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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.