Longfellow_Hyperion.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
as old as he who preached
it. text was, " know that my liveth." was meant to
console the pious, poor widow, who sat right below him at the foot
of the pulpit stairs, all in black, and her heart breaking. said
nothing of the terrors of death, nor of the gloom of the narrow
house, but, looking beyond these things, as mere circumstances to
which the imagination mainly gives importance, he told his hearers
of the innocence of childhood upon earth, and the holiness of
childhood in heaven, and how the beautiful was once a
little child, and now in heaven the spirits of little children
walked with him, and gathered flowers in the fields of .
old man! behalf of humanity, thank thee for these
benignant words! , still more than , the bereaved mother thanked
thee, and from that hour, though she wept in secret for her child,
yet
" knew he was with ,
she asked him not again."
the sermon, walked forth alone into the
churchyard. was no one there, save a little boy, who was
fishing with a pin hook in a grave half full of water. a few
moments afterward, through the arched gateway under the belfry, came
a funeral procession. its head walked a priest in white surplice,
chanting. , old and young, followed him, with burning tapers
in their hands. young girl carried in her arms a dead child,
wrapped in its little winding sheet. grave was close under the
wall, by the church door. vase of holy water stood beside it.
sexton took the child from the girl's arms, and put it into a
coffin; and, as he placed it in the grave, the girl held over it a
cross, wreathed with roses, and the priest and peasants sang a
funeral hymn. this was over, the priest sprinkled the grave and
the crowd with holy water; and then they all went into the church,
each one stopping as he passed the grave to throw a handful of earth
into it, and sprinkle it with holy water.
few moments afterwards, the voice of the priest was heard
saying mass in the church, and saw the toothless old sexton
treading the fresh earth into the grave of the little child, with
his clouted shoes. approached him, and asked the age of the
deceased. sexton leaned a moment on his spade, and shrugging his
shoulders replied;
" an hour or two. was born in the night, and died this
morning early?"
" brief existence," said . " child seems to have been
born only to be buried, and have its name recorded on a wooden
tombstone."
sexton went on with his work, and made no reply.
still lingered among the graves, gazing with wonder at the strange
devices, by which man has rendered death horrible and the grave
loathsome.
the of at , and his twin-brother
were represented as children reposing in the arms of .
various funeral monuments of the ancients the of
issculptured as a beautiful youth, leaning on an inverted torch, in
the attitude of repose, his wings folded and his feet crossed.
such peaceful and attractive forms, did the imagination of ancient
poets and sculptors represent death. these were men in whose
souls the religion of was like the light of stars, beautiful,
but faint and cold! , that in later days, this angel of ,
which leads us with a gentle hand, into the " of the great
departed, into the silent ," should have been transformed into a
monstrous and terrific thing! is the spectral rider on the
white horse;--such the ghastly skeleton with scythe and
hour-glass;--the , whose name is !
of the most popular themes of poetry and painting in the
, and continuing down even into modern times, was the
of . almost all languages is it written,--the
apparition of the grim spectre, putting a sudden stop to all
business, and leading men away into the "remarkable retirement" of
the grave. written in an ancient , and painted on a
wooden bridge in . designs of are well known.
most striking among them is that, where, from a group of
children sitting round a cottage hearth, has taken one by the
hand, and is leading it out of the door. and unresisting
goes the little child, and in its countenance no grief, but wonder
only; while the other children are weeping and stretching forth
their hands in vain towards their departing brother. beautiful
design it is, in all save the skeleton. angel had been better,
with folded wings, and torch inverted!
now the sun was growing high and warm. little chapel, whose
door stood open, seemed to invite to enter and enjoy the
grateful coolness. went in. was no one there. walls
were covered with paintings and sculpture of the rudest kind, and
with a few funeral tablets. was nothing there to move the
heart to devotion; but in that hour the heart of was
weak,--weak as a child's. bowed hisstubborn knees, and wept.
oh! how many disappointed hopes, how many bitter recollections, how
much of wounded pride, and unrequited love, were in those tears,
through which he read on a marble tablet in the chapel wall
opposite, this singular inscription;
" not mournfully into the . comes not back again.
improve the . is thine. forth to meet the
shadowy , without fear, and with a manly heart."
seemed to him, as if the unknown tenant of that grave had
opened his lips of dust, and spoken to him the words of consolation,
which his soul needed, and which no friend had yet spoken. a
moment the anguish of his thoughts was still. stone was rolled
away from the door of his heart; death was no longer there, but an
angel clothed in white. stood up, and his eyes were no more
bleared with tears; and, looking into the bright, morning heaven, he
the hand of the good old man, who sat so serenely amid
the gathering shade of years, and listened to life's curfew-bell,
telling, with eight and seventy solemn strokes, that the hour had
come, when the fires of all earthly passion must be quenched within,
and man must prepare to lie down and rest till the morning.
