Kitabı oku: «Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848», sayfa 4

TO LYDIA – WITH A WATCH

BY G. G. FOSTER

 
So well has time kept you, my love,
Unfaded in your prime,
That you would most ungrateful prove,
If you did not keep time.
 
 
Then let this busy monitor
Remind you how the hours
Steal, brook-like, over golden sands,
Whose banks love gems with flowers.
 
 
And when the weary day grows dark,
And skies are overcast,
Watch well this token – it will bring
The morning true and fast.
 
 
This little diamond-fooled sprite,
How soft he glides along!
How quaint, yet merry, singeth he
His never-ending song!
 
 
So smoothly pass thine hours and years,
So calmly beat thy heart —
While both our souls, in concert tuned,
Nor hope nor dream apart!
 

A NIGHT ON THE ICE

BY SOLITAIRE

A love for amusement is one of those national peculiarities of the French people which neither time nor situation will ever eradicate, for, be their lot cast where it may, amid the brilliant salons of Paris, or on the outskirts of civilization on the western continent, they will set apart seasons for innocent mirth, in which they enter into its spirit with a joyousness totally devoid of calculation or of care. I love this trait in their character, because, perhaps, my own spirits incline to the volatile. I like not that puritanical coldness of intercourse which acts upon men as the winter winds do upon the surface of the mountain streams, freezing them into immovable propriety; and less do I delight in that festivity where calculation seems to wait on merriment. Joy at such a board can never rise to blood heat, for the jingle in the mind of cent. per cent., which rises above the constrained mirth of the assembly, will hold the guests so anchored to the consideration of profit and loss, that in vain they spread a free sail – the tide of gayety refuses to float their barks from the shoal beside which they are moored. In their seasons of gayety the French are philosophers, for while they imbibe the mirth they discard the wassail, and wine instead of being the body of their feasts, as with other nations, it is but the spice used to add a flavor to the whole. I know not that these remarks of mine have aught to do with my story, but I throw them out by way of a prelude to – some will say excuse for – what may follow.

In the winter of 1830 it was my good fortune to be the guest of an old French resident upon the north-western frontier, and while enjoying his hospitality I had many opportunities of mingling with the habitans of Detroit, a town well known as one of the early French settlements on the American continent. At the period of which I write, the stranger met a warm welcome in the habitation of the simple residents – time, progress and speculation, I am told, have somewhat marred those friendly feelings. The greedy adventurer, by making his passport to their hospitality a means of profit, has planted distrust in their bosoms, and the fire of friendship no longer flashes up at the sound of an American's voice beneath their roof. To the all absorbing spirit of Mammon be ascribed the evil change.

While residing with my friend Morell, I received many invitations to join sleighing parties upon the ice, which generally terminated on the floor of some old settler's dwelling upon the borders of the Detroit, Rouge, or Ecorse rivers; where, after a merry jaunt over the frozen river, we kept the blood in circulation by participating in the pleasures of the dance. At one of these parties upon the Rouge I formed two very interesting acquaintances, one of them a beautiful girl named Estelle Beaubien, the other, Victor Druissel. Estelle was one of those dark-eyed lively brunettes formed by nature for the creation of flutterings about the hearts of the sterner sex. She was full of naive mischief, and coquetry, and having been petted into imperial sway by the flattery of her courtiers, she punished them by wielding her sceptre with autocratic despotism – tremble, heart, that owned her sway yet dared disobey her behests! In the dance she was the nimblest, in mirth the most gleeful, and in beauty peerless. Victor Druissel was a tall, dark haired young man, of powerful frame, intelligent countenance, quiet easy manners, and possessed of a bold, dark eye, through which the quick movings of his impassioned nature were much sooner learned than through his words. He appeared to be devoid of fear, and in either expeditions of pleasure or daring, with a calmness almost unnatural he led the way. He loved Estelle with all that fervor so inherent in men of his peculiar temperament, and when others fluttered around her, seemingly winning lasting favor in her eyes, he would vainly try to hide the jealousy of his nature.

