* * * * *
ELINOR.
A Sentimental Sketch.
----“Ah! how cold the wind blows!” said a tall female, as she descended
from a white cliff which over-hung the sea. I raised my eyes wistfully
to her face. I saw it was traced by the hand of Beauty, and not by the
tear of Misery. The fresh breeze blew through her loose garments, and
cast her brown hair in disordered, but beautiful masses over her naked
bosom: her eyes were sweet and blue, but they rolled with the quickness
of phrenzy as she approached. “Who are you?” asked I, with emotion,
taking her hand within mine. “They call me Wild Elinor!” answered she,
in a soft but hurried voice, eyeing some flowers.--“I am very poor--I
have no home--I have lost my lover----
“Beneath yon wave
Is Edwin’s grave!”
repeated she, in a musical tone. “But, come back with me, and see it.
I strew it every day with flowers, and weep sometimes----But--I can’t
now!” She stopped, and sighed; then, putting her hand on her breast---“I
am very unhappy, stranger! O my breaking heart!” Her voice died away.
I thought reason gleamed in her eye, as she sunk on the sod. I stooped
to raise her falling frame. She lifted her large blue orbs towards me
with silent gratitude: a soft bloom spread her pallid cheek; and,
articulating “Edwin!” fell lifeless on the earth.
“Thy gentle spirit is now at rest!” said I, bending pensively over her
clay. “But, oh! what agonies must have torn thy heart, luckless maid!
when returning _reason shewed thee all thy wretchedness_, and when that
wretchedness cut the thread of thy existence! Cold, cold is the
loveliest form of Nature! closed is the softest eye that ever poured a
beam on mine! That form must now moulder in the dust! that eye must no
longer open on the world!” The tears gushed as I spoke. I fell on the
earth beside her corpse: the warm drops of sensibility washed the marble
of her bosom---my heart heaved with agony. I was a _man_, and I gloried
in my tears!----