Burlington hawk-eye. [volume] (Burlington, Iowa) 1845-185?, 1850-06-06
sELLEFoNTAINE CEMETERY

The Address delivered Dy fIoi. >. w. EosE ~
the dedication Of the ssGod's Garden" near St
Louis On the 18th inst. was NEST beautiful andeo-
auent as ali his efforts are. We would like to
copy the whole, but cannot. The following ex-
tracts win bear US out in our commentator Ed.
HAwK.EyE.
Fellow ClTIzEss: We are come hith-
or to-day on no Ordinary errand. No
civic iestivi,y, or literary rs-union, no
schievement OF Commerce, or JOY Of Vic
sssy. 3 gathers As this day amid these scenes
Of nature, this green and wooded secluslon.
We are come, lis true, TO found Cily
-oi your own emporium the shadow, the
counter part, the home to grow with lis
growth, and beceme populous with its
people--yet city for no living men:
City for the Dead, We found this day.
Not in pride come we. In no vain am
bition to wres,le with our mortal state, or
rescue ,hese bodies from corruption, or
our names from oblivion. Too well, alas,
we know,
.sNor storied urn, nor animated bust,
Back to its mansion calls the feeting breath;
Nor Honor's voice provokes the silent DUST,
Nor Flattery soothes the dull, cold ear OF DEATH.
| In no such dream Of the children OF
| pride, but as under common doom, we
come on an errand Of love and SORROW
We come to consecrate a place to the sad
prcprieties OF grief, the last Offices Of
earthly affection, the holy memories ofthe
dead, and The repose OF the grave-to hal
low sanctuary for remembrance and love
and tears--to thoughts that walk again
life's. pilgrimage with the departed, or see
the faces faded and lost from earth, bright
ening in the smile Of God. We come to
select the last home for families, and
friends, and forms we love most dearly
Yea, 10 choose the place Of our own final
rest. where memory, perchance, may drop
| over our dust the .'tribute OF tear."'
=
Natural taste and sensibility again plead
for the rural cemetery. A seemly and
beautiful sepulcher amid the jos'le, and
din, and offence. Of sight and sound in the
tamult Of the city! 1t is impossible! In
the city church yard, on the borders o'
our crowded and reeking thoroughfares,
mid the clang, and clamor, and dust. and
the tramping Of feet, and the rattling Of
wheels, it seems as IL the buried could no,
rest. We can hardly disabnse the mind
Of the painful illusion, that the turmoil OF
mortal life may still perturb even the
.leepers Of the grave. The sensibilities
Of the monrner are shocked by the ming.
ling Of vulgar and protane life with the
awe and silence Of the house Of DEATH
Meditation fees such scenes-:he sancti-
" Of private griefis outraged. The faces
OF the departed will not come to greet
your thought in such scenes, and the sen.
sitive spirit hastes to hide its wound
away from the stare and curiosity Of the
passing crowd. No, not there. but ir
seclusion, silence and solitude, grief loves
to seek the face Of the dead, and commune
with its memories and hopes; where the
earth, with its Silly life, grows green n
lis time, and Spring comes forth with its
flowers, beautiful and vuiceless !; and sum
mer passes in a solemn Sabbath glory
and pensive Autumn throws its seemly
shrcud Of fading loveliness over the dying
wear and the desolate Winter keeps re-
| iigiously, at least, the fitting loneliness
and stiffness Of the tomb.
We love TO seek converse with sorrow
| and the dead, where the outer worit
seems in sympathy with the mourner
where the trees gather in Gothic solemn
ty and Cathedral gloom around the grave
and where Nature, with her touching 81
militudes Of her own brief bloom, am
transient summer beauty Of her swift de
cav and sure renewal Of life, may imsg
the brief how Of our mortal being; il
hasting decadence and its immortal hope
In such scenes, where the rose en-
h,ems r. us our life's feet Summer; an