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SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE:
H JI, C. RICHARDS, Editor.
orighial jJoctnj.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A VALENTINE.
BY H. II . CLEMENTS.
Ts light along thy pathway shine,
What matter tho’ mine rest in shade 1
1 would that every step of thine
Might be on flowers that never fade ;
And, like those flowers, I would return
An incense wheresoe’er you stray,
Though not a breeze might waft in turn
Their odour a'er my way.
May light upon thy spirit dwell,
Like moonlight on a summer sea,
And may the tides of feeling swell
As soft and tranquilly.
But a- the sunbeam leaves no trace
On what it falls, so to my eye
The beautiful in form and face
Forever pass unheeded by.
May Time upon thy spirit fall,
Like wind on a remembered wire,
To wake its music to the call
Os love’s untold desire.
And on thy heart shall rest the spell —
Thy face the secret charm relate ;
And gliding hours have tongues to tell
The beauty of thy fate.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
COME TO ME, LOVE!
A SONG WRITTEN FOR MUSIC.
Come to me, love, when twilight dews
Are falling on the flowers,
For then all themes my thoughts refuse
But those sweet hopes of ours —
Which gild the Future to our eyes
With Joy's empurpled light;
And which, if shadowed, veil our skies
In the black robes of Night.
Come to me, when the song of birds
lias ceased the words among,
And glad my spirit with thy words—
Far sweeter than their song :
Thy words of love which on my heart
Like dews of rapture fall—
Oh, come, and never more depart,
My life —my love —my all!
Athens. A F?.Ta.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
STANZAS,
TO MR. AND MRS. W. A. W.,’ OF AUGUSTA, GEO.
BY LEILA CAMERON.
“ But happy they, the happiest of their kind,
Whom gentle stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.”
The die is cast —the words forever spoken,
That bind two loving hearts in wedlock's chain ;
The vow now breathed may never more be broken,
The faith now plighted ne’er recalled again
Firmly upon each other’s truth relying,
Together must ye walk Life’s weary way,
With steadfast hearts, the storms of fate defying,
Though they may darken every future day!
Your paths are one, and ever undivided
Should be the hearts, now pledged for weal or woe ;
Your interests one —your mutual love decided,
As onward in Life’s pilgrimage ye go.
Oh ! dear is wedded love, when, sweetly blended,
Two lives In one commingled current flow —
And, thus united, till their course is ended,
The plighted souls no separate interests know ’
Husband and wife! henceforth to you is given
A holy trust: see that ye guard it well!
And that ye fail not, seek ye help from Heaven,
And holy strength shall in your bosoms swell.
Before the Majesty on high, with reverence kneeling,
With meek devotion, and with hallowed joy,
Pray for that grace which chastens every feeling,
That nothing may your live s’ pure bliss alloy!
Thus, while the waves of Time are onward flowing,
Bearing your vessel o’er Life’s troubled sea,
Your days shall glide along, each year but showing
Some dearer joy in mutual sympathy!
Pilgrims of earth ! press onward, now, together —
A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE. SCIENCE AND ART.
Patient and firm, resigned to every ill;
C ontent alike in storm or sunshine weather,
Depending meekly on His holy will!
January 25th % 1849.
I |
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
I the EXILE'S FAREWELL.
I
BY JACQUES JOURNOT.
Land of my childhood’s home, farewell!
I may roam thy hills no more ;
Borne o’er old ocean’s heaving breast,
I must seek a far-off shore !
Birds in our homestead trees will sing—
They will sing no more for me ;
One from the haunts he loved they’ll miss—
Oh, where will that one be 1
i
Cot, where my mother dwells, farewell!
There is waking there for me ;
Dark shadows lie upon my home —
I must dwell beyond the sea :
i Tears to my sister’s eyes will come,
When she opes tho Holy Book—
Where, with a trembling voice, 1 read,
Ere my last, sad leave I took !
Graves where my fathers lie, farewell!
Oh! my grave may not be here:
My bones must rest ’ncath stranger clods,
Far, far from my count ry dear ;
Friends of my youthful days, adieu!
