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THE enclosed soliloquy was written in 1837, And the sparkling wine of the full-wreathed by Miss , now Mrs. Ky., and published in the Cincinnati Chron- No lustre lends to the darkened soul, icle, a literary journal of limited circulation at And the maddening draughts of excitement fail that period, edited by Charles Drake. The so- To re-mantle the cheek with its griefs made pale, liloquy was subsequently altered and amended Then how wretched and lonely and desolate materially, but never republished. Prior to her Will this heart be, when abandoned to fate! marriage Mrs. had some local celebrity as a poetess, and published several pieces which Yet must I not pass through the gazing crowd were highly approved by the public, and com- With a careworn brow, and a spirit bow'd, mended in very flattering terms by Mr. Prentice With a grief not veiled from their scornful eyes and other journalists of cultivated taste in Ken-By the dazzling array of wealth's disguise, tucky. After her marriage she abandoned the So dearly obtained by the loss of truth, Muses, but has contributed occasionally to some And the cherish'd visions of dreaming youth. of the religious periodicals and newspapers, prose I would mix with the thoughtless, revelling articles of very decided merit. If the enclosed be deemed worthy of a place in the Living Age, which I hope it may, it would perhaps be proper to state that it appears by request, and without the cognizance of the authoress. As a specimen of the poetry of the West it has merits, in my poor judgment, which entitle it to preservation

in American literature.

W. H. S.
ROCKVILLE, IND., Nov. 17th, 1855.

WEAVE in my hair no buds, which rainbow


And whispering winds have nursed in fairy bowers;

For they are Eden-born and eloquent

Of all the pure fresh feelings which are sent
By Heaven, to guide young Love's affections

And gild its pathway with celestial light.

Bring me no flowers, for they are tokens all
Of early vows and hopes, which to recall
Methinks would fever so this pallid brow
That it would scorch to dust a garland now.
And O! they say 't would stain my cheek with

To brood o'er memories of a happier time.

Bring me no flowers, but with a glittering chain
Bind the mad pulses of my throbbing brain;
And let not one unbraided tress wave free,
To mock my heart with its wild liberty.
But bind them regally, with gems whose gleams
Shall dazzle all with their cold, starlike beams;
That none my spirit's agony so deep,

Or my dim, tearful eyes, that fain would weep,
And smileless lips, may mark; while I to-night
My false and hollow vows of duty plight.

And then, when my faltering voice hath said
The solemn words, let me straightway be led
To join in the dance when the tireless feet
And the bounding hearts of the glad young


In measured time, to the notes that ring,
So gaily out from the minstrel's string.

For O! if the light of enjoyment falls


By the current of pleasure borne along,
Till the soothing words of the flatterer's praise
Shall call up the mem'ries of other days;
And my eye shall rest with a kindlier glance
On him whose fond, vain faith, perchance,
Will deem it the glow of love, not pride,
That flushes the face of his fair young bride.
But no! let him find me all cold and vain;
One born for a priestess in Fashion's fane;
For I would not for worlds that a look of mine
Should awaken a hope of that bliss divine,
Where welcoming smiles and endearments sweet
Wait with impatience the lov'd one to greet,,
When at eve, with quick pace and swelling

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He hies to a home with affection blest.

Yet, why talk I of home?—it is a place
O'er which hath passed the desolating trace
Of poisonous disappointment; every thought
Of home from that sweet dream of thee I

Iarro, ere base and whispering malice stung
Thy lofty soul, to breathe those words that

From my insulted faith the blighting doom
That withered all this heart's pure Eden bloom!

How fleeting did those joyous moments prove,
When, basking in the sunshine of thy love,
I question'd whether in Elysian bowers
Was ever known a bliss so sweet as ours.
Iarro, O Iarro! linked with thine,
Methought a bright and glorious fate was mine:
That I should move thro' palace halls of earth,
Won proudly by the riches of thy worth.

But thou hast rashly, ay, and coldly flung
From thee a heart, that still had fondly clung
To thine, though Fate o'er fields of gory dead
To earth's rude bounds, where, desolate and
Or storm-washed decks thy spirit brave had led


Spreads the wide waste of cold Siberia's zone.
And in that cheerless, unblest wilderness,
With thee I could have found more happiness

Not bright on my footsteps in Wealth's proud Than in the gorgeous halls of pomp and pride,


To which I go, - -a hopeless, heartless Brides

strong. Do you consider that you are not uncertain how far he should acknowledge the alone in the world, and that you make the justice of the girl's reasoning. At last he illness and poverty of your mother only more said: "Forgive him, my child, as your mother bitter by your obstinacy? What good reason has forgiven him. Do not let your thoughts could you have for refusing the honest man dwell on such sad scenes, Laurella: better who wished to support you? Answer me, times are in store for you, and all this will be Laurella." forgotten."

