Ballad [pp. 5; system: A005]

SOUTHERN LI,ITERARY MESSENGER.
distance when I went over to catch troult in the stream
that meanders tlhrough their rich meadows, b it. now it
seenled scarcely a span. I found the elder brotlher in
the garden with a long staff and a long beard, and the
youniiaer seated in his arm chair, cheerful, contented,
and happy. We had all aff,ectionate greeting, and as
usual, fell to conmparing the present with the past, in
lwhichl the former suffered pretty considerably.
The great grievance of thle old men was the bolunty
poor house, w-hichl had lately been built just on the
other side of the stream I mientioned, the worthy tenlants
of wlhllich coimmlitted divers petty depredations on the
farmi. In days of yore, I w ell rememibered there were
but two piaupers on the town; but now the poor house
w-%as filled like a bee hlive, only the populationll was not
quite so industrious. But so it is. Paupers ever multiply in proportion to tile asylums prepared for thlem,
and there are no more certain means of aggravatilln
poverty than providing for its idciscrili.nate relief
Wheii I baIde them farewel, the blind old man slid,
"I shall never see you agail, mlly soil," for so hle allvays
called me; and the elder, who vwas fourscore anld ten,
asked me to write his epitaph, adding "For I shlall
soon die." I gave him my promise, and mean to perform it, for I can give him a good character without ilnscribing, a lie on his tombstone.
Froml old age to the grave is but a short journey;
so I took my way towards the old chllurch, the burial
ground of lwhiclh I entered just at the corumlencemient
of thle long sumaer t'wilight. In rambling about, I soon
found that had become of nmy old fiiends, Bronm Van
Houten, Johnny Van Tassell, Jacobus See, and the
rest. I was in the midst of them; and the little fat
cherubs carved on their headstones, seemed to smile on
me, either in welcome or in scoirn, as if to intimate that
I should soon be among them on my last visit. Here,
too, the world had greatly improved, at least in toiml)stones and epitaphs. Oil one l hand stood an old nmos
covered dusky red stone, beailt,ring the date of 1656, witl:
a Dtutclh epitaph, which coutld do little harmni, thoutgh for
au,ght I know it mighlt have recorded evecr so many lies,
for few could nowv deciplher its mouldering legend; on
thle othler, whichl seemed a sort of JVest Entd for thle dead,
nmore than one white m-arble tomb of recenlt date, surrotunded by i:on gratings, and looking like the title
page of aln old book, -hleil it wvas the fashlioni to make
it a sort of itndex to thle whole volu01me. There were
more cardinal virtues inscribed on tlhem than I ever
heard of before, anld I could not help thinking it was a
gre':t pity suchl excellent people could not live foresver
as examples to sucoeedin, generation s.
Some of them I happenled to remllember, especially
one old rogue, who iinever did a good deecd, or gave his
neighbor a kind wovrd in hi3 life, and had got me matny
a sounld tlireshing, by falsely complainling to the schloolmaster of my laving robbed his orchard. He had
growna rich by trickery and meanness; and whatever
people may say, money is of great value, silce it can
procure for a rogue a stately tomb and a lying epitaph.
Anmon tlhe ancient Egyptians, it wvas tlhe custom to
call a jury of inqtuest on the dead, to inquire into their
characters; and on one who did nlot paiss this ordeal,
was enltitled to al huonorable funeral, or a posthumolus
good nmne. Such a tiibuinal, thuought I, would be no
bad thlinig now-a-days.
While buried in these, and the like reflections, I noticed a nmeger traini advanicintg into thle church yard,
beairinig a bier-, on -which a coffin was laid. It was the
body of poor Ellee. I had ifssed him for a few days,
and here we lmet for the last time. Tlhey laid the poor
lad inl his grave, covered it up, and there — as an end of
lhim. A couple of pieces of board, one at the head, the
other at the feet, are his only melmolrials; he told no
falsehoods while living, and nobody thought it worth
thleiu Iwhile to tell any albout him l i hen dead. His old
mlother is still alive, the only depository of his memory,
the only one that iisses the poor, blind, dunlb boy.
She has found a firiend, who lets her want for nothing;
but the last tie that bound her to the earth is broken,
and now she tilinks of nlothing but Ellee, and Heaven.
BALLAD.
BY E. A. POE.
Thle ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is onl my browSatins anid jewels granld,
Anid many a rocd of land,
Are all at oly commolalid,
And I am happy now!
He has loved me long and well,
And, when lhe breatheld his vow,
I felt my bosom swell,
For-the words were his who fell
In thle battle down the dell,
And who is happy now!
And lie spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid browBLt a reverie came o'er me,
And to thle clthurcl-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before rne,
" O0, I am happy now!"
And thus they said I plighlted
An irrevocable vowAnd my friends a-re all delighted
That his love I have requitedAnd my millnd is much benighted
If 1 am lnot happy now!
Lo! thle riing is on mly hand,
And the wreath is on my browSatins and jewels gralnd,
And many a rood of land,
Are all at my command,
And I must be happy now!
I have spokeen-I have spoken Thley have regtistered the vowAndi tlnough my ftitlh b)e brok,en,
Anld tho,ugh omy lheart be broken,
Behold the golden token
That prloves me happy now!
Would God I could awlaken!
For I dreani —l know not hlow!
And mny soul is sorely slhalkea,
Lest an evil step be taken,
And the dead vwho is foisaken
May not be happy rnow!
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