Tears will come as I turn away —
As I leave behind the loved of yore,
And childhood’s haunts of play!
Popular ®aks.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
: THE SERVANT MARY.
j A STORY OF HUMBLE GENIUS.
I
I
FROM THE FRENCH OF ALIBERT.
I
I One of the most famous sculptors of Rome
I had a servant by the name of Mary. This
j person, born in a lowly hut, of poor and ob
| scure parents, made herself remarked, never
theless. by the elegance of her manners and
the dignity of her deportment. Imagine to
yourself a young villager, with a physiogno
my more striking than beautiful, with an ex
traordinary vivacity in her expression, ex
; tremely modest, however, and never forget-
I ting herself—laboring with celerity at her
: domestic vocations, in order to devote herself
i afterwards to occupations more worthy of
| her • always pensive, and, passing with
promptitude from the silence of reverie to
movements of enthusiasm : inaccessible be
sides to the weakness of coquetry or vanity ;
and you will have an exact idea of this as
tonishing woman, whose name was rendered
historical. We are assured, that it was while
listening by stealth, to the great men who
came in the evenings to converse with her
master, that she was initiated into the myste
ries of the Arts.
What is remarkable in her history, is, that
1 the love of renown should take possession of
one moving in her humble condition. She
commenced at first, by entertaining the most
lively admiration for the works of the distin
guished man whom she served;. hut soon she
was troubled by the desire of being one day
applauded by him, whom she regarded as an
object of worship and of veneration. To at
tain this object, she had recourse to strata
gem. She confided her project to a very able
I artist who frequented the house of her mas
ter; she supplicated him to give her secretly
J some lessons, during the short intervals tha
i her domestic duties permitted. Doctor Co
rona was initiated into this important secret,
i and from that day he declared himself her
| Maecenas. This learned philanthropist wish
ed even to pay for her instruction, which, in
’ this department of art, is long and expen-
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1849.
sive. On her part, the diligent Mary neglect
ed nothing to profit by the services rendered
her by her two benefactors. Never did she
intermit from this passionate emulation, that
so entirely subjugated her, and from which it
would have been impossible to have arrested
her efforts. In short, all the faculties of her
mind were directed to the honorable end
which she wished to obtain.
Mary had one of those powerful imagina
tions, where all nature came in some sort to
reflect itself. It was singularly surprising, to
find so many eminent qualities in an individ
al who had received but a verv elementary
education. She said herself, that her exist
ence only dated from the day that she gave
herself up to the study of sculpture. Never
was she found in a state of inaction. The
desire of accomplishing the object of her am
bition, was for her a fixed idea. Did she
slacken her eflbrts for a little recreation, she
ran to the Vatican, where her inspirations re
commenced. She was seen in the churches
of Rome, studying to divine the lofty thoughts
of great artists, by the contemplation of their
chefs damme. She passed entire hours at
the foot of antique statues, and what others
only regarded with indifference, excited in
her the most profound emotions.
The servant Mary studied sculpture, not as
an art, but as a science. She was no longer
the same person, from the time she had quit
ted the country, to reside in the classic land
of genius. All knowledge became fruitful
in proportion as it penetrated her soul.—
There are sterile spirits, who can contem
plate coldly the ruins of Rome. All is sol
emn in this inspiring city : everything there
enlarges the soul with the most noble and
touching recollections. The columns, the
obelisks, the Mausolea, the Sarcophagi—no
’ thing is mute to the observing artist; and
j horn the tomb of so many illustrious dead,
there arise flames that illuminate the living:.
The will is the most precious gift of ge
nius ; one can even say, that it is the guar
antee of success. Mary triumphed over all
obstacles, in the study of an art that appear
ed incompatible with the weakness of her
sex; but she was governed by the most ener
getic of moral powers—that of enthusiasm.
