MYSTERIES OF MEMORY, 



PERIOD I. 



The Soldier ; the Cemetery ; the Funeral ; the Two Letters. 



Where amid the Indian ocean, far 



Kises the earthly paradise, Ceyloon,* 

 Shedding rich odours o'er the eastern wave, 

 Within her winding vales and woody dells 

 Sweet breathing cinnamon and citron groves, 

 Or on the gently undulating slope 

 Of her green hills reflected in the stream, 

 The smiling seasons hail the radiant morn." 



William Carey. 



" So bright at first — so dark at last, 

 ■ I . it was love's history." 



L. E. L. 



First of thy revelations, oh ! mystic power ! I behold a wide 

 valley, covered with the rich vegetation of a tropical clime. 

 Dark where all else is bright, a lofty cypress rises to the left; its 

 head bends slowly in the breeze, and its swart foliage flutters 

 upon the spray, like wood-birds trembling on the parent nest. 

 In the background are the marble vestiges of an ancient 

 mausoleum; the flowering betel wreathes them with fantastic 

 tapestry, and a cluster of palm trees inclining over them, forms a 

 canopy beneath which, in snowy vest and turban, slumbers a 

 weary native. Groves of the cocoa-tree and banana occupy the 

 distance, and beyond these may be traced a chain of stupendous 

 mountains, whose summits seem to touch the skies. Stay — is 

 there no immediate actor in the scene? A youth of gallant 

 bearing stands beneath the cypress ; golden hair plays upon his 

 temples, and slight mustachios cuii above his mouth ; his 

 features are bold and handsome, and a blue and merry eye looks 

 out upon the spectator ; yet his glance is like that of the falcon, 

 as, from time to time, it traverses the plain. The chord of 

 memory vibrates — he draws a locket from his bosom — it is a 

 miniature ; — he gazes on it — he hurries it to his lips — the smile 

 vanishes as a sunbeam from his face, and a tear glistening on 

 his cheek, descends upon the unconscious crystal. The gloom 

 of the dark tree flickers across his brow — I see no more — the 

 picture changes, and memory beholds a place of graves. 



Cypress and cedar fling gigantic shadows on the ground ; the 

 deepest verdure is opposed to the brightest blue, for, like a 

 precious sapphire, the cloudless sky gleams through the inter- 

 woven boughs. All in this hallowed spot seems sacred to 

 meditation, to stillness, and repose; " pale records of mortality," 

 carved with many a christian text, arrest the eye ; — fair flowers are 

 blooming on the turf; — the rose, the lily, and the amaranth, the 



* The ^tene is not presumed to be in the island of Ceylon. 



