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expand1997 (1)
1Author:  Flint Timothy 1780-1840Add
 Title:  The Shoshonee Valley  
 Published:  1997 
 Subjects:  University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 
 Description: At Length the south breeze began once more to whisper along the valley, bringing bland airs, spring birds, sea fowls, the deep trembling roar of unchained mountain streams, a clear blue sky, magpies and orioles, cutting the ethereal space, as they sped with their peculiar business note, on the great instinct errand of their Creator to the budding groves. The snipe whistled. The pheasant drummed on the fallen trunks in the deep forest. The thrasher and the robin sang; and every thing, wild and tame, that had life, felt the renovating power, and rejoiced in the retraced footsteps of the great Parent of nature. The inmates of William Weldon's dwelling once more walked forth, in the brightness of a spring morning, choosing their path where the returning warmth had already dried the ground on the south slopes of the hills. The blue and the white violet had already raised their fair faces under the shelter of the fallen tree, or beneath the covert of rocks. The red bud and the cornel decked the wilderness in blossoms; and in the meadows, from which the ice had scarcely disappeared, the cowslips threw up their yellow cups from the water. As they remarked upon the beauty of the day, the cheering notes of the birds, the deep hum of a hundred mountain water-falls, and the exhilarating influence of the renovation of spring, William Weldon observed in a voice, that showed awakened remembrances—`dear friends, you have, perhaps, none of you such associations with this season, as now press upon my thoughts, in remembrances partly of joy and sadness. Hear you those million mingled sounds of the undescribed dwellers in the spring-formed waters? How keenly they call up the fresh recollections of the spring of my youth, and my own country! The winter there, too, is long and severe. What a train of remembrances press upon me! I have walked abroad in the first days of spring.— When yet a child, I was sent to gather the earliest cowslips. I remember my thoughts, when I first dipped my feet in the water, and heard these numberless peeps, croaks, and cries; and thought of the countless millions of living things in the water, which seemed to have been germinated by spring; and which appeared to be emulating each other in the chatter of their ceaseless song. How ye return upon my thoughts, ye bright morning visions! What a fairy creation was life, in such a spring prospect! How changed is the picture, and the hue of the dark brown years, as my eye now traces them in retrospect.— These mingled sounds, this beautiful morning, these starting cowslips, the whole present scene brings back 1* the entire past. Ah! there must be happier worlds beyond the grave, where it is always spring, or the thoughts, that now spring in my bosom, had not been planted there.' Minister of Jesus—A wretch in agony implores you by Him, who suffered for mankind, to have mercy upon him. He extenuates nothing. The vilest outrage and abandonment were his purpose. He confesses, that he deserves the worst. His only plea is, that he was ruined by the doting indulgence of his parents. Luxury and pleasure have enervated him, and he has not the courage to bear pain. Death is horror to him, and Oh, God! Oh, God!—the terrible death of a slow fire. Christ pitied his tormentors. Oh! let Jessy pity me. The agony is greater, than human nature can bear. Oh! Elder Wood, come, and pray with, and for `They have unbound my hands, and furnished me with the means of writing this. They are dancing round the pile, on which I am to suffer by fire. My oath, that I would possess thee, at the expense of death and hell, rings in my ears, as a knell, that would awaken the dead. Oh God! have mercy. Every thing whirls before my eyes, and I can only pray, that you may forget, if you cannot forgive
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