When morning came Druissel insisted that I should take a seat in his cutter, as he had come alone. He would rather have taken Estelle as his companion to the city, but her careful aunt, who always accompanied her, would not trust herself behind the heels of the prancing pair of bays harnessed to Victor's sliding chariot. The sleighs were at length filled with their merry passengers, and my companion shouting allons! led the cavalcade. We swept over the chained tide like the wind, our horses' hoofs beating time to the merry music of their bells, and our laughter ringing out on the clear, cold air, free and unrestrained as the thoughts of youth.

"I like this," said Victor, as he leaned back and nestled in the furry robes around us. "This is fun in the old-fashioned way; innocent, unconstrained, and full of real enjoyment. A fashionable ball is all well enough in its way, but give me a dance where there is no formality continually reminding me of my 'white kids,' or where my equanimity is never disturbed by missing a figure; there old Time seldom croaks while he lingers, for the heart merriment makes him forget his mission."

On dashed our steeds over the glassy surface of the river, and soon the company we had started with was left far behind. We in due time reached Detroit, and as I leaped from the sleigh at the door of my friend's residence, Victor observed:

"To-morrow night we are invited to a party at my uncle Yesson's, at the foot of Lake St. Clair, and if you will accept a seat with me, I shall with pleasure be your courier. I promise you a night of rare enjoyment."

"You promise then," said I, "that Estelle Beaubien will be there."

He looked calmly at me for a moment.

"What, another rival?" he exclaimed. "Now, by the mass one would think Estelle was the only fair maiden on the whole frontier. Out of pity for the rest of her sex I shall have to bind her suddenly in the bonds of Hymen, for while she is free the young men will sigh after no other beauty, and other maids must pine in neglect."

"You flatter yourself," said I. "Give me but a chance, and I will whisper a lay of love in the fair beauty's ear that will obliterate the image you have been engraving on her heart. She has listened to you, no other splendid fellow being by, but when I enter the lists look well to your seat in her affections, for I am no timid knight when a fair hand or smile is to be won."

"Come on," cried he, laughing, "I scorn to break lance with any other knight. The lists shall be free to you, the fair Estelle shall be the prize, and I dare you to a tilt at Cupid's tourney."

With this challenge he departed, and as his yet unwearied steeds bore him away, I could hear his laugh of conscious triumph mingling with the music of his horses' bells.

After a troubled sleep that day, I awoke to a consciousness of suffering. I had lost my appetite, was troubled with vertigo, and obstructed breathing, which were sure indications that the sudden change from heated rooms to the clear, cold air, sweeping over the ice-bound river, had given me a severe influenza. My promise of a tilt with Victor, or participation in further festivity, appeared abrogated, for a time at least. I kept my bed during the day, and at night applied the usual restoratives. Sleep visited my pillow, but it was of that unrefreshing character which follows disease. I tossed upon my couch in troubled dreams, amid which I fancied myself a knight of the olden time, fighting in the lists for a wreath or glove from a tourney queen. In the contest I was conscious of being overthrown, and raised myself up from the inglorious earth upon which I had been rolled, a bruised knight from head to heel. When I awoke in the morning the soreness of every joint made me half think, for a moment, that I had suffered some injury while in sleeping unconsciousness; but, waking recollection assigned a natural cause, and I bowed my fevered head to the punishment of my imprudence. An old and dignified physician was summoned to my bed-side, who felt my pulse, ordered confinement to my room, and the swallowing of a horrible looking potion, which nearly filled a common-sized tumbler. A few days care, he said, would restore me, and with his own hands he mixed my dose, placed it beside me upon a table, and departed. I venerate a kind and skillful physician; but, like all the rest of the human family, his nauseous doses I abhor. I looked at the one before me until, in imagination, I tasted its ingredients. In my fevered vision the vessel grew into a monster goblet, and soon after it assumed the shape of a huge glass tun. Methought I commenced swallowing, fearful that if I longer hesitated it would grow more vast, and then it seemed as if the dose would never be exhausted, and that my body would not contain the whole of the dreadful compound. I dropped off again from this half-dreamy state into the oblivion of deep sleep, and remained unconscious of every thing until awoke in the evening by the chiming of bells beneath my window. I had scarcely changed my position before Victor, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, walked into my room.

