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Old Songs
Marienne Sinclaire sat in her room one
quiet afternoon at the end of August arranging
her letters and papers.
Disorder surrounded her. Large leather trunks
and iron-tipped boxes had been dragged into the
room, and her clothes covered chairs and sofas.
Everything had been brought from wardrobes and
garret and ebonized chests of drawers; silks and
linen gleamed; her jewelry was laid out to be
polished; shawls and furs were to be looked over and
a choice made.
Marienne was preparing for a long journey. It
was uncertain if she would ever return. She stood
at a turning-point of her life, and she was burning a
number of old letters and diaries. She did not wish
to be burdened by remembrances of the past.
While sitting thus, she found a little bundle of
old verses in her hands. They were copies of some
old folk songs which her mother used to sing to
her when she was a child. She untied the cord that
held them together and began to read.
She smiled sadly after reading for a short time;
the old songs held such wonderful wisdom.
Trust not in happiness, trust not in the expression
of happiness, nor in roses and dewy leaves.
Trust not in a laugh, they said. See! Beautiful
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Project Runeberg, Sun Dec 10 03:55:33 2023
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