CHAPTER XVI.

SORROW.

THE eye of earthly sorrow is generally securely hidden by the lid, and directed to the ground; the brow taking the same direction. Poor Sorrow has nothing to show or boast of, it is generally its own nurse and physician. The portrait tells that all vivacity is gone, the nerves are all agitated at the root, whilst a multiplicity of sensations and impressions are all acting, and imparting to those eyes tenderness, devotion, and meditation. The rapidity with which the ideas and idealities of sorrow flow is so great, that many pass away without submitting themselves to observation. The facility with which woman receives impressions, must be suggestive of rapid change: this continual versatility in the nervous system is always operating on the eye; and, whilst it denies the existence of that steady and lengthened condensation which the eye of man pourtrays, yet there is often a graceful and fascinating mournfulness depicted in the eye, which is a true portrait of the heart: there love hovers, as the first attribute of life. Woman walks amidst hopes, fears, and troubles as a prophetess, angel, and companion; she lives to hope, and hopes to live, to find compensation for the humiliations and woes with which she is often surrounded, and too often by that one whom her heart has selected as her companion. This lady is talking to herself, we think we hear her say :

My summer now is gone, so quickly spent,

'Tis neither mazzy dance, nor gallant love, or joy

Can wake it from the dead.-Once, once indeed,
And only once, I loved. Ah, who can tell
When first the new-born infant opes its eye,
And drinks the light of heaven, what mystic thrill
Of joy extatic, then from nerve to nerve
Through this, of all the portals to the brain
Most complicate, attends that rushing beam!
'Tis even thus with passion's first wild throb
In youth's young soul: 'tis indefinable;
And all we know is, that it gave a zest,
An impetus unto the tide of life,

That until then had sluggish been and dull.
Oh, 'tis a gift from heaven! and could it last,
I could not wish for any other light

Than the bright trance of love.

Once more we meet down by the rocky shore,
Fix'd by his love.-Ah! in this wilderness,
"Twill cheer this soul, and yield some passing ray

To tempt this fluttering soul awhile to stay.
Ah! there the happy sea-bird tells her tale
To her loved mate: together scale o'er storms,

Which rend those high materialities,
Which bound their wild domain of angry seas.
But when the saucy winds have ceased to chide,
Their glistening eyes with undulations shine:
Fearless and proud, they ride,

And watch the crested waves to rocks incline.
Come, Sorrow, hug thy child in cold embrace,
Gently take down the tabernacle slow:

These eyes may no more gaze on that loved face,
And all the world is now a world of woe.

Sorrow has lovely shades, in which it were well sometimes to sit. She has cooling streams for feverish worldliness. She has medicines which are better than wine. She has an altar for pious vows, and a cold, dreary sepulchre for those who despise her visitations.