The spaciousness and gloom of this vast
edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. We step cautiously
and softly about, as if fearful of disturbing the hallowed
silence of the tomb, while every footfall whispers along the
walls and chatters among the sepulchres, making us more sensible
of the quiet we have interrupted.
It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down upon
the soul and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence. We
feel that we are surrounded by the congregated bones of the great
men of past times, who have filled history with their deeds and
the earth with their renown.
And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human
ambition to see how they are crowded together and jostled in the
dust; what parsimony is observed in doling out a scanty nook, a
gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, to those whom, when
alive, kingdoms could not satisfy, and how many shapes and forms
and artifices are devised to catch the casual notice of the
passenger, and save from forgetfulness for a few short years a
name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world's thought and
admiration.
I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies an end of one
of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey.
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