The literary echo. (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1851, 1851-05-08

| the graves around, ana neeQeQ not to be
told that the hoary grandsire of the flock
was about to be gathered to his fathers
The coffin was lowered into its silent rest
ing place The body was committed to
the ground, 'earth to earth, ashes to ash
es, dust to dust" Then the tears of man.
hood were poured forth; and the wailing of
woman, with the passionate grief Of child
hood struck my ear. [, too, could have
wept, if the sweet form of infancy, the
blighted bud of hope, were laid to moul-
der in an untimely grave. could have
wept, if youth or beauty, in the bright
morning of life, were called suddenly away
to the fearful tomb. | could have wept if
the pride of manhood had bowed to the
blast of Death But l saw before me an
aged pilgrim-one who had drank his full
of the cup of life-who was weary of earth's
cares and tolls, and sought the repose
which the tomb alone could give. And as
| thought thereon, the fountain of my tears
was dried AS / gazed down upon the
coffin, the inscription of the tablet seemed
to forbid the rising tear. My heart swelled
with grief for the bereaved mourners : but
when | thought upon the dead, | could
not mourn Even the grief of those around
me, seemed selfish and unkind The few
rites were shortly ended. The turf was
placed upon the heaving mould; and one
by one, Tho throng, with lingering gaze,
passed away
l was alone. 1 seated myself near the
old mans grave, and the scene had just
witnessed, passed, like some remembered
dream, in review be ore me. | thought Of
the grief of the mourners. 1t was natural,
and perhaps proper Nature will not
yield an idol without pang | thought
Of the quiet sleeper who reposed in his hum
BILE bed beneath me. knew him not.
But my heart yearned toward him. Fan
cy painted to me his whitened locks, his
furrcwed brow, and his tottering form /;
and [ felt that the "clods Of the valley"
must be "sweet unto him" | fingered
till the shades of evening were gathering
around, and the cold dew fell heavily upon
me, and then with sad regret | turned to
depart. Yet once more | paused, again
to bless the hallowed bed of the sleeper.
Tears of love aid sorrow had bedewed the
turf above him. But how could | weep :
YES" thought I, as my steps again sought
my own dwelling, chow can l mourn that
tho old man has composed his weary limbs
to rest How can | mourn that he has
laid his aching head where no care can
Gomez He has lived to good old age.
He has stood, as it were, upon the grave
of his generation His memory has lin
gered with the dead His heart has dwelt
in the tomb. And now, that he himself
has passed within its tranquil portal, Sin
a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh
in in his season." how shall 1 not rather
bid him joy at his release? What could
he do but die : When the flame of Life
has burned low, to the socket-when it
trembles painfully at every breath-what
cln await it but to expire? Happy, if it
hath done its office well Happy ifit hath
not "lead to bewilder, nor dazzled to
blind !" Happy if it hath shed kindly
glow in this vale Of darkness For then
it shall be re-lighted amid the glory of
COPS own Paradise, and "shall shine like
the brightness of the frmament," and Gas
the stars for ever and ever !"