"Why, my dear fellow," cried he, on seeing me nestled beneath the cover, with a towel round my head by way of a night-cap, "what is all this? Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Oh no," answered I, "only sore bones, and an embargo on the respiratory organs. That mixture" – calling his attention to the tumbler – "will no doubt set all right again."

"Pah!" he exclaimed, twisting his face as if he had tasted it, "I hope you don't resort to such restoratives."

"So goes the doctor's orders," said I.

"Oh, a pest on his drugs," says Victor. "Why didn't you call me in? I'm worth a dozen regular practitioners in such cases, especially where I am the patient. Come, up and dress, and while you are about it I will empty this potion out of the window, we will then take a seat behind the 'tinklers,' and before the night is over, I will put you through a course of exercise which has won more practice among the young than ever the wisest practitioner has been able to obtain for his most skillfully concocted healing draughts."

"I can't, positively, Victor," said I. "It would cost me my life."

"Then I will lend you one of mine, without interest," said he. "Along you must go, any how, so up at once. Think, my dear boy, of the beauty gathering now in the old mansion at the foot of Lake St. Clair."

"Think," said I, "of my sore bones."

"And then," he continued, unmindful of my remark, "think of the dash along the ice, the moon lighting your pathway, while a cluster of star-bright eyes wait to welcome your coming."

"Oh, nonsense" said I, "and by that I mean your romance. If through my imprudence I should have the star of my existence quenched, the lustre of those eyes would fail in any effort to light me up again, and that is a matter worth consideration."

Even while I talked to him I felt my health rapidly improving.

"What would the doctor say, Victor," inquired I, "if he came here and found me out? Nothing would convince him that it wasn't a hoax, shamelessly played off upon his old age, and he would never forgive me."

"Not so," says Victor, "you can take my prescription without his knowing it, and it is as follows: First and foremost, toss his medicine out of the window, visit uncle's with me and dance until morning, get back by daylight, go to bed and take a nap before he comes, and take my word for it he will pronounce your improved state the effect of his medicine."

"It would be madness, and I cannot think of it," replied I, half disposed at the same time to yield.

"Then I pronounce you no true knight," said he, "I will report to Estelle the challenge that passed between us, and be sure she will set you down in her memory as a timid gentleman!"

"Oh, stop," said I, "and I will save you that sneer. I know that out of pure dread of my power you wish to kill me off; but I will go, nevertheless, if it is to death, in the performance of my duty."

"What duty do you speak of," inquired he.

"Taking the conceit out of a coxcomb," said I.

"Bravo!" he shouted, "your blood is already in circulation, and there are hopes of you. I will now look to the horses." Indulging in a quiet laugh at his success, he descended the staircase.

It was a work of some labor to perform the toilet for my journey, but at length Dr. B.'s patient, well muffled up, placed himself beneath a load of buffalo robes, and reversing the doctor's orders, which were peremptory to keep quiet, he was going like mad, in the teeth of a strong breeze, over the surface of Detroit river.

The moon was yet an hour high above the dark forest line of the American shore, and light fleecy clouds were chasing each other across her bright disc, dimming her rays occasionally, but not enough to make traveling doubtful. A south wind swept down from the lake, along the bright line of the river, but it was not the balmy breeze which southern poets breathe of in their songs. True it had not the piercing power of the northern blast, but in passing over those frozen regions it had encountered its adversary and been chilled by his embrace. It was the first breath of spring combating with the strongly posted forces of old winter, and as they mingled, the mind could easily imagine it heard the roar of elemental strife. Now the south wind would sound like the murmur of a myriad of voices, as it rustled and roared through the dark woods lining the shore, and then it would pipe afar off as if a reserve were advancing to aid in holding the ground already occupied; anon the echo of a force would be heard close in by the bluff bordering the stream, and in a moment more, it was sweeping with all its strength and pride of power down the broad surface of the glittering ice, as if the rightfulness of its invasion scorned resistance. Sullen old winter with his frosty beard and snow-wreathed brow, sat with calm firmness at his post, sternly resolved to yield only when his power melted before the advancing tide of the enemy.

