Summary

Various The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol…

The little form you decked so—the locks that swung over a brow of silver—the face with its beauty, and light, and sweetness, and all the innocency of happy childhood—the clear silver shout of his joy—the step that ran to thee—the lip that pouted for the morning and evening kiss—aye! here they are—look at them.
And who art thou, mourner?—thou that lookest not up to the glorious sky, or abroad on the fair face of the creation of God; but, wrapped in the selfishness and solitude of thy grief, standest here like a lone monument of dead men’s histories—who art thou?
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol…

Have these gentlemen to learn, that men never tolerate each other’s weaknesses?—have they to learn that Willis has been indiscreet?—have they to learn that such numbers of young and old, high and low, rich and poor, as have pitched upon him, have done so for this—and that it follows necessarily, his genius is undervalued. Whether they have or not—men of sense admit it all over the world. Men’s follies die with them. We don’t bring hatred to the grave’s side—unless to throw it in there and bury it. The smouldering earth we lay over them hides their defects—we put their virtues in our hearts.
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol…

The famed, the haughty, the ambitious, they bring not their proud thoughts with them—they tread its holy precincts, and their schemes are forgotten. The school boy’s whistle is lower here, and the butterfly he chases so eagerly, scales the white palings and escapes—he will not follow him. The very flowers that bloom here, the osiers that swathe the grave of that little one and twine about the head stones—they teach us by their freshness, and our thoughts stir up the fountains in us, and the heart is hallowed by it.
Source: Gutenberg

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