Then may our souls together reign,
On yonder bright, aerial plain,
And shout a loud, seraphic strain,
In happiness, my brother.
The Twins
It was a sad day in autumn, pale, withering autumn, when a little
group of friends collected round the cradle of an infant of a few
weeks, who had tasted the cup of life, and now was turning seemingly
disappointed away from the bitter portion. The mild blue eyes were
raised to heaven, and that heavenly angelic expression, so peculiar
to expiring infancy rested upon his face, which was lovely in the
extreme, though wasted by disease. He was tenacious of life, and
lingered long in the embrace of the pale messenger, although the eye
was dim and the wrist pulseless.
The father, mother, sister, and brother, and grandmother, sat watching
the quivering flame that would rally for a few moments, then wane
again. Near by sat the nurse, bearing upon her lap the little twin
sister, who had her birth at the same hour with him, and who, like him
too, was passing away.
How soon they wearied of life, those frail, gentle ones, and the angel
came to bear them to a brighter, holier world, where the purity of
their sinless spirits should remain untarnished by the blight and
pollutions of earth.
We watched till the sun went down in the western sky, dim and shadowy,
enshrined long before his setting by a yellow autumnal haze, that cast
a melancholy subduing shade over the face of decaying nature that hung
out her fading flowers and withered leaves, as a token of the sad
change that was passing in her realm, while the evening breeze, as it
swayed the branches of the trees, bearing many a leaf to the ground,
and drifting them before his melancholy breath, seemed sighing a sad
requiem over departed glory.
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