"Our sport on the ice is nearly at an end," remarked Victor. "This south wind, if it continues a few days, will set our present pathway afloat. Go along!" he shouted, excitedly, to his horses, following the exclamation by the lash of his whip. They dashed ahead with the speed of lightning, while the ice cracked in a frightful manner beneath the runners of our sleigh for several rods. I held my breath with apprehension, but soon we were speeding along as before.

"That was nigh being a cold bath," quietly observed Victor.

"What do you mean?" inquired I.

"Did you not see the air-hole we just passed?" he inquired in turn.

"It was at least ten yards long, and we came within six inches of being emptied into it before I noticed the opening."

I could feel my pores open – moisture was quickly forced to the surface of my skin at this announcement, and I inwardly breathed a prayer of thanks for our escape.

But a short time elapsed ere the hospitable mansion of Victor's uncle appeared in sight, with lights dancing from every window, and our good steeds, like couriers of the air, scudded over the polished surface toward these pleasant beacons. We were soon able to descry forms flitting before the window, and as we turned up the road leading from the lake to the dwelling, Victor whispered —

"I recognize the person of Estelle standing by yonder window, remember our challenge."

"I shall not forget it," said I, as we drew up before the portal.

Consigning our panting steeds to two negro boys, and divesting ourselves of extra covering, we were soon mingling in the "merrie companie." Estelle was there in all her beauty, her dark eyes beaming mischief, her graceful actions inviting attention, and her merry laugh infecting all with its gleeful cadences. Victor was deep in the toils, and willingly he yielded to the bondage of the gay coquette. Now she smiled winningly upon him, and again laughed at his tender speeches. He besought her to dance with him, and she refused, but with such an artless grace, such witching good humor, and playful cruelty, that he could not feel offended. I addressed her and she turned away from him. I had not presumption enough to suppose I could win a maiden's heart where he was my rival, but I thought that, aided by the coquetry of Estelle, I could help to torture the victim – and I set about it; nay, further, I confess that as she leaned her little ear, which peeped out from a cluster of dark curls, toward my flattering whisper, I fancied that she inclined it with pleasure; but, then, the next moment my hopes were dissipated, for she as fondly smiled on my rival.

A flourish of the music, and with one accord the company moved forward to the dance. Estelle consented to be my partner. Victor was not left alone, but his companion in the set might as well have been, for she frequently had to call his attention to herself and the figure – his eye was continually wandering truant to the next set, where he was one moment scanning with a lover's jealousy a rival's enjoyment, and the next gazing with wrapt admiration upon the beautiful figure and graceful movements of his mistress. The set was ended, and the second begun – Victor being too slow in his request for her hand, she yielded it to another eager admirer. The third set soon followed, and laughingly she again took my arm. The fourth, and she was dancing with a stranger guest. As she wound through the mazes of the dance, arching her graceful neck with a proud motion, her eye, maliciously sportive, watched the workings of jealousy which clouded Victor's brow. He did not solicit her hand again, but stood with fixed eye and swelling throat, looking out upon the lake. I rallied him upon his moodiness, and told him he did not bear defeat with philosophy.

"Your dancing," said he, "would win the admiration of an angel;" and his lip curled with a slight sneer.

I did not feel flattered much, that he attributed my success to my heels instead of my head, and I carelessly remarked that perhaps he felt inclined to test my superior powers in some other method. He looked at me firmly for a moment, his large, dark eye blazing, and then burst into a laugh.

"Yes," said he, "I should like to try a waltz with you upon the icy surface of the lake."

"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of conceit – you know that is my purpose here to-night."

Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in the night air to cool his fevered passions.

"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the Indian fishermen, far out on the lake – they are spearing salmon-trout – we will go see the sport."²

I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through the clear, cold atmosphere.

"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."

"If the bare thought fills you with fear," he answered, "I have no desire for your company. The dance within, I see, is more to your mind."

Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered not how far the fit took him.

"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.

"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest negro boy.

"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen want wid such tings at de ball?"

"It is too hot in the ball-room," answered Victor; "myself and friend, therefore, wish to try a waltz on the ice."

"Yah, yah, h-e-a-h!" shouted the negro, wonderfully tickled at the novelty of the idea, "well, dat is a high kick, please goodness – guess you can't git any ob de ladies to try dat shine wid you, h-e-a-h!"

