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Untitled Article
Mine be that holy , humble tribulation—No longer " feigned distress , fantastic woe ; " I know my griefs—but then , my consolation , My trust , and my immortal hopes I know . * 4 Solitary Hours , * pp . 79 , 80 .
She was now become acquainted with actual sorrow ; the stern realities of our mortal nature were unveiled before her ; and a truer knowledge of death—not the death of the poet ' s dream and the young enthusiast ' s fancy , a gentle sleep-like slipping away , amid the tears of friends and lovers , from present being to a charmed repose , and a visioned immortality in the flowery valleys , and by the crystal streams , of perpetual felicity ; but the death of a darkened , tortured , yet struggling physical framedeath preceded by strange sinkings of hearty by a wearing and wasting from day to day , and week to week , as it were in the consuming furnace of protracted agony—death inconceivably grim and ghastly in its aspect , surrounded not by a halo of poetic charms and pensive attractions , but by a stern , immitigable rending of bonds and hopes then found to be dearer than life itself , and with a prospect before it ineffably awful , —a new and untried being to be entered upon , and its conditions dependent on the responsibilities of the past . The effect of these momentous discoveries may be readily imagined upon a heart so sensitively alive in its affections as that must be whose real language is spoken in the following stanzas , which have appeared in various places , and with various names appended .
* I never cast a flower away The gift of one who cared for me—A little flower—a faded flower—But it was done reluctantly . I never looked a last adieu To things familiar , but my heart Shrank with a feeling , almost pain , Even from its lifelessness to part .
I never spoke the word " Farewell , *' But with an utterance faint and broken ; An earth-sick longing for the time When it shall never more be spoken . ' p . 132 .
There is , perhaps , no language in which so many poems founded on the domestic affections exist as in ours ; there are fcw poets of any eminence from whose works you might not draw such poems of the most beautiful kind ; but for deep pathos , it
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The JVritintt * and Genius of Caroline Bowles . 341
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), May 2, 1834, page 341, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2633/page/29/
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