not the flame, nor heard the lamentation of the music: she felt only
one sense of loneliness--she had not yet arrived to that hallowing sense
of comfort, when we know that we are not alone--that the dead are with
us!

The breeze rapidly aided the effect of the combustibles placed within
the pile. By degrees the flame wavered, lowered, dimmed, and slowly, by
fits and unequal starts, died away--emblem of life itself; where, just
before, all was restlessness and flame, now lay the dull and smouldering
ashes.

The last sparks were extinguished by the attendants--the embers were
collected. Steeped in the rarest wine and the costliest odorous, the
remains were placed in a silver urn, which was solemnly stored in one of
the neighboring sepulchres beside the road; and they placed within it
the vial full of tears, and the small coin which poetry still
consecrated to the grim boatman. And the sepulchre was covered with
flowers and chaplets, and incense kindled on the altar, and the tomb
hung round with many lamps.

But the next day, when the priest returned with fresh offerings to the
tomb, he found that to the relics of heathen superstition some unknown
hands had added a green palm-branch. He suffered it to remain,
unknowing that it was the sepulchral emblem of Christianity.

When the above ceremonies were over, one of the Praeficae three times
sprinkled the mourners from the purifying branch of laurel, uttering the
last word, 'Ilicet!'--Depart!--and the rite was done.

But first they paused to utter--weepingly and many times--the affecting
farewell, 'Salve Eternum!' And as Ione yet lingered, they woke the
parting strain.

SALVE ETERNUM

I

Farewell! O soul departed!
Farewell! O sacred urn!
Bereaved and broken-hearted,
To earth the mourners turn.
To the dim and dreary shore,
Thou art gone our steps before!
But thither the swift Hours lead us,
And thou dost but a while precede us,
Salve--salve!
Loved urn, and thou solemn cell,
Mute ashes!--farewell, farewell!
Salve--salve!

II

Ilicet--ire licet--
Ah, vainly would we part!
Thy tomb is the faithful heart.
About evermore we bear thee;
For who from the heart can tear thee?
Vainly we sprinkle o'er us
The drops of the cleansing stream;