THE BROKEN HEART. 
125 
dwell on that conld soothe the pang of separation 
— none of those tender, though melancholy, cir¬ 
cumstances that endear the parting scene •— noth¬ 
ing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, 
like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the 
parting hour of anguish. 
To render her widowed situation more desolate, 
she had incurred her father’s displeasure by the 
unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from the 
parental roof. But could the sympathy and kind 
offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked 
and driven in by horror, she would have experi¬ 
enced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a 
people of quick and generous sensibilities. The 
most delicate attentions were paid her by families 
of wealth and distinction. She was led into soci¬ 
ety, and tried all kinds of occupation and amuse¬ 
ment to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the 
tragical story of her lover. But it was all in vain. 
There are some strokes of calamity that scath 
and scorch the soul — that penetrate to the vital 
seat of happiness, and blast it, never again to 
put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to 
frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as 
much alone there as in the depths of solitude. 
She walked about in sad revery, apparently un¬ 
conscious of the world around her. She carried 
within her an inward woe that mocked all the 
blandishments of friendship, and “ heeded not the 
song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely.” 
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