CHAPTER XIX. "ULTIMA THULE." "Lives of great men all remind us And in dying leave behind us "Take them, O Death! and bear away Thine image stamped upon this clay Take them, O Grave! and let them lie Take them, O great Eternity! Our little life is but a gust That bends the branches of thy tree And trails its blossoms in the dust." SUSPIRIA. HE morning of March twenty-sixth broke fair and smiling, and the sun shone until near noon. Then as if in communion with thousands of saddened hearts, its face was veiled. At three o'clock the winds rose high with sobbing eloquence, and stirred the old trees about Harvard with a desolate rustle. Appleton Chapel was filled with mournful faces and weeping friends, called together to pay the last earthly tribute of homage to the distinguished dead. While their prayers re-echoed in the holy sanctuary, the family of the poet, and the relatives and intimate friends, folowed his remains to Mount Auburn Cemetery. As they left the house the face of nature grew dark, and the storm-clouds rent their folds. A misty fall of snow with tenderness, as if heaven were grieving silently, gently shed its flakes upon the dreary earth. It was a last virginal tribute from the Nature he so adored, more appropriate to the life whose purity equaled its own whiteness, than the colored passion-flower whose proud blossoms decked his last earthly bier. On a slight elevation, in full view of the Charles river "that in silence windest," is the family burying ground. There, with the open face of nature, shall the sun at high noon pour her golden rays, and the shades of twilight steal on apace. Homage from the queen of night shall succeed morn's smiles, and in the silent watch her silver beams shall flood his last resting-place with glory. The stars in their azure firmament will nightly shine on their once earthly brother, now immortal with themselves. When the world is hushed to rest, the elements shall guard his tomb keeping a proud and eternal watch. None can dispute their right, none disregard their jealous sway. Looking once again on his honored grave, I saw in the day's fading dawn two black-robed figures; with trembling hands and tearful eyes, they placed at his head a handful of flowers--white calla lily, and branches of the violet-tinted heliotrope, whose faint odor and dainty bloom he loved so well. Long they stood there, and then their reluctant steps took them further away from the sad spot. The snow-flakes wildly struggling, tore through the air as the wind |