This estimable person did not at first escape
calumny; it was pretended that the senti
ment of love had a particular influence on the
incredible efforts which she made to obtain a
public triumph and to merit the approbation
of her master : hut Mary was influenced by
a more noble desire. Moreover, there is in
the study of the fine arts something religious,
which purifies the soul and disengages it
from terrestrial motives. Mary was inacces
sible to vulgar passions, and it was in the
bosom of virtue that she imbibed all the ar
dor which was to immortalize her.
Truths that are concealed from us, resem
ble those that we are forced to go in search
of in distant countries : they engrave them
selves irrevocably on our memory. Mary,
who listened, on all occasions, heard her
master explain to his pupils the value of mo
ral expression in the arts of imitation ; and
as she sought with avidity all the impres
sions that could cause her to arrive at great
results, she lost not a single word. One day,
when they celebrated a festival, on the occa
sion of the file day of her master, there arose
a serious controversy among the guests, on
the subject of the pre-eminence of sculpture
over painting. Mary, who served at table,
was consequently present at this interesting
discussion, which contributed not a little to
her instruction. Her zeal redoubled, above
all, when they spoke in her presence relative
to the habits for study, and supreme qualities
VOLUME I. —NUMBER 38.
which distinguished the opposite talents of
Michael Angelo and of Raphael.
It is said that genius is only a more or less
great aptitude for patience and application.
Mary had uncommon perseverance in all she
undertook, and every hour that she could
spare from her vocations, were employed in
the composition of that beautiful work which
was to astonish connoisseurs. In short, af
ter two years of concealed but unremitting
labor, Mary completed a statue of Minerva,
which appeared animated with a divine
breath. This production had not all that art
can give, but all that the soul communicates,
all that there is most expressive in the ideal
world, all the majesty of celestial life.
Some days afterwards, the judges assem
bled to pronounce their decision and to de
termine the prize, in the midst of a multitude
of rival artists. What was interesting, un
der these circumstances, the master of Mary
presided at this memorable jury. All the suf
frages were in favor of the statue of Miner
va, that had been secretly sent to the compe
tition, and which discovered the germ of the
most remarkable talent; but no one suspect
ed that it could be the result of the efforts of
a woman. Meanwhile, Mary, under the veil
of incognito, with the simple dress that she
wore in her humble condition, had penetrated
even into the gallery where her chef d'auvre
was exposed to the regards of the curious.--
Astonished at herself, intoxicated with glory
and with happiness, she imbibed largely the
praises that were bestowed on her labors.
All the spectators were charmed; besides,
much is pardoned in the talent that conceals
itself.
Let us add, Mary experienced a joy much
j more sweet, when, having returned home to
i the house of her master, she heard him, in
presence ot his friends, lavish the greatest
praises on the crowned statue. He lost him
self in vain conjectures as to the true author
of this anonymous work. At length, he at
tributed it to a young artist, who gave the
most happy promises, and who was, without
doubt, afraid of making himself known. —
But the admiration which one creates, pro
duces often a nervous agitation that cannot
he resisted. Mary could not hear this con
cert of praises, without being moved to tears,
and it was thus that her secret was divulged.
Her master, who was far from suspecting that
; she had ever made the least study of the fine
arts, remained for some time immovable with
surprise and emotion. He complimented her
with dignity, on the success which she had
just obtained, declaring that he was unwil
ling to be served any longer by her. He
wished even, henceforth to concur in every
means for the completion of her instruction)
and assigned to her a place for her labors in
his own studio. Mary, confused, had no
words to express what was passing in her
mind. The joy of Corinna, when she was
conducted to ihe Capitol, was not more lively
than hers.
But, by the most deplorable catastrophe,.
Mary did not long enjoy the advantages
which so great a triumph had procured. She
shone for an instant, and was extinguished
like a meteor. Worn out with labor and
painful vigils, she was seized with consump
tion, and a short time afterwards-sunk under
the fatigues to which she had exposed her
self. The Dr. Corona, who had taken a very
active part in her success, bestowed on her
every attention, but could not arrest the hand
of death from this pure and noble heart,
; which only palpitated for glory; and soon
the laurels of Mary were covered with fune
i ral crape. All those who had known this;
interesting person, bitterly bewailed her.