My tears would flow in vain;
If I could waste my heart in sighs,
They’ll never come again!
Old times! old times!
XII.—THE BROKEN HEART.
IRVING.
Washington Irving was born in the City of New York, in 1783 and died in 1859. His writings are deservedly popular. His “Sketch Book,” “Life of Goldsmith,” “Life of Columbus,” “Conquest of Granada,” and other works, have made him as well known to European as to American readers.
1. Every one must recollect the tragical[89] story of young Emmet, the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and executed[90] on a charge of treason. He was so young, so intelligent, so generous, so brave, so everything that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled[91] the charge of treason against his country, the eloquent vindication of his name, and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation, all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.
2. But there was one heart whose anguish it would be impossible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor[92] of a woman’s first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his sufferings. If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have been the agony of her whose whole soul was occupied by his image! Let those tell who have had the portals[93] of the tomb suddenly closed between them and the being they most loved on earth, who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that was most lovely and loving had departed.
3. But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonored! there was nothing for memory to dwell on, that could soothe the pangs of separation, none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances, which endear the parting scene, nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent like the dews of heaven to revive the heart in the parting hour of anguish.