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234 xife.
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XIiII.—LIFE.
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Transcript
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
¦» The Suburban Solitude Of The Pichlers...
Iher " Memorabilia of my Life , " which was not given to the world
until after her decease . She now confined herself almost _exclusivelto the society of her own family and of a few old friends
possessing but y still took a collection a lively interest of more in than all new a hundred books , one letters friend received alone ,
irom . her , consisting chiefly of remarks on the works he had sent her for perusal . Infirmity , however , was stealing on ; and at length ,
in 1843 , she gently sank to rest at the age of seventy-four . Caroline Pichler . was , in the fullest sense of the words , a true
German woman , frank and truthful , with feelings deep , but well controlled , and with much strength of character , veiled by extreme
mildness of demeanour . Most of her works are written in a quiet , even stlewhich sometimes degenerates into feeblenessor even
dulness y ; but , the impress of a thoughtful mind and feeling , heart is seen throughoutand her deep sympathy with all that is pure , and
good , and lofty , , can hardly fail both to interest and affect her
xeaders .
234 Xife.
234 xife .
Xiiii.—Life.
XIiII . —LIFE .
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«Is it life , to spend unheeding All the wealth of life ' s rich prime
While the golden sands are speeding , Through the trembling glass of time ?
Is it life , to join the revel Of the worshippers of niirth
While the war of good and evil , Rolls its thunder through the earth ?
Is it life , to doze , and dozing See the race of life begun
, Then to wake and find we ' re losing When the race is all but run ?
Is it life , to mourn and languish And to sit with folded hands
When one struggle more may van , quish , One more effort burst our bands ?
What ' s the end of our existence , But to perfect as we
Pressing onward throug may h , the , distance To the beaconing of day ?
Boldly all true hearts must rally At the heart's own trumpet-call :
Up , and leave the languid valley Where the heavy , . shadows fall ,
j . \
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Citation
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English Woman’s Journal (1858-1864), Dec. 1, 1862, page 234, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/ewj/issues/ewj_01121862/page/18/
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