" see," he continued, in a melancholy tone, "my hands are
cold; colder than yours. were warmer once. am now an old
man."
" these are the hands," answered , "that sculptured
the beauteous and the . soul never grows
old."
" does ," said the old man, pleased with this allusion
to his great work, and pointing to the green trees before his
window. " pleasure have left to me. sight is still good.
can even distinguish objects on the side of yonder mountain.
hearing is also unimpaired. all which, thank ."
, directing 's attention to a fine engraving, which
hung on the opposite wall of the room, he continued;
" is an engraving of 's . love to sit here
and look at it, for hours together. is beautiful. made the
statue for his native town, where they had no church, until he built
them one. placed the statue in it. engraving he sent me as a
present. , he was a dear, good man. name of his native town
have forgotten. memory fails me. cannot remember names."
that he had disturbed the old man in his morning
devotions, did not remain long, but took his leave with
regret. was something impressive in the scene he had
witnessed;--this beautiful old age of the artist; sitting by the
open window, in the bright summer morning,--the labor of life
accomplished, the horizon reached, where heaven and earth
meet,--thinking it was angel's music, when he heard the church-bells
ring; himself too old to go. he walked back to his chamber, he
thought within himself, whether he likewise might not accomplish
something, which should live after him;--might not bring something
permanent out of this fast-fleeting life of man, and then sit down,
like the artist, in serene old age, and fold his hands in silence.
wondered how a man felt when he grew so old, that he could no
longer go to church, but must sit at home and read the bible in
large print. heart was full of indefinite longings, mingled with
regrets; longings to accomplish something worthy of life; regret,
that as yet he had accomplished nothing, but had felt and dreamed
only. the warm days in spring bring forth passion-flowers and
forget-menots. is only after mid-summer, when the days grow
shorter and hotter, that fruit begins to appear. , the heat of
the day brings forward the harvest, and after the harvest, the
leaves fall, and there is a gray frost. meditating upon these
things, reached his hotel. that moment a person clad
in green came down the church-steps, and crossed the street. was
the student, of . started as if a green
snake had suddenly crossed his path. took refuge in his
chamber.
night as he was sitting alone in his chamber, having made
his preparation to depart the following morning, his attention was
arrested by the sound of a female voice in the next room. thin
partition, with a door, separated it from his own. had not before
observed that the room was occupied. , in the stillness of the
night, the tones of that voice struck his ear. listened. was a
lady, reading the prayers of the . tones were
familiar; and awakened at once a thousand painfully sweet
recollections. was the voice of ! heart could
not be deceived; and all its wounds began to bleed afresh, like
those of a murdered man, when the murderer approaches. first
impulse was of affection only, boundless, irrepressible, delirious,
as of old in the green valley of . waited for the
voice to cease; that he might go to her, and behold her face once
more. then his pride rose up within him, and rebuked this
weakness. remembered his firm resolve; and blushed to find
himself so feeble. the voice ceased; and yet he did not go.
had so far gained the mastery over affection. lay down upon
his bed, like a child as he was. about him was silence, and the
silence was holy, for she was near; so near that he could almost
hear the beating of her heart. knew now for the first time how
weak he was, and how strong his passion for that woman. heart
was like the altar of the of old; and, though drenched
with tears, as with rain, it was kindled at once by the holy fire
from heaven!
morning he fell asleep, exhausted with the strong
excitement; and, in that hour when, sleep being "nigh unto the
soul," visions are deemed prophetic, he dreamed. blessed visionof
the morning, stay! thou wert so fair! stood again on the green
sunny meadow, beneath the ruined towers; and she was by his side,
with her pale, speaking countenance and holy eyes; and he kissed her
fair forehead; and she turned her face towards him beaming with
affection and said, " confess it now; you are the !" and
pressed him in a meek embrace, that he, "might rather feel than see
the swelling of her heart." then she faded away from his arms,
and her face became transfigured, and her voice like the voice of an
angel in heaven;--and he awoke, and was alone!
was broad daylight; and he heard the postilion, and the
stamping of horses' hoofs on the pavement at the door. the same
moment his servant came in, with coffee, and told him all was ready.
did not dare to stay. , throwing himself into the carriage, he
cast one look towards the window of the , and a moment
afterwards had left her forever! had drunk thelast drop of the
bitter cup, and now laid the golden goblet gently down, knowing that
he should behold it no more!
more! how majestically mournful are those words! sound
like the roar of the wind through a forest of pines!