MYSTERIES OF MEMORY. 9 



tuberose, the jessamine, and the nilicia, pay soft tribute to the 

 dead, and the cinnamon, the silver-blossomed almond-tree, and 

 the starry jessamine, lavish their sweet incense on the air. 

 Wreaths of the water-lotus, twined with dark leaves of emerald, 

 hang from the low branches of the myrtle; insects brilliant as 

 the gems of the mine hover by, and birds of resplendent plumage 

 flitting from bough to bough, chant mysterious dirges from the 

 perfumed recesses of the grove. Their melody is hushed, for the 

 wail of a trumpet comes, mournfully, upon the ear, and the dull 

 roll of the muffled drum bodes, drearily, of death ; a martial 

 train sweep through the ground ; with arms reversed and down- 

 cast eyes, they bear a coffin in their midst ; banners, bound 

 with funereal crape, are lowered upon the bier, and a helm and 

 sword are laid upon the pall. In sumptuous trappings the war- 

 horse of the dead brings up the rear ; lowered is the proud arch 

 of his neck ; his head droops to the earth, and his disordered 

 mane hangs loosely upon his chest. His saddle is vacant, the 

 bridle is held by a stranger curb, and a consciousness of sorrow 

 seems to press upon the noble steed. Again the shrill blast of 

 the trumpet, and the roll of the drum break on the ear; the 

 war-horse starts, and, neighing wildly as in answer, rears high 

 his head, and flings his broad mane upon the air. The procession 

 halts beneath a new-made grave; the man of God approaches; 

 piety and meekness are upon his brow; the ceremony begins; 

 the nodding plumes of the warriors sink upon their breasts, and 

 tears bedew their cheeks as the coffin is, slowly, committed to the 

 earth. I hear the rattling of dust upon the lid, and the ringing 

 discharge of musketry ; again the wail of the trumpet floats, 

 sadly, upon the breeze. No more — oh ! Memory ! no more ! * * 



A mist has gathered upon the scene : it gradually disperses, 

 revealing a dimly illumined chamber; the • panels are of a 

 dusky hue, and the lofty ceiling is decorated with a gothic fret- 

 work, colossal busts, in marble, stationed upon brackets, start, 

 like spectral visions, through the gloom, and faintly-detected 

 portraits, in frames of antique carving, ornament the walls. 

 Rich and massive, the furniture is of other times; and curtains 

 of velvet, falling in heavy folds to the matted floor, close out the 

 aspect of the hour. The light of a lamp discovers a dark-haired 

 girl seated at a table in the centre of the room; she is occupied 

 in writing, papers are strewn before her, and the pen is in her 

 ffngers, but for a moment she has suspended her employment, 

 and, with her head leaning on her left hand, is evidently lost in 

 abstraction. By her position her features are concealed from 

 view, and the light Aills, broadly, upon her forehead. Her 

 reverie is over; she removes her hand, and again begins to write ; 

 a deep bloom is on her cheek, and a smile hovers for awhile 

 around her mouth. Is that the bloom of youthful health ? 

 Behold it fades — it passes, utterly, away, and the cheek is cold 

 as statuary marble, while an air of gentle seriousness steals 



NO. I. c 



