'Tis a joy nursed in the warm glow of
hope; but who shall reveal the depths of its despair? 'Twas given to man
as his best boon--his most precious gift; but his own hands polluted the
shrine--marred the beauteous and holy deposit. The loveliest image was
then smitten with deformity, and that passion, the highest and noblest
that could animate his bosom, became the bane of his happiness, the
destroyer of his peace, and the source whence every attribute of woe
hath sprung to afflict and darken the frail hopes of humanity. This may
be the dark side of the picture; but unless the breath of heaven
sanctify even the purest affections of our nature, they are a withering
blast, blighting its fairest verdure--a torment and a curse!
The following narrative, floating but indistinctly on the author's
memory, and in all probability attached to other names in localities
widely apart, is yet, he believes, true as to the more important
particulars. The site of a few cottages in a romantic dell in the
neighbourhood of Rochdale is still associated with the memory of the
unfortunate Earl of Tyrone. It is yet called "Tyrone's Bed.
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