"I have a reason," said she in a low and hesitating voice, "but I cannot tell it."

"Not tell it?- not to me?-to your father-confessor? You know I always seek your good-do you not, Laurella?"

"Never! I shall never forget it!" she said shuddering. "And it is this which has determined me to remain unmarried, padre. I will not be subject to one who will ill-treat me one moment and caress me the next. If any were now to attempt to do either the one "Then unburden your heart, my child. or the other, I should know how to defend If you are right, I will be the first to com- myself; but my mother would not do so, bemend you; but you are young, and know lit-cause she loved him. I will love no one well enough to endure such things from him.”

She nodded.

tle of the world, and may afterwards regret having thrown away your happiness for some childish fancy." She cast a hasty glance towards the young man, who, busy with his oar, sat in the bow of the boat, his woollen cap drawn down over his eyes. He was gazing on the sea, and seemed occupied with his own thoughts.

The priest saw her look, and bent down his ear.

"You did not know my father," she whispered, and her eyes were full of gloom.

"Your father! why, he died when you were scarcely ten years old, I think! What has your father, whose soul, I trust, is in Paradise, to do with your obstinacy?"

"You did not know him, padre! You do not know that to him alone is my mother's illness owing!"

"How so?" inquired the priest with surprise.

"What a child you are to talk such nonsense! " replied the priest. "Are all men like your father, who gave way to every whim and passion, and did, in truth, ill-treat your mother? Have you not seen numbers of excellent men in the neighborhood, and women who live in perfect unity and peace with their husbands? "

"Ah! they appear to do so; but no one knew my father's conduct to my mother: she would rather have died a thousand deaths than have uttered a word of complaint, and all because she loved him. If it be love which closes one's lips, so that one dare not cry out for help, and which makes one defenceless against greater injuries than would be endured from an enemy, then, as I have said before, I will never give up my heart and liberty to any man."

"I tell you, you are an ignorant child, and do not understand what you are talking of. Your heart will not ask you whether you will love or not: when the time comes, all these notions will then give way." After a pause, he again continued: "And did you tell that painter-did you tell him that you feared his harshness?"

"Because he beat and ill-treated her. I remember well the nights when he would come home in a perfect fury. She never spoke a word, and did all he wished; but he would beat her till my heart nearly broke. I used to draw the covering over my head, and pretend to be asleep; but, in truth, I cried all night. And when he saw her lying on the floor, his manner would suddenly change; he would raise her, and clasp her in his arms, close to his heart, till she cried out half-suffocated. My mother forbade me to say a word about it then; but it had such an effect upon her, that, ever since his death, many years again." After this, she remained silent, and ago, she has never regained her health; and if she dies-which Heaven forbid! - I know who will have killed her."

"His eyes looked just like my father's when asking forgiveness of my mother, and trying to make it up with her. I know those eyes; they can be feigned even by a man who beats the wife who has never done him any harm; and I shuddered when I saw them

the priest followed her example. He was thinking of much good advice that he could give to the girl; but the presence of the The little priest shook his head, and seemed young sailor, who, towards the end of the

conversation, had become apparently restless, closed his mouth.

In about the space of two hours, they arrived in the little harbor of Capri. Antonino carried the padre through the surf to the shore; but Laurella would not wait till he had waded back to fetch her she lifted her little skirt, took her wooden shoes in her right hand, the bundle in her left, and splashed sturdily through the water.

"I shall remain some time at Capri today," said the priest, "and you need not wait for me, my son. Indeed, I may possibly not return till to-morrow. Laurella, salute your mother for me when you get home; I shall visit her before the week is out. I suppose you return before night?"

"If there be any opportunity," said the girl, as she arranged something about her dress.

a movement, as though they would excuse
themselves for the accident, and then the girl
continued her walk with firmly closed lips.
It was an hour after noon, and Antonino
had already sat for two hours on the bench
before the little public-house frequented by
the fishermen. Something exciting must have
been passing in his thoughts; for every five
minutes he jumped up, stepped into the sun-
light, and looked carefully along the roads
which led to the right and left towards the
two towns of the island.

"The weather seems doubtful," said he to the hostess, by way of excuse; "it is clear for the moment, but I know how to trust the color of the sky. It looked just so before the last great storm, when I had so much difficulty in getting the English family safe to land. Do you remember it?"