"We shall not invite them," said Victor, through his teeth.

"Well, dar is de poles, massa," said the negro, handing him a couple of saplings about twelve feet long. "You better hab a lantern wid you, too, else you can't see dat dance berry well."

"A good thought," said Victor; "give us the lantern."

It was procured, lighted, and together we descended the steep bluff to the lake's brink. He paused for a moment to listen – revelry sounded clearly out upon the air of night, nimble feet were treading gayly to the strains of sweet music, and high above both, yet mingling with them, was heard the merry laughter of the joyous guests. Ah, Victor, thought I, trout are not the only fish captured by brilliant lights; there is a pair dancing above, yonder, which even now is driving you to madness. I shrunk from the folly we were about to perpetrate, yet had not courage enough to dare my companion's sneer, and turn boldly back; vainly hoping he would soon tire of the exploit I followed on.

Running one pole through the ring of our lantern, and placing ourselves at each end, we took up our line of march for the light ahead. Victor seizing the end of the other sapling slid it before him to feel our way. At times the beacon would blaze up as if but an hundred yards ahead, and again it would sink to a spark, far away in the distance. The night wind was now sweeping down the lake in a tornado, sighing and laboring in its course as if pregnant with evil – afar off, at one moment, heard in a low whistle, and anon rushing around us like an army of invisible spirits, bearing us along with the whirl of their advance, and yelling a fearful war-cry in our ears. The beacon-light still beckoned us on. My companion, as if rejoicing in the fury of the tempest which roared around us, burst into a derisive laugh.

"Thunder would be fit music, now," said he, "for this pleasant little party" – and the words were scarcely uttered, ere a sound of distant thunder appeared to shake the frozen surface of the lake. The pole he was sliding before him, and of which he held but a careless grip, fell from his hands. He stooped to pick it up, but it was gone; and holding up our lantern to look for it, we beheld before us a wide opening in the ice, where the dark tide was ruffled into mimic waves by the breeze. Our sapling was floating upon its surface.

"This way," said Victor, bent in his spirit of folly to fulfill his purpose, and skirting the yawning pool, where the cold tide rolled many fathoms deep, we held on our way. We thus progressed nearly two miles, and yet the ignus fatuus which tempted us upon the mad journey shone as distant as ever. Our own feeble light but served to show, indistinctly, the dangers with which we were surrounded. I was young, and loved life; nay, I was even about to plead in favor of turning toward the shore that I might preserve it, when my companion, his eye burning with excitement, turned toward me, and raising his end of the sapling until the light of the lantern fell upon my face, remarked,

"You are pale – I am sorry I frightened you thus, we will return."

With a reckless pride that would not own my fears, even though death hung on my footsteps, I answered with a scornful laugh,

"Your own fears, and not mine, counsel you to such a proceeding."

"Say you so," says he, "then we will hold on until we cross the lake;" and with a shout he pressed forward; bending my head to the blast, I followed.

I had often heard of the suddenness with which Lake St. Clair cast off its winter covering, when visited by a southern breeze; and whether the heat of my excitement, or an actual moderation of cold in the wind sweeping over us was the fact, I am unable to determine, but I fancied its puff upon my cheek had grown soft and balmy in its character; a few drops of rain accompanied it, borne along as forerunners of a storm. While we thus journeyed, a sound like the reverberation of distant thunder again smote upon our ears, and shook the ice beneath our feet. We suddenly halted.

"There is no mistaking that," said Victor. "The ice is breaking up – we will pursue this folly no further."

He had scarcely ceased speaking, when a report, like that of cannon, was heard in our immediate neighborhood, and a wide crevice opened at our very feet, through which the agitated waters underneath bubbled up. We leaped it, and rushed forward.

"Haste!" cried my companion, "there is sufficient time for us yet to reach the shore before the surface moves."

"Time, for us, Victor," replied I, "is near an end – if we ever reach the shore, it will be floating lifeless amid the ice."

