82).] The Citij of the Seven Churches. 170 



will steal upon the autumnal evening, and fling her murky mantle over 

 the pageant and myself, and I may chance to break my shins, as I 

 stumble from the ruined hall. — I will return to Glendalough. 



I left the aged Churches, and bent my course to a favourite haunt of 

 mine, " The Bui'ial-place of the Kings." It is a solitary nook, not f;u- 

 from the margin of one of the lakes, from which the valley takes its 

 name, where, beneath the half ruined walls of an antique oratory, roofed 

 with the green old age of a venerable ash, repose the shepherd kings, 

 who swayed the patriarchal sceptre of this sequestered valley, when the 

 golden age was not all a fable, among the pious race who nestled in its 

 bosom. A simple stone, with a simple, but emphatic inscription,* has 

 covered their remains for eight hundred years. Their annals have 

 perished with their kingdom, but tradition, that most affectionate histo- 

 rian, has embalmed the memory of their paternal virtues, and con- 

 secrated that stone in the kind and grateful superstition of tlie inha- 

 bitants of the glen. 



The far-descended JMcMthuils have vanished like my faery dreams, 

 and the hand of a stranger has snatched their fair inheritance. Their 

 seven times consecrated city sleeps in most solitary ruin, and its myste- 

 rious tower alone, whose long-sought secret has died pei-haps with them, 

 looks down upon the scattered reliques of its younger, but less fortunate 

 brethren. The antique oratory itself has fallen beneath the piety of 

 some holy housebreaker — some Cromwellian iconoclast, who would 

 have heaven a close borough ; but the quiet, pious stone escaped his 

 saintly Avrath ; he had not weeded his mind of those natural and unfa- 

 shionable feelings that forbid us to violate the repose of the dead, and 

 he spared the humble memorial of the happier days, when religion, and 

 valour, and primeval simplicity, clasped hands together in the consecrated 

 valley. 



Well, I have told you tiiat my intended path led me to this tomb, and 

 I had reasons as plenty as blackberries for my choice. 1 had passed 

 through the ancient gateway of the silent city — I had moralized among 

 what might be the remains of the palace — I had peeped into the ivyed 

 recesses of the reverend Churches — I had theorized upon the lofty 

 tower, and a natural conclusion led me to the tomb, that from the 

 nearest eminence in the neighbourhood, I might gather into one view 

 this miniature of the ruins of empires — this epitome of human ambition, 

 and its reward, — the kingdom — the city — the palace — and the grave. 



I was more than surprised when I reached the little sanctuary of ivy 

 and alders that surrounds it, at finding that rude hands had been upon 

 them, marring their green beauty. Hastily, and not without foreboding, 

 I passed on to the tomb — it was defaced and broken. In this era of 

 civilization— in these days of peace and good order — in this Augustan 

 age of art and science, when antiquarians bow down before idols, and 

 worship graven images — when Parliament, having admitted the bank- 

 ruptcy of the nation, by reducing the interest of the debt, turns receiver 

 of stolen gods — purchases Theseus and Ilissus ; and when the grumbling- 

 manufacturers ask for bread, gives them a stone — when it is but a little 

 thing to transport a Grecian temple to London — to reconsecrate the 



* " Behold the resting-place of the Body 



of 



]\[c IVIlhiiil the Kinc; 



Who died in Christ 1010." 



2 A 2 