"No," said the woman.

"You know that I must get back," said "Well, then, just think of my words, if Antonino, in what was intended for a very the weather changes to-night." A pause indifferent tone. "I shall wait for you till ensued, interrupted by the hostess, who invespers; and if you are not here by that time,quired:

it does not matter to me.'


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"You must go back, Laurella," put in the little priest; you must not leave your mother alone all night. Have you far to go


"To Anacapri, to a vineyard."

"Are there many families over at your place yet?


They are just beginning to arrive," was the reply. "We have had hard times hitherto."

"It is a late spring. I wonder if you have earned as much as we folks of Capri ?


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"Ah! then our roads do not lie together. I am bound for Capri. The Madonna bless "I should not have contrived to dine even you, my child; and you, too, my son." twice a week on macaroni, if I had to depend Laurella kissed his hand, and uttered a fare solely on my boat,” replied Antonino. well, in which the priest and Antonino might letter or two to be taken to Naples, or to claim an equal share; but the young boat-row out a gentleman occasionally to fish, was man did not seem to perceive it. He took off all I could find to do. But you know my his cap to the priest, but did not even look uncle owns the large orange-garden, and he at Laurella. However, when they had both is a rich man. "Tonino,' he said to me, left him, his eyes but for a moment followed you shall never know want as long as I the priest as he toiled wearily over the shingles, live; and after my death, I have cared for and then they were turned with an eager look you.' And thus, with God's help, I have to the hilly road on the right, up which toiled got through the winter." the girl, her hands over her eyes, to protect them from the scorching rays of the sun.

Before the path was lost between the rocks, she stood still for a moment, as though to take breath, and looked around her. The shore lay at her feet; she was surrounded by the wild island scenery, and the blue ocean gleamed in more than ordinary splendor; indeed, it was a view worthy of some attention. As luck would have it, her eyes, passing over Antonino's boat, met the gaze of its owner fixed upon herself. They both made

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"Has your uncle any children?"

"No; he never married, and was long absent in foreign lands, where he got together many a solid piaster. He proposes now to commence a large fishery, and put me at the head of it, to look after his rights."

"Then you are a lucky and a happy man, Antonino," remarked the hostess. The young seaman shrugged his shoulders.

"Each one has his own burden to bear," said he, as he again arose and looked anxiously on all sides, though he must have

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known a squall could, come but from one in the morning, were awaiting the cooler quarter. portion of the day for their return. Lau"I shall bring you another bottle: your rella was not, however, allowed much time to uncle can pay for it," said the hostess smil-gaze around her, for, before she could prevent ing. it, Antonino had taken her in his arms, and bore her like an infant to the boat. He sprang in after her, and with a few strokes of the oar, they were already in the open water.

"Only a glass, thank you, for your wine is somewhat fiery; my head is already quite hot from it."

"Pooh! it will not affect your blood; you can drink as much as you like. Ah, here comes my husband! You must sit awhile longer, and chat with him." And there, true enough, came the sturdy owner of the little inn, his net hanging over his shoulder, and a red cap above his curly hair. He had been taking some fish to the before-mentioned lady of rank, to set before the little priest of Sorrento. As soon as he caught sight of his guest, he waved him a hearty welcome, and, seating himself beside him on the bench, began talking and asking questions. His wife had just brought out a second bottle of genuine Capri, when footsteps were heard on the sand, and Laurella appeared coming from Anacapri. She nodded hastily, and then stood hesitatingly for a moment. Antonino rose.

"There is a girl of Sorrento, who came early this morning with our worthy pastor, and is obliged to return before night to her sick mother."

Well, well; it is a long time till night," said the fisherman; "she will not refuse a glass of wine. Hollo! wife; bring another iass." "Thank you; I would rather not," said Laurella, still standing at some distance. "Pour it out, wife pour it out; she will be persuaded."

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"Let her alone," said the young seaman; "she is obstinate. If she determines not to lo a thing, heaven and earth will not move her;" and herewith he took a hasty leave, ran down to the boat, loosened the sail, and then stood awaiting his companion. She nodded again to the hostess of the inn, and then approached the boat with hesitating steps. She stopped and looked around on all sides, as though hoping or expecting the arrival of further company, but the shore was untenanted. The fishermen were either sleeping or out in pursuit of their business; some few of the women and children were sitting within their doorways, dozing or spinning; and strangers who had come across

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When they had thus traversed a good part of the way in silence, she was much inconvenienced by the intensity of the heat, and took her bit of bread out of the handkerchief, which she tied over her plaits. Then she began to eat the bread, her only dinner, for not a morsel had crossed her lips at Anacapri. Antonino, after a moment's pause, took from a basket, which had been full in the morming, two oranges.

