--
_Mait_. Graves! Is it graves they are talking of? Will they bury this
gay young bride! 'Tis but the name; there's nothing sad in it. In the
lovely summer twilight shall her burial be, and thus; in all her bridal
array, with the glory of the crimson sunset shining through the
trees;--see what a fearful glow is kindling on her cheek, and that faint
breeze--or, is it life that stirs these curls? Stay!--whose young brow
is this?--Ha!--_whose_ smile is this? Who is this they would hurry away
into the darkness of death? The grave! Could you fold the rosy and
all-speading beauty of heaven in the narrow grave? Helen, is it
thee?--my heaven, my long-lost heaven; and, even now, but for mine own
deed--Oh God! was there no hand but mine?--but for me--They shall not
utter it,--there, thus. There's but _one_ cry that could unfold this
grief, but that would circle the round universe and fill eternity. A sad
sight this! Is't known who killed this lady, Sir?
_Leslie_. Of all the wrecks of beautiful humanity that strew these
paths, we have found none so sad as this!
_Elliston_. Mark you those groups of soldiers loitering on the road-side
there?
_An Officer_.
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