EXERCISE CXXXII.

THE TEMPEST.

GEORGE D. PRENTICE,

1. I never was a man of feeble courage. There are few scenes of either human or elemental strife, upon which I have not looked with a brow of daring. I have stood in the front of the battle when the swords were gleaming and circling around me like fiery serpents in the air. I have seen these things with a swelling soul, that knew not, that recked no danger.

2. But there is something in the thunder's voice, that makes me tremble like a child. I have tried to overcome this unmanly weakness. I have called pride to my aid; I have sought for moral courage in the lessons of philosophy, but it avails me nothing. At the first low moaning of the distant cloud, my heart shrinks and dies within me.

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3. My involuntary dread of thunder had its origin in an incident that occurred when I was a boy of ten years. I had a little cousin, a girl of the same age as myself, who had been the constant companion of my youth. Strange, that, after the lapse of many years, that occurrence should be so familiar to me! I can see the bright young creature, her eyes flashing like a beautiful gem, her free locks streaming as in joy upon the rising gale, and her cheeks glowing, like a ruby, through a wreath of transparent snow.

4. Her voice had the melody and joyousness of a bird's, and when she bounded over the wooded hill, or fresh green valley, shouting a glad answer to every voice of nature, and clapping her little hands in the ecstasy of young existence, she looked as if breaking away, like a free nightingale, from the earth, and going off where all things are beautiful like her.

5. It was a morning in the middle of August. The little girl had been passing some days at my father's house, and

she was now to return home. Her path lay across the fields, and gladly I became the companion of her walk. I never knew a summer morning more beautiful and still. Only one little cloud was visible, and that seemed as pure, and white, and peaceful, as if it had been the incense-smoke of some burning censer of the skies.

6. The leaves hung silent in the woods, the waters in the bay had forgotten their undulations, the flowers were bending their heads, as if dreaming of the rainbow and dew, and the whole atmosphere was of such a soft and luxurious sweetness, that it seemed a cloud of roses scattered down by the hands of a Peri,* from the afar-off garden of Paradise. The green earth and the blue sea lay around, in their boundlessness, and the peaceful sky bent over and blessed them.

7. The little creature at my side was in a delirium of happiness, and her clear, sweet voice came ringing upon the air as often as she heard the tones of a favorite bird, or found some strange and lovely flower in her frolic wanderings. The un broken and almost supernatural stillness of the day continued until near noon. Then, for the first time, the indications of an approaching tempest were manifest.

8. On the summit of a mountain, at the distance of about a mile, the folds of a dark cloud became suddenly visible, and, at the same instant, a hollow roar came down upon the winds, as if it had been the sound of waves in a rocky cavern. The cloud rolled out like a banner unfolded upon the air, but still the atmosphere was as calm, and the leaves as motionless as before; and there was not even a quiver among the sleeping waters to tell of the coming hurricane.

9. To escape the tempest was impossible. As the only resort, we fled to an oak that stood at the foot of a tall and ragged precipice. Here we stood, and gazed almost breathlessly upon the clouds, marshaling themselves like bloody giants in the sky. The thunder was not frequent, but every burst was fearful that the young creature who stood by me, shut her

*See page 81.

eyes convulsively, and clung with desperate strength to my arm, and shrieked as if her heart would break.

10. A few minutes, and the storm was upon us. During the hight of its fury, the little girl lifted her finger toward the precipice that towered over us. I looked, and saw an amethystine peak. And the next moment the clouds opened, the rocks tottered to their foundations, a roar like the groan of the universe filled the air, and I felt myself blinded, and thrown I know not whither. How long I remained insensible, I can not tell; but when consciousness returned, the violence of the tempest was abating, (>) the roar of the winds was dying in the tree-tops, and the deep tones of thunder-clouds came in fainting murmurs from the eastern hills.

11. I rose, and looked tremblingly and almost deliriously around. She was there, the dear idol of my infant love, stretched out upon the green earth. After a moment of irresolution, I went up and looked upon her. The handkerchief· upon her neck was slightly rent, and a single dark spot upon her bosom told where the pathway of death had been. At first, I clasped her to my breast with a cry of agony, and then laid her down, and gazed upon her face almost with feelings of calmness.

12. Her bright, disheveled hair clustered sweetly around her brow; the look of terror had faded from her lips, and infant smiles were pictured there; the rose tinge upon her cheeks was lovely as in life; and, as I pressed them to my own, the fountains of tears were opened, and I wept as if my heart were waters. I have but a dim recollection of what followed. I only know, that I remained weeping and motionless till the coming twilight, and I was taken tenderly by the hand, and led away where I saw the countenances of parents and sister.

13. Many years have gone by on the wings of light and shadow, but the scenes I have portrayed still come over me, at times, with terrible distinctness. The oak yet stands at the base of the precipice, but its limbs are black and dead,

and the hollow trunk looking upward to the sky, as if "call ing to the clouds for drink," is an emblem of rapid and noise. less decay.

14. A year ago, I visited the spot, and the thought of bygone years came mournfully back to me. I thought of the little innocent being who fell by my side, like some beautiful tree of Spring, rent up by the whirlwind in the midst of blos soming. But I remembered,-aud O, there was joy in th inemory!-that she had gone where no lightnings slumber in the folds of the rainbow-cloud, and where the sunlit waters are broken only by the storm-breath of Omnipotence.

EXERCISE CXXXIII.

THE BROKEN-HEARTED.

GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

1. About two years ago, I took up my residence for a few weeks in a country village in the eastern part of New England. Soon after my arrival, I became acquainted with a young lady, apparently about seventeen years of age. She had lost the idol of her heart's purest love, and the shadows of deep and holy memories were resting, like the wing of death, her brow.

upon

She

2. I first met her in the presence of the mirthful. was, indeed, a creature to be admired; her brow was garlanded by the young year's sweetest flowers, and her sunny tresses were hanging beautifully and low upon her bosom; and she moved through the crowd with such floating, unearthly grace, that the bewildered gazer looked almost to see her fade away into the air, like the creation of a pleasant dream.

3. She seemed cheerful, and even gay; yet I saw that her gayety was but the mockery of her feelings. She smiled, but there was something in her smile, which told me that its mourn. ful beauty was but the bright reflection of a tear; and her

secret urn.

eyelids, at times, pressed heavily down, as if struggling to repress the tide of agony that was bursting up from her heart's She looked as if she could have left the scene of festivity, and gone out beneath the quiet stars, and laid her forehead down upon the fresh, green earth, and poured out her stricken soul, gush after gush, till it mingled with the eternal fountain of purity and life.

4. I have lately heard, that the young lady of whom I have poken, is dead. The close of her life was as calm as the falling of a quiet stream; gentle as the sinking of the brecze that lingers for a time round a bed of withered roses, and then dies for very sweetness.

5. It can not be, that earth is man's only abiding place. It can not be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of eternity, to float but for a moment upon its surface, and then sink into nothingness and darkness forever. Else, why is it that the high and glorious aspirations which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts, are forever wandering abroad, unsatisfied?

6. Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse on their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars, which hold their festival around the midnight throne, are set above the grasp of our limited faculties, and forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And, f.nally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to the view, and then taken from us, leaving the thousand streams of the affections, to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our hearts?

7. We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow never fades; where the stars will be spread out before us like the islands that slum ber on the ocean; and where the beautiful beings, that here pass before us like visions, will stay in our presence forever.