« PreviousContinue »
Waited the final summons. While she sat,
Dust, damp, and mouldiness have somewhat dimmed
Its pristine purity, and fragments fall
Unnoted; so, not long the villagers
Will point to Esther's Garland, and enforce
The moral of our life's uncertainty,
And of the Crown which goodness gains in death.
"I have a counsel for thy gentle ear,
A secret deep, I fain would whisper in it!" "Of love, I guess: come closer, then, my dear,
And if 'tis worth a farthing pray begin it." "Well, then. He (you know who !) was here this minute;
And—no, I can't go on—indeed I can't;
I thought him all devotion to my aunt; And now—such love—and, oh! that I should win it! Nay, do not smile, his is no soul of iron;
He sits for ever with an upturned eye,
Doing ' the Poet' most enchantingly; And cuts his hair, too, by the prints of Byron: With collar spread, the vulgar neckcloth scorning, He looks,— what now!" '' I married him this morning."
SOME PASSAGES IN THE HISTORY OF SARAH CURRAN.
It is a comparatively easy task to recount the adventures of those whose celebrity renders the most trifling incident that concerns them, of interest, and even importance, to the world; but the mere records of the heart and its affections, refined and exquisite as they may be, can only be gratifying to the few by whom it was intimately known and appreciated; and were it not that some circumstances had given to the unfortunate subject of this sketch, a degree of celebrity which she as little contemplated as desired, I should scarcely have been tempted to pay this simple, but sincere tribute to her memory.
Sarah Curran has already been the theme of story and of song; and so long as "The Broken Heart" of Washington Irving be read; and the exquisite melody of "She is far from the Land," of our national poet, Moore, shall preserve its popularity,—so long must the