The Somerset press. [volume] (Somerset, Ohio) 1873-1977, 1876-09-08
From the New York Observer. |
An Old Tombstone.
BY PAUL PASTNOR.

Within the limits of the township of
Middlebury, VT, upon the western slope
of steep ACTIVITY, with the fantastic
shadows of gnarled and ancient or
chard tossing to and fro upon its mossy
surface, like inquisitive antiquarians of
some wierd erial race, stands a lonely
tombstone, bearing this inscription:
MR.. WILLIAM DOUGLASS,
born June %, 1875, was killed instantly by
the fall Of a tree, Dec. 10, 1888.
Here life ct all its pleasures end;
Here mourners wander, read ct weep,
Soon each succeeds his fallen friend,
Et in We same cold bed must sleep.
1t was with the greatest difficulty that
I could decipher this quaint epitaph, SO
erased and disfgured is the tombstone,
to say nothing of the moss and discolor-
ations of nearly century, which oblit.
crate the craven letters. 1t was warm
August afternoon when ] came upon it.
The scythe of the mower had reverent-
ly passed BY it, leaving waving hillock
of verdure in the midst of the shorn up
land. An aged fruit tree. bent and
scattered like patriarch of some past
generation, faithfully shielded it from
sun and storm-perhaps a mere twiglet
when the coffin was lowered, ninety three
years ago. All was quiet, save the
dreamy music of the bright knives, far
away in the heart of the meadows, and
an occasional ring from mowers scythe,
as he drew the milestone along its gilt.
tering edge. How suddenly bar of
shadow fell on the light gladness of my
heart! Here, in the free, happy, sunny
fields, to be reminded of death-what
reversing of moods! What an inter-
linking of joy and sorrow!
"Killed instantly by the fall of tree"
and buried here where he fell. A
thousand questionings rise in my mind
and pass dimly out, unanswered. With
thrill of horror, I picture to myself
the crash, the impending rush, the
mighty descent, the uplifted, terror
stricken glance of the man, the last
wild cry, whose echo has not passed
away ere the lips that uttered it are
cold and stony forever! But kindlieI
fancy succeeds this fearful prelude.
see tender arms uplifting the poor man.
gled body; and sudden sunbeam, steal.
ing through the forest foliage, reveals
the silvery dampness on every manly
| cheek, and shows tie blessed fountains
of the heart yelling up in many a tear
full eye. Now they lay the dear friend
and brother in his last "cold bed" and
erect simple slab of marble, to point
out his resting place TO succeeding gen
erations.
threatening storm obscured the
clear August sky, and l hastened home
bearing with me many a sad but profita
BILE thought, the simple wisdom of the
anonymous poet, expressed in that brief
quaint epitaph. filled my soul, like {
burst of pure, sweet sunlight through
the broken pane of a figured cathedra
window. Instead OF some rhapsodist'
melodiohs but unmeaning sorrow, tn
old tom bstone bears an inscription full
of the poetry of the heart, pregnant will
the rude sweetness of unrestrained sym
pathy. / revere the hand that wrot
that simple verse, inapt and toll stain
ed, though it were. / reverence a han,
so like the heart-uncultured, impul
sive, grasping the harp-string with hon
est boldness, as BELTS man, though h
be poet
Farewell, aged tombstone, though nc
forever! Should God spare me til
then, why may not I return, six hasten
ing years hence, to read again, wit
fearful eyes, thy Centennial Epitaphs