Читать книгу Fairy Tales Collection онлайн

296 страница из 321

No sooner were the words spoken than he was at home. Long white curtains shaded the windows of his room, and in the middle of the floor stood a black coffin, in which he now lay in the still sleep of death; his wish was fulfilled, his body was at rest, and his spirit travelling.

"Esteem no man happy until he is in his grave," were the words of Solon. Here was a strong fresh proof of their truth. Every corpse is a sphinx of immortality. The sphinx in this sarcophagus might unveil its own mystery in the words which the living had himself written two days before—

"Stern death, thy chilling silence waketh dread;

Yet in thy darkest hour there may be light.

Earth's garden reaper! from the grave's cold bed

The soul on Jacob's ladder takes her flight.

Man's greatest sorrows often are a part

Of hidden griefs, concealed from human eyes,

Which press far heavier on the lonely heart

Than now the earth that on his coffin lies."

Two figures were moving about the room; we know them both. One was the fairy named Care, the other the messenger of Fortune. They bent over the dead.