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devotion; others stretched upon the tombs; with hands piously

pressed together: warriors in armor; as if reposing after battle;

prelates with crosiers and mitres; and nobles in robes and coronets;

lying as it were in state。 In glancing over this scene; so strangely

populous; yet where every form is so still and silent; it seems almost

as if we were treading a mansion of that fabled city; where every

being had been suddenly transmuted into stone。

  I paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the effigy of a knight

in complete armor。 A large buckler was on one arm; the hands were

pressed together in supplication upon the breast: the face was

almost covered by the morion; the legs were crossed; in token of the

warrior's having been engaged in the holy war。 It was the tomb of a

crusader; of one of those military enthusiasts; who so strangely

mingled religion and romance; and whose exploits form the connecting

link between fact and fiction; between the history and the fairy tale。

There is something extremely picturesque in the tombs of these

adventurers; decorated as they are with rude armorial bearings and

Gothic sculpture。 They comport with the antiquated chapels in which

they are generally found; and in considering them; the imagination

is apt to kindle with the legendary associations; the romantic

fiction; the chivalrous pomp and pageantry; which poetry has spread

over the wars for the sepulchre of Christ。 They are the relics of

times utterly gone by; of beings passed from recollection; of

customs and manners with which ours have no affinity。 They are like

objects from some strange and distant land; of which we have no

certain knowledge; and about which all our conceptions are vague and

visionary。 There is something extremely solemn and awful in those

effigies on Gothic tombs; extended as if in the sleep of death; or

in the supplication of the dying hour。 They have an effect

infinitely more impressive on my feelings than the fanciful attitudes;

the overwrought conceits; and allegorical groups; which abound on

modern monuments。 I have been struck; also; with the superiority of

many of the old sepulchral inscriptions。 There was a noble way; in

former times; of saying things simply; and yet saying them proudly;

and I do not know an epitaph that breathes a loftier consciousness

of family worth and honorable lineage; than one which affirms; of a

noble house; that 〃all the brothers were brave; and all the sisters

virtuous。〃

  In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner stands a monument which is

among the most renowned achievements of modern art; but which to me

appears horrible rather than sublime。 It is the tomb of Mrs。

Nightingale; by Roubillac。 The bottom of the monument is represented

as throwing open its marble doors; and a sheeted skeleton is

starting forth。 The shroud is falling from his fleshless frame as he

launches his dart at his victim。 She is sinking into her affrighted

husband's arms; who strives; with vain and frantic effort; to avert

the blow。 The whole is executed with terrible truth and spirit; we

almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph bursting from the

distended jaws of the spectre。… But why should we thus seek to

clothe death with unnecessary terrors; and to spread horrors round the

tomb of those we love? The grave should be surrounded by every thing

that might inspire tenderness and veneration for the dead; or that

might win the living to virtue。 It is the place; not of disgust and

dismay; but of sorrow and meditation。

  While wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent aisles;

studying the records of the dead; the sound of busy existence from

without occasionally reaches the ear;… the rumbling of the passing

equipage; the murmur of the multitude; or perhaps the light laugh of

pleasure。 The contrast is striking with the deathlike repose around:

and it has a strange effect upon the feelings; thus to hear the surges

of active life hurrying along; and beating against the very walls of

the sepulchre。

  I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb; and from chapel

to chapel。 The day was gradually wearing away; the distant tread of

loiterers about the abbey grew less and less frequent; the

sweet…tongued bell was summoning to evening prayers; and I saw at a

distance the choristers; in their white surplices; crossing the

aisle and entering the choir。 I stood before the entrance to Henry the

Seventh's chapel。 A flight of steps lead up to it; through a deep

and gloomy; but magnificent arch。 Great gates of brass; richly and

delicately wrought; turn heavily upon their hinges; as if proudly

reluctant to admit the feet of common mortals into this most

gorgeous of sepulchres。

  On entering; the eye is astonished by the pomp of architecture;

and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail。 The very walls are

wrought into universal ornament; incrusted with tracery; and scooped

into niches; crowded with the statues of saints and martyrs。 Stone

seems; by the cunning labor of the chisel; to have been robbed of

its weight and density; suspended aloft; as if by magic; and the

fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy

security of a cobweb。

  Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of

the Bath; richly carved of oak; though with the grotesque

decorations of Gothic architecture。 On the pinnacles of the stalls are

affixed the helmets and crests of the knights; with their scarfs and

swords; and above them are suspended their banners; emblazoned with

armorial bearings; and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and

crimson; with the cold gray fretwork of the roof。 In the midst of this

grand mausoleum stands the sepulchre of its founder;… his effigy; with

that of his queen; extended on a sumptuous tomb; and the whole

surrounded by a superbly…wrought brazen railing。

  There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence; this strange mixture

of tombs and trophies; these emblems of living and aspiring

ambition; close beside mementos which show the dust and oblivion in

which all must sooner or later terminate。 Nothing impresses the mind

with a deeper feeling of loneliness; than to tread the silent and

deserted scene of former throng and pageant。 On looking round on the

vacant stalls of the knights and their esquires; and on the rows of

dusty but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them; my

imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the

valor and beauty of the land; glittering with the splendor of jewelled

rank and military array; alive with the tread of many feet and the hum

of an admiring multitude。 All had passed away; the silence of death

had settled again upon the place; interrupted only by the casual

chirping of birds; which had found their way into the chapel; and

built their nests among its friezes and pendants… sure sign of

solitariness and desertion。

  When I read the names inscribed on the banners; they were those of

men scattered far and wide about the world; some tossing upon

distant seas; some under arms in distant lands; some mingling in the

busy intrigues of courts and cabinets; all seeking to deserve one more

distinction in this mansion of shadowy honors: the melancholy reward

of a monument。

  Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching

instance of the equality of the grave; which brings down the oppressor

to a level with the oppressed; and mingles the dust of the bitterest

enemies together。 In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth; in

the other is that of her victim; the lovely and unfortunate Mary。

Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over

the fate of the latter; mingled with indignation at her oppressor。 The

walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of

sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival。

  A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies

buried。 The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust。

The greater part of the place is in deep shadow; and the walls are

stained and tinted by time and weather

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