1832.] T/ie Field of Monuments : a Vision. 431 



that stood near, " are the records of the great of modern times ; they 

 stand, you perceive, upon the verge of that dusky plain whose monotony 

 is broken by few monuments, arid those few scarcely rise above its 

 level ; that pillar on the edge of the desert is inscribed with the name of 

 Dante ; it is the connecting link between the literature of the middle 

 ages, and that of modern times, and stands on the dark shore that sepa- 

 rates the ancient from the modern world ; and look, canst thou descry, 

 across the dreary level, some gigantic pillars on its utmost limits, dim 

 and indistinct?" 



" I can see them plainly," said I. 



" These/' returned my companion, " are the monuments of the 

 ancients ; wouldst thou pass the desert, and read the names of Virgil 

 and Homer, and JBschylus and others, the poets and philosophers, and 

 orators and painters, and sculptors of the ancient world ?" 



" Let us cross the desert," said I. But as I walked on, keeping my 

 eye fixed upon the dim and distant monuments, I lost sight of my com- 

 panion, who, outstripping me, glided behind the monument of Dante, 

 and when I reached it, he was no where to be seen. I was alone. 

 Before me lay the wide monotonous plain thinly sprinkled with monu- 

 ments ; the lofty pillars of a former race stood on its utmost limits, their 

 summits yet gilded by the last rays of the declining sun, and I leaned 

 against the column upon which was written the name of Dante. 



" Mighty poet," said I, looking upward at the tall column, whose 

 summit I could scarcely discern, " mighty was thy song, fit to be the 

 imperishable record of thy genius. Hell, and the workings of despair, 

 in the sad realms where hope ' never comes, that comes to all ;' purga- 

 tory, and the reign and progress of repentance, mingled with the sweet 

 influences of reviving hope ; heaven, and the fulness of pure joys 

 unutterable 



" Where the blest spirits above 



On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowrets crowned, 

 Quaff immortality and joy." 



I knew not whether to retire, or to advance ; whether to linger among 

 the monuments that were scattered around me, or enter upon the plain, 

 where were thinly strewn the records of the middle ages; but the 

 gigantic monuments that stood upon its uttermost limits seemed to 

 beckon me forward, and I went on. 



I had now no guide to direct my judgment, and I was forced to form 

 my own conclusions from what I saw. These were somewhat at vari- 

 ance with my previous impressions ; for although, compared with the 

 field of monuments which I had already passed, the plain which I now 

 traversed was bare and monotonous ; and although the pillars which I 

 passed by were but of moderate height, yet the records of human endea- 

 vour were more frequent than I had expected to find them. When I 

 had thought of the dark ages, I had pictured to myself a time when 

 Goth and Vandal trampled under foot all that was noble and intel- 

 lectual ; a dark rayless season of mental bondage, when intellect never 

 put forth one bud, or if she did, when her blossoms were crushed by 

 the hand of the barbarian, or drooped because they bloomed alone, and 

 that at a certain epoch called the revival of letters, intellectual light 

 broke upon the benighted earth, as the sun bursts from an eclipse upon 

 a shrouded world. But this impression I found belied by what I saw 



