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shadows； the marble figures of the monuments assumed strange shapes in
the uncertain light； the evening breeze crept through the aisles
like the cold breath of the grave； and even the distant footfall of
a verger； traversing the Poet's Corner； had something strange and
dreary in its sound。 I slowly retraced my morning's walk； and as I
passed out at the portal of the cloisters； the door； closing with a
jarring noise behind me； filled the whole building with echoes。
I endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind of the objects I
had been contemplating； but found they were already fallen into
indistinctness and confusion。 Names； inscriptions； trophies； had all
become confounded in my recollection； though I had scarcely taken my
foot from off the threshold。 What； thought I； is this vast
assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury of humiliation； a huge pile of
reiterated homilies on the emptiness of renown； and the certainty of
oblivion！ It is； indeed； the empire of death； his great shadowy
palace； where he sits in state； mocking at the relics of human
glory； and spreading dust and forgetfulness on the monuments of
princes。 How idle a boast； after all； is the immortality of a name！
Time is ever silently turning over his pages； we are too much
engrossed by the story of the present； to think of the characters
and anecdotes that gave interest to the past； and each age is a volume
thrown aside to be speedily forgotten。 The idol of to…day pushes the
hero of yesterday out of our recollection； and will； in turn； be
supplanted by his successor of tomorrow。 〃Our fathers；〃 says Sir
Thomas Brown； 〃find their graves in our short memories； and sadly tell
us how we may be buried in our survivors。〃 History fades into fable；
fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy； the inscription
moulders from the tablet； the statue falls from the pedestal。 Columns；
arches； pyramids； what are they but heaps of sand； and their epitaphs；
but characters written in the dust？ What is the security of a tomb； or
the perpetuity of an embalmment？ The remains of Alexander the Great
have been scattered to the wind； and his empty sarcophagus is now
the mere curiosity of a museum。 〃The Egyptian mummies； which
Cambyses or time hath spared； avarice now consumeth； Mizraim cures
wounds； and Pharaoh is sold for balsams。〃*
* Sir T。 Brown。
What then is to insure this pile which now towers above me from
sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums？ The time must come when its
gilded vaults； which now spring so loftily； shall lie in rubbish
beneath the feet； when； instead of the sound of melody and praise； the
wind shall whistle through the broken arches； and the owl hoot from
the shattered tower… when the garish sunbeam shall break into these
gloomy mansions of death； and the ivy twine round the fallen column；
and the fox…glove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn； as if in
mockery of the dead。 Thus man passes away； his name perishes from
record and recollection； his history is as a tale that is told； and
his very monument becomes a ruin。
THE END
。