ETTER LXIV.
HARRINGTON to WORTHY.
Harriot is dead—and the
world to me is a dreary defert---I prepare
to leave it---the satal pistol is charged---it
lies on the table by me, ready to perform its
duty---but that duty is delayed till I take
my last farewel of the best of friends.
YOUR letter is written with the impetuosity
of an honest heart; it expresses great
sincerity and tenderness.
I THANK you for all your good advice—
it comes too late—O Worthy! she is dead
---she is gone---never to return, never again
to cheer my heart with her smiles and her
amiable manners---her image is always before
me---and can I forget her?---No!---
She is continually haunting my mind, impressing
the imagination with ideas of excellence---but
she is dead---all that delighted
me is become torpid---is descended into
the cold grave.
With thee
Certain my refolution is to die;
How can I live without thee—how forego
Thy converfe sweet, and love so dearly join'd,
To live again in these wild woods forlorn?
loss of thee
Will never from my heart—no! no!—I feel
The link of nature draw me.
From thy state
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe.
THOU hast fat out on a long journey—
but you shall not go alone—I hasten to overtake
thee. My refolution is not to be diverted—is
not to be shaken—I will not be
afraid—I am inexorable—
—I HAVE just seen my father—he is
dejected—fullen grief is fixed on his brow—
he tells me I am very ill—I looked at Myra
—she wiped her face with her handkerchief
—perhaps they did not imagine this was the
last time they were to behold me.
SHE mentioned the name of Worthy,
but my thoughts were differently engaged.
She repeated your name, but I took no heed
of it.—Take her, my Worthy—Myra is a
good girl—take her—comfort her. Let not
my departure interrupt your happiness—perhaps
it may for a short time. When the
grass is grown over my grave, lead her to it,
in your pensive walks—point to the spot
where my ashes are deposited—drop one tear
on the remembrance of a friend, of a brother—but
I cannot allow you to be grieved—
grieve for me! Wretch that I am—why do
I delay—
—I WISH I could be buried by the
side of her, then should the passenger who
knows the history of our unfortunate loves,
say—“ Here lies Harrington and his Harriot—in
their lives they loved, but were unhappy—in
death they sleep undivided.”—
Gaurdian spirits will protect the tomb which
conceals her body—the body where every
virtue delighted to inhabit.—
DO not judge too rashly of my conduct—
let me pray you to be candid—I have taken
advantage of a quiet moment, and written
an Epitaph—If my body were laid by her's,
the inscription would be pertinent. Let no
one concerned be offended at the moral I
have chosen to draw from our unfortunate
story.
—MY heart sinks within me—the
instrument of death is before me—farewel!
farewel!—My soul sighs to be freed from
its confinement—Eternal Father! accept
my spirit—Let the tears of sorrow blot
out my guilt from the book of thy
wrath.
