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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