21 THE THREE TABERNACLES. (Written in the Churchyard of Richmond, England.) BY HERBERT KNOWLES. "Methinks it is good to be here; If thou wilt, let us make three Tabernacles: one for thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias." METHINKS it is good to be hereIf thou wilt, let us build; but for whom? Nor Elias, nor Moses, appear :But the shadows of eve, that encompass with gloom The abodes of the dead, and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Ah, no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away For see! they would pin him below In a dark, narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. Unto Beauty? Ah, no!-she forgets The charm, that she wielded before Nor knows the foul worm, that he frets The skin, that but yesterday, fools could adore For the smoothness it held, or the tints which it wore. Shall we build to the purple of Pride ? To the trappings that dizen the Proud? Alas! they are all laid aside! For here's neither wealth nor adornment allow'd, Save the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud. Unto Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain― Who here in their turns have been hid, Their wealth is all squander'd again— And here, in the grave, are all metals forbid, Save the tinsel that shines on the dark coffinlid. To the pleasures that Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful Board! But the guests are all mute at their pitiful cheer, And none but the Worm is a reveller here! Shall we build to Affection and Love? Ah, no! They have wither'd and died, Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side Yet none have saluted, and none have replied! Unto Sorrow?-The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve: Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope nor fear; Peace, peace is the watchword-the only one here! Unto Death?-to whom Monarchs must bow? Ah, no! for His Empire is known, And here there are trophies enow, Beneath the cold head, and around the dark stone, And the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. The first Tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to riseThe second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd And the third to the LAMB OF THE GREAT SACRIFICE, Who bequeath'd us them both when he rose . to the skies. "Wherefore I praised the dead more than the living.' BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. THEY dread no storm that lowers No perish'd joys bewail, They pluck no thorn-clad flowers, Who are so greatly blest? From whom hath sorrow fled? Who share such deep, unbroken rest, Above their sable bier ? Thrice blessed, they have done with wo; The living claim the tear! Go to their sleeping bowers: Deck their lone couch of clay With early spring's uncolour'd flowers; And when these fade away, Think of the amaranthine wreath- We dream, but they awake; Dark visions mar our rest : Through thorns and snares our way we take, For those who throng the eternal throne, They are the living-they alone, Whom thus we call the dead. TWILIGHT MUSING. BY MISS MARTHA DAY. I WOULD not wish that o'er my grave |