"Here is something to eat with your bread, Laurella," said he; "but do not think I kept them on purpose for you; they fell out of the basket into the boat, and I found them when I came back from selling the rest."

"Eat them yourself: the bread is enough for me."

"But they are refreshing in this heat, Laurella, and you have walked far."

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'They gave me a glass of water up at the vineyard, and that has already refreshed me.”

"As you will," he replied, letting them fall back into the basket. A renewed silence. The sea was as smooth as glass, and hardly murmured round the keel; even the white seagulls, which build in the caves, moved noiselessly to their prey.

"You might take the oranges to your mother," began Antonino again. "We have some at home still; and when those are finished, I can buy others." "O, just take them to her, with a greeting from me."

"Why, she does not know you!"
"Then you might tell her who I am."

"I do not know you either." It was not the first time she had so disowned his acquaintance. A year before, when the painter first

with you my feelings are well-nigh ungovernable, that my heart has been full, and that I have longed to speak to you? And then you put on that don't-care face, and turn your back to me.'

came to Sorrento, it happened on a Sunday too long, and I only, wonder at my own pathat Antonino, with other young men of the tience. You say you do not know me! town, were engaged, in an open space near Have you not seen long enough that when the principal street, playing at Boccia. It was there the painter first saw Laurella, who, with a pitcher on her head, walked by without observing him. The Neapolitan, struck with her appearance, stood gazing after her, although he was in the very midst of the game, and three steps might have placed him in safety. A hard ball against his ankle must have reminded him this was not a place where he might lose himself in thought. He looked round, as though awaiting an apology; but the young sailor who had thrown the ball stood silently and scornfully in the midst of Nor any one else? You will not always his friends, and the stranger, thinking it ad- speak thus. Because you sent off the painter: visable to avoid a dispute, quietly took his bah! you were only a child then. The day departure. But the matter was talked about, will yet come when you will feel lonely, and and was again brought up when the painter then, foolish as you now are, you will take openly proposed for Laurella. the first good offer."

"I know nothing of him," she said indignantly, when the painter inquired if she refused him for the sake of that uncivil youth. But the circumstance had come to her ears, and when she met Antonino she always recognized him.

And there they sat in the boat like the bitterest enemies, while the hearts of both beat high. Antonino's usually good-tempered face was very red; he lashed the waves till the foam besprinkled him; and his lips trembled occasionally, as though giving vent to evil words. She pretended to observe nothing, put on her most nonchalant air, and, leaning over the side of the boat, let the water trickle through her fingers. Then she took the handkerchief off again, and arranged her hair as though she were quite alone in the boat; but her eyebrows still moved convulsively, and it was in vain she strove to cool her burning cheeks by pressing her wet hands against them.

They had now got about half-way across, and no other boat was visible; the island had been left behind, the coast before them lay far distant in the sunlight, and not even a sea-mew disturbed the solitude. Antonino looked around him. A thought seemed to flash across his mind; the color faded suddenly from his face, and he let the oars fall. Involuntarily, Laurella turned towards him, collected and fearless.

"I must make an end of this!" burst forth the young man ; "it has already lasted

“What had I to say to you? she inquired shortly. "I have indeed remarked that you wished to make my acquaintance; but I had no desire to hear my name in every one's mouth, for no end. Yes, I say for no end, for I should never take you for a husband-neither you nor any one else."


"No one knows his future. It is possible my mind may change; but what is that to you?"

"What is that to me!" he exclaimed, and bounded from his seat, so that every plank quivered. "What is that to me! and you can still ask that when you know the state I am in. Know, then, the miserable wretch shall perish you dare to prefer before me!"

"Have I promised myself to you? Can I help it if your head is turned ? What right have you over me?"

"O," he cried, "it is not written down, to be sure; no lawyer has inscribed it in Latin, and affixed his seal thereto; but this I know, that I have as much right over you as I have to enter heaven if I act uprightly. Do you imagine I will look on when you go to church with another, and the girls pass by me with a shrug of the shoulders? Will I submit to that degradation?

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"Do as you like. I shall not be intimidated, threaten as you will. I suppose, I also may do as I please."


"You shall not say so long," he replied, while every limb shook. "I am man enough not to submit any longer to have my life made miserable by a froward girl. Do you know that you are here in my power, and must do as I will?" She started slightly, and her eyes flashed.

"Kill me, if you dare!" she said slowly. "One must do nothing by halves," he

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