The ocean may roll its waves, the warring winds may join their forces, the thunders may shake the skies,* and the lightnings pass, swiftly, from cloud to cloud: but not the forces of the elements, combined, not the sounds of thunders, nor of many seas, though they were united into one peal, and directed to one point, can shake the security of the tomb. The dead hear nothing† of the tumult; they sleep soundly; they rest from their calamities upon beds of peace. Conducted to silent mansions, they cannot be troubled by the rudest assaults, nor awakened by the loudest clamour. The unfortunate, the oppressed, the broken-hearted, with those that have languished on beds of sickness, rest here together: they have forgot their distresses; every sorrow is hushed, and every pang extinguished. Hence, in all nations, a set of names have arisen to convey the idea of death, congenial with these sentiments, and all of them expressive of supreme felicity and consolation. How does the human mind, pressed by real or imagined calamities, delight to dwell upon that, awful event which leads to deliverance, and to describe and solicit it with the fairest flowers of fancy! It is called the harbour of rest, in whose deep bosom the disastered mariner, who had long sustained the assaults of adverse storms, moors his wearied vessel, never more to return to the tossings of the wasteful ocean. It is called the land of peace, whither the friendless exile retires, beyond the reach of malice and injustice, and the cruelest arrows of fortune. It is called the hospitable house, where the weather-beaten traveller, faint with traversing pathless de. serts, finds a welcome and secure repose. There no cares molest, no passions distract, no enemies defame; there agonizing pain, and wounding infamy, and ruthless revenge, are no more; but profound peace, and calm passions, and security which is immoveable. "There the wicked cease from troubling; there the weary are at rest! There the prisoners rest together! they hear not the voice of the oppressor! The small and the great are there, and the servant is free from his master!" * Pron. skeiz. + Pron. nuth-ing. LESSON XXIV. On the custom of planting flowers on the graves of departed friends.-BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE. To 'scape from chill misfortune's gloom, Since, in the tomb, our cares, our woes, To die!-what is in death to fear? And, when anew that flame shall burn, power, How would the gentle bosom beat, The love, that in my bosom glows, O, thou who hast so long been dear, Thy gentle hand will sweets bestow, And, when the rose-bud's virgin breath LESSON XXV. Thoughts of a young man in the prospect of death.HENRY K. WHITE. SAD, solitary Thought, who keep'st thy vigils, The tender bond that binds my soul to earth. And though, to me, life has been dark and dreary, The shuddering void, the awful blank-futurity. Ay, I had planned full many a sanguine scheme Fifty years hence, and who will hear of Henry? Henceforth, O world, no more of thy desires! LESSON XXVI. The Grave.- BERNARD BARTON. I LOVE to muse, when none are nigh, It seems a mournful music, meet Sad though it be, it is more sweet I know not why it should be sad To nature it seems just as dear The showers descend as softly there "Ay! but within-within, there sleeps And what of that? The frame that feeds The reptile tribe below, As little of their banquet heeds, As of the winds that blow. LESSON XXVII. The Fall of the Leaf.-MILONOV.* THE autumnal winds had stripped the field Of all its foliage, all its green; The winter's harbinger had stilled That soul of song which cheered the scene With visage pale, and tottering gait, As one who hears his parting knell, I saw a youth disconsolate :- He came to breathe his last farewell. "Thou grove! how dark thy gloom to me! Thy glories riven by autumn's breath! * From Bowring's Russian Anthology, Vol. II |