As we gazed upon the fresh boquets, wet with the dew
of night, we felt that love lingered around those places, and the
tears of affection often fell there.
The flowers, beautiful though they are, either at the tomb or the
bridal, give us no name or trace of former days, but lay scattered
round in rich profusion, telling us of love and affection that cannot
perish, because they are amaranthine flowers that have their root in
the mind, and bear the impress of immortality; and as we gaze upon the
beautiful, either in nature or art, it becomes daguerreotyped upon the
soul, and thus lives forever, coming up at the touch of memory's wand,
with all the vividness of a first impression.
The forest trees standing in solemn grandeur, the winding avenues,
the sloping hills, the deep dells, with the placid waters sleeping in
their bosoms, with the bright red flowers contrasting with the white
polished marble monuments, all conspire to render the place one
of extreme beauty and interest. But when we compare this with the
descriptions we have read of Westminster Abbey, covered with the
mouldering dust of ages, as generation after generation has been added
to it, we can picture to the imagination the change passing years
will make here. The silent hand of time will steal by degrees,
the freshness and beauty from the polished marble, effacing their
beauties, one by one, 'till all are obliterated, and green mould
and moss occupy their places, and the monument shall cease to be a
memorial.
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