflection—
“ Mother,” she said, “wait a little long
er; three more flowers, and my lace is done.”
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1848.
“ Make haste, then, dear child, or I shall j
sleep on my chair.”
“ I am not yet for bed,” cried Franz from
his bench. “I must finish this sewing-cush- j
ion for the landlady at Peerdeken ; she is to
fetch it early to-morrow.”
“Boy, boy!” said his mother, smiling and
shaking her head, “for a certainty you drank
more last Sunday at Peerdeken than your
pocket could pay for, and now you are work
ing out your debt. Well, well! goodnight;
and forget not your prayers before laying
your heads to rest.”
And with this pious injunction, the good
woman got up and entered a small adjacent
closet, serving as a sleeping chamber for her
self and her daughter. She could have been
but a few minutes in bed when Gerard
knocked at the door, and Franz let him in.
The young man’s face was pale and gloo
my, but Lina wondered not at this, for seldom
had she the happiness of seeing her lover’s
brow otherwise than care-laden. Slowly
approaching her, Gerard took her hand and
pressed it sadly and silently to his breast.—
This was his usual greeting. Os words he
was habitually frugal, but his eyes expressed
heartfelt gratitude and ardent love.
“Gerard 1 ” cried Lina, “ what is wrong ?
Your hand is cold as ice ! Heavens ! there
is blood npon your throat!”
“’Tis nothing, Lina; I knocked myself in
the dark. Happy for me, were my sufferings
only of the body !”
The words were followed by a deep sigh,
and by a look of profound dejection, that fill
ed Lina with alarm. Gerard’s eyes had as
sumed a fixed hard look, in which she read
the announcement of some terrible novelty.
With the tenderest care she cleansed his neck
from the blood, which flowed from a trifling
wound; and taking her lover's hand, clasped
it in both of hers, with a glance of affection
ate encouragement. But he continued to re
gard her with the same unvarying gaze, un
til at last, unable longer to endure the sus
pense and his seeming coldness, she sank in
to a chair.
“Oh, Gerard!” she exclaimed, “look not
thus, if you. would not kill me with your
glance!”
The young man cast his eyes upon the
ground, then raised them again to Lina’s face,
but this time with an expression of ineffable
sadness, and took his seat by her side.
“Lina,” he said, in a tone betraying the
deepest emotion, “give me patient hearing,
for 1 have much to say. We meet for the
last time.”
And without attending to poor Lina’s in
creasing agitation, he continued —
“ When children,” he said, “we played
together, mutually attracted by a feeling we
could not understand, and which has since
grown into love. \Y>u knew not, sweet Li
na, what it is to be the headsman’s firstborn.
You knew not that he who hangs, and racks,
and brands, is laden with more ignominy than
the criminal who suffers at his hands. Later
you learned it, but your pure soul refused to
become accomplice of man’s injustice, and
you loved me the more, when you found how
much I needed love to save me from despair.
And truly, without thee my sufferings had
long since been ended in the grave; for Ino
longer had faith in anything save in the jus
tice of God, and that lie reserved me compen
sation in a better world. Men persecute me
like one accursed; the blood you have just
now wiped was shed by their hatred. But I
care little for pain of body ; blest with thy
love, my Lina, I would bear uncomplaining
the worst tortures they could inflict. The
pain, the martyrdom is here.”
He paused, and pressed his hand upon his
temples.
“Lina, we have ever indulged a fond dream
that some unexpected event would free me
from the headsman’s terrible duties. In this
expectation you have sacrificed vourself, and
I, blinded by love, have hoped where hope <
there was none. Beloved! the illusion has
fled —the dream is past. To-morrow, lam
no lonwer the headsman’s son, but the heads
man himself’ My father lies on abed of
sickness whence lie can never rise. To
morrow there is an execution, and his odious
duties devolve on me! But think not, Lina,
that I will basely claim the pledges given in
j hopes of a brighter future. Think not I will
expose you to the disgrace of being pointed
at as the headsman’s mistress—the heads
man’s wife! No, Lina, 1 come to release
you from all promises: from this moment
you are faee!”
