ELINOR.
A SENTIMENTAL SKETCH.
—“Ah! how cold the wind blows!” said a tall female, as she descended from a white cliff which over-hung the sea. I raised my eyes wistfully to her face. I saw it was traced by the hand of Beauty, and not by the tear of Misery. The fresh breeze blew through her loose garments, and cast her brown hair in disordered, but beautiful masses over her naked bosom: her eyes were sweet and blue, but they rolled with the quickness of phrenzy as she approached. “Who are you?” asked I, with emotion, taking her hand within mine. “They call me Wild Elinor!” answered she, in a soft but hurried voice, eyeing some flowers.—“I am very poor—I have no home—I have lost my lover——
“Beneath yon wave
Is Edwin’s grave!”
repeated she, in a musical tone. “But, come back with me, and see it. I strew it every day with flowers, and weep sometimes——But—I can’t now!” She stopped, and sighed; then, putting her hand on her breast---“I am very unhappy, stranger! O my breaking heart!” Her voice died away. I thought reason gleamed in her eye, as she sunk on the sod. I stooped to raise her falling frame. She lifted her large blue orbs towards me with silent gratitude: a soft bloom spread her pallid cheek; and, articulating “Edwin!” fell lifeless on the earth.
“Thy gentle spirit is now at rest!” said I, bending pensively over her clay. “But, oh! what agonies must have torn thy heart, luckless maid! when returning reason shewed thee all thy wretchedness, and when that wretchedness cut the thread of thy existence! Cold, cold is the loveliest form of Nature! closed is the softest eye that ever poured a beam on mine! That form must now moulder in the dust! that eye must no longer open on the world!” The tears gushed as I spoke. I fell on the earth beside her corpse: the warm drops of sensibility washed the marble of her bosom---my heart heaved with agony. I was a man, and I gloried in my tears!——
DE BURGHE.
For sources, see the [end of this file].