Where rest the poor. No towering obelisk
Beareth their name. No blazoned tablet tells
Their joys or sorrows. Yet't is sweet to muse
Around their pillow of repose, and think
That Nature mourns their loss, though man forget.
The lime-tree and acacia, side by side,
Spring up, in haste to do their kindly deed
Of sheltering sympathy, as though they knew
Their time was short.
Sweet Nature ne'er forgets
Her buried sons, but cheers their summer-couch
With turf and dew-drops, bidding autumn's hand
Drop lingering garlands of its latest leaves,
And glorious spring from wintry thraldom burst,
To bring their type of Immortality.
Monday, Nov. 23, 1840.
"Mont Louis hath a beacon."
That portion of Mont Louis which is appropriated to the most beautiful of the four cemeteries, in the neighborhood of Paris, was originally a part of the garden and pleasure-grounds of Pere la Chaise, the favorite confessor of Louis the Fourteenth, and Madame de Maintenon. It covers nearly 100 acres, and its mixture of funereal foliage and flowers, with the monuments of the dead, is picturesque and imposing. Yet it is less touching in its effect on the feelings, than
