Nashville union and American. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1868-1875, 1870-01-25
TEE IVY STONE.
..Ny own, MY Lost, WY neautlFuI.,,

TEE IVY STONE.
MY own, My Lost, My Beautiful
We presume that few of our readers who
have visited the Nashville Cemetery, have
failed to observe near the centre of the
metropolis large, unshapely stone, resting |
upon grave, the sleeper in which to most |
visitors is unknown. Rough and rugged /
as though torn from the rocky ribs of the |
mountains side by some quick upheaval or |
jerking CONFUSION of the earth, that rock |
has rested there, more unique, more at |
tractive and more suggestive than had it |
been fashioned and polished with the cum |
ningest and most elaborate skill by Michael |
Angelo himself Solid and eranite-like as
the one rolled away from the sacred sepul- |
-chre on the resurrection morn, when the |
upper walls of Heaven broke asunder in the |
Ascension hour, that stone is all covered |
thick with ivy now, that clings to it close |
and fresh, and green, as heart-chords of |
love itself. Emma Alvine" has tenderly |
turned aside some of these vine-tendrils,
and In the last number of the Pearl
has given us the sad heart-history of
OF thus lvy-stone, once the lone trysting by
the murmuring sea. She says that once
when passing through Nashville, was de-
tanned several hours. To while away the
time wandered about the city, and at last
found my way to the cemetery. Passing
through the side gate, strolled down the
main walk till came to the monument
erected to the memory of Gen. Carroll,
one of the heroes of New Orleans, and one
who should share equally in the fame of
that renowned struggle with him who
sleeps at the Hermitage" Standing on
the steps of the monument, / read the in
scriptions and then turned and glanced
over the place.
A curious stone, draped in ivy and
mounted by triangle, to the right of the
Carroll monument, and opposite large
circular vault, attracted my attention, and
l went to it, thinking to find the name, or
some clue to the one who slept beneath it,
but it vas SO completely covered with the
ivy that scarce any part of the stone was
visible, and no letters. Disappointed, l
was turning away, when lady came up by
another walk. There was something SO
peculiarly attractive about the slight,
willowy figure in its morning robes that l
was emboldened to speak, and / said, soft
ly, pardon, me, lady. VIII you tell me
the history of this stone? 1t has excited
my curiosity"
As she put aside her veil and looked at
me curiously, saw that she was, as her
garb indicated, mourner, but one who
mourned without hope or trust, for on the
pure, pale brow, shaded by its bands of
soft, brown hair, was stamped the seal of
resignation, and there was patience in the
smile which curved the sweet lips and
in the droop of the blue-veined lids over
the meek, trustful eyes.
You are a stranger here, l presume"
she answered, ''or you would know of the
story of the Ivy-stona. 1t has story, and
l will tel it to you, if you wish.
| l bowed in answer to her question, and
again expressed my desire to hear the
the story. Then, as we both leaned on
the fence, looking at tho stone, she COM
menced, in a voice sweetly attuned to the
time and place
II suppose this stone has been here for
many years-how many do not know, as
it did not attract much attention until some
wandering tourist wrote about it, and asked
for information concerning it. Then every
body rushed to see it, and asked, who is
it ?-is it man, woman, or child ?-if either,
who or what were they ?-and why did they
bring this huge boulder to mark their rest
| ing-place? But no one knew anything about
it, and no one could answer. At last, a
communication appeared in one of our
city papers, from one who signed himself An
old man, stating that he, and he alone,
knew who was buried here; that the rock
was brought from a distant sea-coast, to
mark the grave of a young and beautiful
lady, who died on her bridal night, and
was buried in her bridal robes and vail
| This rock, when in its home by the sea,
| hal haor, ba sr-r-,4Sv,rv yN1aoa CHI rka,,
| dying, wished that the trysting-rock might
be her monument, because it was some
thing artists could not initiate. Her lover
fulfilled the request, and it was his hand
which traced the words, (which had ex-
cited much curiosity My own, my lost,
my beautiful They were there" she said,
pointing to a spot about two feet from the
base, ''and have read them often, when a
child. before the ivy hid them from sight.
This Is all; no names were given, and
| there was no clue to the writer and we
know nothing, save its mournful history"
Then she bowed and passed on, and the
autumn leaves, weaving a shroud for the
season as they fell around her, rustled
wierdly under her feet.
I turned, with renewed interest, to the
| stone, and imagination carried me down
the Swallowed aisles of the past, and pic
lures Of the young lovers and their tryst-
ing-Tock arose before me. Had they ''be-
fore Gods altar bowed, ere the dsath-an-
gel touched her brow ? Had the young
husband pressed the first kiss which greet
ed his wife, on her welding lips, before the
angel sealed them for his own? hope it
was so, for it would be sweet for him to
know that she would wear his name in
heaven, and he the lover-husband. All.
He only, Who'll knows all hearts, could know
his fearless agony; it was hidden then from
mortal view, as the ivy, meet emblem Of
his love and fidelity, now hides from curl
Gus eyes the words wrung from his tortured
soul, Ny own, my lost my beautiful.
Where Is he now, poor, lonely, old man!
Does he still wander over the earth, sadly,
patiently, awaiting the summons which
will call him across the river of death TO
the tryst amid the green fields and by the
still waters of that summer-land beyond
the skies. Perhaps he has already passed
the beautiful river, and knelt, with his
bride, before the Fathers throne, and
found that she was not lost, only gone
before.