and the heart which just now was the seat of friendship. There, dim and
sightless is the eye, whose radiant and enlivening orb beamed with
intelligence; and there, closed forever are those lips, on whose persuasive
accents we have so often and so lately hung with transport.

From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there proceeds, methinks, a
light in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men pursue
are only phantoms. In this light how dimly shines the splendor of
victory--how humble appears the majesty of grandeur. The bubble which
seemed to have so much solidity has burst; and we again see that all below
the sun is vanity.

True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced. The sad and solemn procession
has moved. The badge of mourning has already been decreed, and presently
the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name
of Hamilton, and rehearse to the passing traveller his virtues.

Just tributes of respect! And to the living useful. But to him, mouldering
in his narrow and humble habitation, what are they? How vain! how
unavailing! Approach, and behold--while I lift from his sepulchre its
covering. Ye admirers of his neatness, ye emulous of his talents and his
fame, approach, and behold him now. How pale! how silent! No martial bands
admire the adroitness of his movements. No fascinated throng weep--and
melt--and tremble at his eloquence!--Amazing change. A shroud! a coffin! a
narrow subterraneous cabin! This is all that now remains of Hamilton! And
is this all that remains of him?--During a life so transitory, what lasting
monument then can our fondest hopes erect?

My brethren! we stand on the borders of an awful gulf, which is swallowing
up all things human. And is there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing