About to cross an ocean for the first time – with the possibility of never returning.
Prophetic strains, addressed to my past & present pupils, on the eve of departure.
My children! whose minds are born of mine – whose hearts beat a filial pulse – the
spirit of prophecy must be written & published in another form: Come! Go, prosper!
How dark this midnight hour: dark as gloom. Oh let me weep, a coquette said. After
music at midnight, I saw a rose, torn from the parent tree, hang her sweet head. The
eye, mystic source of wondrous meaning, pleading herald of the heart, intervening. It
is said that the wild boy found in the woods of Averon could utter but one word: alone.
How sad, how doleful is the sighing tone of him that feels and speaks alone – alone!
Ladies and Gentlemen, just now you spied how I came within an ace of being a bride.
Willard, Emma Hart. The Fulfilment of a Promise. New York: White, Gallaher & White, 1831. https://archive.org/details/fulfilmentofprom00will/page/n8/mode/1up