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Updated: June 17, 2025
"There comes Philothea, her face all aglow: She has just been dividing some poor creature's woe, And can't tell which pleases her most, to relieve His want, or his story to hear and believe. No doubt against many deep griefs she prevails, For her ear is the refuge of destitute tales; She knows well that silence is sorrow's best food, And that talking draws off from the heart its black blood."
She had not learned the mystery of awaking Those chorded keys that soothe a sorrow's aching, Giving the dumb heart voice, that else were breaking. Yet lived, wrought, suffered. Lo, the pictured token! Why should her fleeting day-dreams fade unspoken, Like daffodils that die with sheaths unbroken?
"London: that's pretty far off." "I suppose you are anxious to bring him to justice, Mrs. Gum?" "No, sir, not now; neither me nor Gum," shaking her head. "Time was, sir my lord that I'd have walked barefoot to see him hanged; but the years have gone by; and if sorrow's not dead, it's less keen, and we'd be thankful to let the past rest in peace. Oh, my lord, don't rake him up again!"
During this interval she touched still more closely upon sorrow's crown of sorrow in remembering happier things, by writing to Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who had escaped from his prison in Ireland to France, and giving him certain necessary information about the house she had left, and which he was about to occupy. She reached London in April, 1795. Her gloomiest forebodings were confirmed.
King Chico read his lady's note and silent laid it down; Then to the window he drew nigh, and gazed upon the town; And lost in thought he pondered upon each tender line, And sudden tears and a sigh of grief were his inward sorrow's sign. And he called for ink and paper, that Vindaraja's heart Might know that he remembered her and sought to heal its smart.
"There comes Philothea, her face all aglow: She has just been dividing some poor creature's woe, And can't tell which pleases her most, to relieve His want, or his story to hear and believe. No doubt against many deep griefs she prevails, For her ear is the refuge of destitute tales; She knows well that silence is sorrow's best food, And that talking draws off from the heart its black blood."
'Ah, my good young lady, you can't deceive an old woman like me. I know what your heart is heavy over; your sorrow's not an uncommon one. Sure, I have been young too, darling. I have been through that trouble too. Yes. And I'll tell you something, for your goodness to me; you've won a good man, not a light of love, you cling to him alone; cling to him stronger than death.
And thus would the enemy of Christianity presume to comfort us with his "essentials," when our living Lord is gone! Comfort indeed! "Comfort? comfort scorn'd by devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things!" But what can the unbeliever himself expect to gain by its destruction?
A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things, and the sight of Reggie in that room reminded him that on the last occasion when they had talked together across this same table it was he who had been in a Fool's Paradise and Reggie who had borne a weight of care. Reggie this morning was brighter than the shining sun and gayer than the carolling birds.
MELCHTHAL. And if the queen laments within her bower, Accusing heaven in sorrow's wild despair; Here see a people from its anguish freed. To that same heaven send up its thankful praise, For who would reap regrets must sow affection. But where is Tell? Shall he, our freedom's founder, Alone be absent from our festival? He did the most endured the worst of all.
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