"Courage," says he, "do not despond;" and seizing my arm, we moved with speed in the direction where lights streamed from the gay and pleasant mansion which we had so madly left. Ah, how with mingled hope and fear our hearts beats, as with straining eyes we looked toward that beacon. In an instant, even as we sped along, the ice opened again before us, and ere I could check my impetus, I was, with the lantern in my hand, plunged within the flood. My companion retained his hold of me, and with herculean strength he dragged me from the dark tide upon the frail floor over which we had been speeding. In the struggle, the lantern fell from my grasp, and sunk within the whirling waters.

"Great God!" exclaimed Victor, "the field we stand upon is moving!" – and so it was. The mass closed up the gap into which I had fallen; and we could hear the edges which formed the brink of the chasm, crushing and crumbling as they moved together in the conflict. We stood breathlessly clinging to each other, listening to the mad fury of the wind, and the awful roar of the ice which broke and surged around us. The wind moaned by us and above our heads like the wail of nature in an agony, while mingling with its voice could be distinctly heard the ominous reverberations which proclaimed a general breaking up of the whole surface of the lake. The wind and current were both driving the ice toward the Detroit river, and we could see by the lights on the shore that we were rapidly passing in that direction. A dark line, scarcely discernible, revealed where the distant shore narrowed into the straight; but the hope of ever reaching it died within me, as our small platform rose and sunk on the troubled waves.

While floating thus, held tightly in the grasp of my companion, his deep breathing fanning my cheek, I felt my senses gradually becoming wrapt with a sweet dream, and so quickly did it steal upon me, that in a few moments all the peril of our position was veiled from my mind, and I was reveling in a delightful illusion. I was floating upon an undulating field of ice, in a triumphal car, drawn by snow-white steeds, and in my path glittered a myriad gems of the icy north. My progress seemed to be as quiet as the falling of the snow-flake, and swift as the wind, which appeared drawn along with my chariot-wheels. To add to this dreamy delight, many forms of beauty, symmetrical as angels, with eyes radiant as the stars of night, floated around my pathway. Though their forms appeared superior to earth, the tender expression of their eyes was altogether human. Their ethereal forms were clad in flowing robes, white as the wintry drift; coronets of icy jewels circled their brows, and glittered upon their graceful necks; their golden hair floated upon the sportive wind, as if composed of the sun's bright rays, and the effect upon the infatuated gazer at these spirit-like creations, was a desire not to break the spell, lest they should vanish from before his entranced vision. To add to the charm of their power they burst into music wild as the elements, but yet so plaintively sweet, that the senses yielded up in utter abandon to its soothing swell. I had neither the power nor the wish to move, but under the influence of this ravishing dream, floated along in happy silence, a blest being, attended by an angel throng, whose voluptuous forms delighted, and whose pleasing voices lulled into all the joys of fancied elysium.

From this dream I was aroused to the most painful sensations. The pangs of death can bear no comparison to the agony of throwing off this sleep. Action was attended with torture, and every move of my blood seemed as if molten lead was coursing through my veins. My companion, by every means he could think of, was forcing me back to consciousness; but I clung with the tenacity of death to my sweet dream. He dashed my body upon our floating island; he pinched my flesh, fastened his fingers into my hair, and beat me into feeling with the power of his muscular arm. Slowly the figures of my dream began to change – my triumphal car vanished – dark night succeeded the soft light which had before floated around me, and the fair forms, which had fascinated my soul by their beauty, were now changed into furies, whose voices mingling in the howl of the elements, sounded like a wail of sorrow, or a chaunt of rage. They looked into my eyes with orbs lit by burning hatred, while they seemed to lash me with whips of the biting wind, until every fibre in my frame was convulsed with rage and madness. I screamed with anguish, and grasping the muscular form of my companion, amid the loud howl of the storm, amid the roar of the crushing ice, amid the gloom of dark night upon that uncertain platform of the congealed yet moving waters, I fought with him, and struggled for the mastery. I rained blows upon his body, and he returned them with interest. I tried to plunge with him into the dark waters that were bubbling around us, but he held me back as if I were a child; and in impotent rage I wept at my weakness. Slowly our perilous situation again forced itself upon my mind. I became conscious that a platform, brittle as the thread of life, was all that separated me from a watery grave; and I fancied the wind was murmuring our requiem as it passed. Hope died within me; but not so my companion.