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the aspen seemed to move with every breeze. I returned—but she was not in the dance, I sought her in the gay circle of her companions but I found her not. Her eye sparkled not there the music of her voice was silent she rejoiced on earth no more. I saw a train sable and slow-paced, who bore sadly to an opened grave what once was animated and beautiful. They paused as they approached, and a voice broke the awful silence: "Mingle ashes with ashes, and dust with its original dust. To the earth, whence she was at first taken, consign we the body of our sister." They covered her with the damp soil, and the cold clods of the valley; and the worms crowded into her silent abode. Yet one sad mourner lingered, to cast himself upon the grave, and as he wept he said, "There is no beauty, or grace, or loveliness that continueth in man; for this is the end of all his glory and perfection."
I have seen an infant with a fair brow, and a frame like polished ivory. Its limbs were pliant in its sports; it rejoiced, and again it wept; but whether its glowing cheek dimpled with smiles, or its blue eye was brilliant with tears, still I said to my heart, "It is beautiful." It was like the first pure blossom which some cherished plant has shot forth, whose cup is filled with a dew-drop, and whose head reclines upon its parent stem.
