Nothing
impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to
tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant.
On looking round on the vacant stalls of the knights and their
esquires, and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners that were
once borne before them, my imagination conjured up the scene when
this hall was bright with the valor and beauty of the land,
glittering with the splendor of jewelled rank and military array,
alive with the tread of many feet and the hum of an admiring
multitude. All had passed away; the silence of death had settled
again upon the place, interrupted only by the casual chirping of
birds, which had found their way into the chapel and built their
nests among its friezes and pendants--sure signs of solitariness
and desertion.
When I read the names inscribed on the banners, they were those
of men scattered far and wide about the world--some tossing upon
distant seas: some under arms in distant lands; some mingling in
the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets,--all seeking to
deserve one more distinction in this mansion of shadowy
honors--the melancholy reward of a monument.
Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching
instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down the
oppressor to a level with the oppressed and mingles the dust of
the bitterest enemies together.
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