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though trembling and weeping on his account, she played, without fault in
time, or error in note, the hymn written to celebrate the creation of the
adorned earth, soon to be her tomb.
We came to her like visitors from heaven itself; her high-wrought courage;
her hardly sustained firmness, fled with the appearance of relief. With a
shriek she rushed towards us, embraced the knees of Adrian, and uttering
but the words, "O save my father!" with sobs and hysterical cries, opened
the long-shut floodgates of her woe.
Poor girl!--she and her father now lie side by side, beneath the high
walnut-tree where her lover reposes, and which in her dying moments she had
pointed out to us. Her father, at length aware of his daughter's danger,
unable to see the changes of her dear countenance, obstinately held her
hand, till it was chilled and stiffened by death. Nor did he then move or
speak, till, twelve hours after, kindly death took him to his breakless
repose. They rest beneath the sod, the tree their monument;--the hallowed
spot is distinct in my memory, paled in by craggy Jura, and the far,
immeasurable Alps; the spire of the church they frequented still points
from out the embosoming trees; and though her hand be cold, still methinks
the sounds of divine music which they loved wander about, solacing their
gentle ghosts.
[
1] Burke's Reflections on the French Revolution.
553
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