BY FRANCES H. WHIPPLE.
"NAY, listen to me, Lilian! I'm not mad.
Linger and listen. I would tell a tale-
Oh, God! sustain me !--but 't will wring thy heart,
I would not grieve thee-thee, my only friend!
But yet I cannot--how can I forego
I'll hold it thus in mine.
And look not on me; for I cannot bear
That thou should'st feel disgust-that thou should'st loathe,
Though the sharp hiss of universal scorn
Has been my only greeting from the world.
Lilian, thou hast dear woman's gentleness,
Without her vanity. O, thou might'st lead
The noble and the great in pleasant thrall,
Casting such chains as men delight to wear;
Yet, dearest, thou art mine--the friend of him
Who has no other. Yes, I owe thee much."
Mine--all mine the debt !
Do I not owe thee all I value most
Treasures of intellect, the wealth of mind ?--
What had I been this moment, but for thee?
O, cold will be this heart ere I forget
My endless debt of gratitude and love!"
She turned her blue eyes on him, with the tears Softening their lustre, like the pearly gems
Of dew in violets. The little hand
Trembled within its confines. One low sigh
Escaped his quivering lips.
Reprove, condemn, or scorn me; but do not,
For my sake and thy own, O do not be
Thus kind, thus gentle, or I shall forget
Yet leave me not;
Within this shapeless clod
A spirit dwelleth, fervid, pure, and high,
As thy own spotless one. It loveth thee
And cannot do thee wrong-would not for worlds.
"Be calm and hear me dearest Lilian.
A living curse I came into the world;
And when I was an infant-ay, a babe,
My little, hideous, melancholy face
Drew nought but hatred on me. Then I learned,
Ere I could syllable the simplest word,
The worth of beauty; for I saw it give
All that a child desireth unto him,
My bright eyed brother. He was beautiful.
My mother loved him ;-but she hated me!
I've seen his dimpling arms around her neck;
And, looking on him, her expressive eye
Was one rich gush of love! Then how I longed
To cling there too, and share her dear embrace! But, oh, if I drew near, a cold repulse,
A loathing look, a shudder of disgust,
Told me how dear I was. Yet, even then,
My heart was burning, bursting with its love,
That yearned to gush, nor asked a meet return.
But nothing loved me. My old ugly nurse,
The dogs, the horses; yea, the very cat,
Read in my crouching brow-my skinny limbs,
The brand of hate, and loathed the cursed one!
Even when a child I prayed, I longed for death!
The grave could have no terror; and the worm,
With all its slimy length twined in my hair,
Or knotted in my bosom, could not loathe
The form he feasted on; and this was joy!
The noisome reptile seemed to me a friend!
"O, dry thy tears, dear Lilian! Do not weep!
I cannot bear to see thee weep for me!
I envied every thing, for nothing lived
Cut off from love and its sweet fellowship,
With one accursed exception! The poor moth
That fluttered for an hour, and then was gone,
Had brethren like itself. The vilest thing
Knew kindred, and the claims of kindred love!
There was an idiot child, inert as clay,
I envied for his very senselessness,
And wildly prayed that I might be like him!
O, had I met one kind, one gentle look,
One token of affection, I had been
Happy despite my fatal ugliness;
And I had loved with more than human power!
But crushed affections petrified within ;
And all my latent love to hatred turned,
Creating gangrene to corrode itself.
"The measured wrath not yet had touched the brim. Heaven gave a little sister. Months went by,
I durst not look upon her. She was kept
Far from the frightful monster.
At times, a passing glimpse. How fair she was!-
Her little cherub form-her silvery voice-
Her thousand beauties-thousand witcheries--
Mocked me with all their loveliness; and then
My spirit's venom took a bitterer depth !-
I hated her!I hated that fair child
With half a thought of murder! But, at length,
One pleasant eve, as little Marion sat
Twining her fingers in the chesnut curls
Of my fair brother, in her gleeful sport
She pulled the silken mesh. Enraged with pain,
He flung her, screaming, on the marble floor!
She looked to me for comfort--looked to me!
Merciful God! I thank thee, even now,
For but the memory of that blessed look!
I clasped her in my arms. She clung to me.
She laid her cheek to mine; and, sobbing low,
She murmured, in her sweet imperfect way,
The name of brother! Nature taught the word;
How, else, could she have given the name to me?
The flint burst quick within me and the ice
That lay beneath was melted into tears.
The gushing torrent checked me.
How day by day she loved me?
Like one awaking from a horrid dream--
Waking to life, and happiness and love?
They could not tear her from me.
Or cherub pity for the hated one,
Made that angelic spirit all my own.
I only lived when with her-only slept
That I might dream of her. A thought of death
Would sometimes cross my brain and madden me!
The augury was prophetic. She grew ill.
I watched by her. I never left her couch
For one long, awful week-and then, she died.
The light of my existence was put out!
The living fountain of my desert failed!
"My former bitterness with awful strength Gathered back its tide, and overwhelmed my soul; And festering deep within the sorest part,
The venom lay of disappointed hope :
And then the beaker of my lot was full!
"I watched the body. None could tear me thence. When none were by to blame, or to forbid,
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