VOLUME I.—NUMBER 28.
Whilst Gerard spoke, a gradual but visible
change came over the young girl’s counten
ance, and when he paused, it wore an ex
pression of joyful pride—a pride that flashed
out of her eyes, and smiled in the dimples of
her cheeks. She felt that exhilaration of
the heart, the consequence and reward of
generous and noble resolves.
“1 understand your meaning, Gerard,” she
said, “and could quarrel with you for think
ing me less devoted than yourself, or less
ready with a sacrifice. O, my beloved!
thine T am, and thine will I remain, to-day,
to-morrow, and forever—here or on the scaf
fold. Gerard, the path of duty is plain be
fore me ; as thy wife, I will console thee for
the cruelty of men, and shed over thy life the
soothing balm of love!”
“Never, Lina, never! What! thou the
doomster's wife! A double curse would be
upon me, did I consent to such profanation.
Dare I drag you down into the pit of ignomi
ny and contempt? Never, oh, never!”
“ And never,” said the maiden, in accents
of solemn determination, “will I abandon
thee, Gerard, or annul the pledges by which
we are mutually bound. Whithersoever
thou goest, thither will I go ; and all thy ef
forts shall not detach me from thee. Our
lives are indissolubly united. Think you I
would desert you on your solitary path ?
Friend, did you but know how proud and
happy 1 feel: With humble confidence shall
I approach the table of the Lord, for my
heart tells me the good and just God ap
proves and blesses my resolve.”
Gerard gazed in wondering and rapturous
admiration on the pure and beautiful coun
tenance of his mistress, now flushed with the
enthusiasm of her generous love. There
was something divine in the affection that
thus courted shame and opprobrium for the
sake of the loved one. For a moment his
brow beamed with heartfelt joy, and a sigh,
but not of sorrow, escaped his lightened
breast.
“ Forgive me, 0 Lord,” he exclaimed, rai
sing his eyes to heaven, “forgive me that I
murmured ! In thy great mercy, thou hast
sent an angel to console me!”
Whilst this affecting dialogue took place,
Franz had continued his work, without at
tending to the discourse of Gerard and his
sister. Now, however, having finished the
cushion, he put by his tools, took up his
lamp, and approached the lovers.
“Come, Lina,” said he, “ I am dead with
sleep, and in haste for bed. You must bid
Gerard come earlier to-morrow.”
Although Gerard had still much to say to
his mistress, he could not but take the hint,
thus plainly but kindly given.
“Franz,” said he, gloomily, to his future
brother-in-law, “to-morrow I must strike ofl
a man’s head upon the scaffold.”
“Have a care, then, Gerard!” replied
Franz coolly; “if you miss your stroke,
they will stone you, as they did Headsman
Hansken. However, in case of mishap,
there is one man, at least, who will stand by
you to the last.”
The young headsman looked mournfully
at Lina, and approached the door, a tear
trembling on his eyelid. But Lina threw
herself passionately on his neck.
“To-morrow,” she cried, “I will be near
the scaffold. Observe me well.”
Ann she listened, with clasped hands and
tearful cheeks, to her lover’s footsteps, as
they grew fainter and moi;e faint, and finally
died away in the distance.
CHAPTER 111. —FATHER AND SON.
The house of the Antwerp executioner
stood hard by the fortifications, and was sur
rounded by a high stone wall, over whose
solid portal a red flag, denoting the occupa
tion of the tenant, was displayed during the
day. The glim ensign had been some hours
removed, when Gerard knocked for admis
sion.
“Has the judge been here, Jan?” inquired
the young man of the varlet who opened.
“ Yes, he has hut just left. Your father
desires to speak to you.”
Gerard ascended the stairs, and entered the
room where his sick father lay stretched up
on his bed.
The old headsman was ashy pale, and
worn to the very bone; the ravages of a ter
rible malady were legible in nis hollow
cheeks and sunken glassy eyes. But, al
though sick and weak of body, his mind was
stili active and vigorous as that of one in