Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1850-08-29
The Grave of rhs.e we Love.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

vi INC soul manIIeSts lis superiority
,. the instructive impulse of mere an
NAL attachment. The latter must |
continually refreshed and kept aliv
0 by the presence Of its object; but III
0 love that is seated in the soul ca
y live on long remembrance. Th
Y mere inclinations of sense languisI
y and decline with the charms, whic
; excited them, and turn with shudder
ing and disgust from the dismal pre-
!, cincts of the tomb; but It is thenc
that truly spiritual affection rises pu
rifed from every sensual desire, ant
returns like holy fame, to illumin'
D and sanctify the heart OF the survi
5 vor.
The sorrow for the dead is the on
} y sorrow from which we refuse tc
be divorced. Every other would we
seek TO heal-every other affection
TO forget-but this would we con.
slider it a duty to keep open; this af.
lection we cherish and brood over in
solitude. Where is the mother who
would willingly forget the infant
that perished like a blossom from her
arms, though every recollection is a
pengl Where is the child who
would willingly forget the most ten
der Of parents, though but to re-
member, be but to lamenti Who,
even in the hour of agony, would for
get the friend over whom he mourns7
Who, even when the tomb is clos
ing upon the remains of her he most
loved, when he feels his heart as it
were, crushed in the closing of its
portal, would accept of consolation
that must be bought by forgetful-
nessl
No-the love that survives the
tomb is one of the noblest attributes
of the soul. Ifis has woes, it has
likewise its delights; and when the
overwhelming burst of griefis calm
ed into the gentle tear of recollec-
tion--when the sudden anguish and
the conyulsive agony over the pres
ent ruins of all that we most loved,
is soltened away into pensive medita-
ton on all thatit was in the days of IFS
loveliness-who would root out such
a sorrow from the hearth Though
it may sometimes throw a passing
cloud over the bright hour of gaiety,
or spread deeper sadness over the
hour Of gloom, yet who would ex-
change it even for the song Of pleas
ure, or the burst of revelry? No
there is voice from the tomb sweet
er than song. There is a remem-
brance CT the dead to which we turn
even from the charms of the living.
Oh, the grave! 1t burries every er-
ror-coVers every defect, extinguish-
es every resentment! From IFS |
peaceful bosom spring nothing but
fond regrets and tender recollections.
Who can look down upon the grave
even of an enemy, and not feel a
compunctious throb, that he should |
ever have warred with the poor
handful OF earth that lies beneath |
him.
But the grave Of those we love-
what a place OF meditationl There
it is that we call up in long review
the whole history of virtue and gen.
tleness, and the thousand endear-
ments lavished upon US almost un-
needed in the daily intercourse of in
timacy; there it is that the tender
ness, the solemn, awful tenderness OF
the parting scene, the bed Of death!
with all its stihed grief its noiseless
attendancel its mute, watchful assid-
uitiesl the last testimonial of expiring
lovel the feeble, futtering, thrilling |
-ohl how thrilling-pleasure OF the
hand! the last fond look of the gaz-
ing eye, turning upon US even from
the threshold OF existence! the faint,
faltering acce n is, struggling in
death to give one more assurance Of
effection.
Ay, go to the grave of buried
love, and mediate! There settle the
account with thy. conscience for eve-
cry past benefit unrequited, every |
past endearment unregarded, of that
departed being, who can never, nev-
er return to be soothed by the con-
triton.
IL thou art a child, and hast ever
added sorrow to the soul, or fur
row to the silvered brow of an af-
fectionate parent-if thou art hus-
band, and hast ever caused the fond
bosom that ventured its whole hap
piness in thy arms, to doubt for one
moment of thy kindness or thy truth;
if thou art friend that hast ever
wronged, in thought, or word, or
deed, the spirit that generously con-
fided in thee--if thou art a lover,
and has ever given one unmerited
pang to that true heart which now
lies cold and still beneath thy feet,
then be sure that every uukind look,
every ungracious word, every un-
gracious action will come thronging