_Harrington_ to _Worthy_.
_Boston._
SHE is gone—she is dead—she who was the most charming, the
most gentle, is gone—You may come—you may desire to behold all that was
lovely—but your eyes will not see her.
YES! I raved—I was distracted—but now I am calm and dispassionate—I am
smooth as the surface of a lake—I shall see her again.
WHEN our spirits are disencumbered of this load of mortality, and they
wing their flight to the celestial regions, shall we not then know those
who were dear to us in this world? Shall we not delight in their
society, as we have done in this state of existence? Yes—certainly we
shall—we shall find them out in Heaven—there alone is happiness—there
shall I meet her—there our love will not be a crime—Let me indulge this
thought—it gives a momentary joy to my heart—it removes the dark mist
that swims before my eyes—it restores tranquility; but the more I
reflect on this thought—the more I long to be there—the more I detest
this world and all it contains. I sigh to fly away from it.