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It is a custom among the Moors, that a female who dies unmarried is clothed for interment in wedding apparel, and the bridal song is sung over her remains before they are borne from her home:

See the Narrative of a Ten Years' Residence in Tripoli,

by the sister-in-law of Mr. Tully.

The citron groves their fruit and flowers were strewing
Around a Moorish palace, while the sigh
of low sweet summer-winds, the branches wooing,
With music through their shadowy bowers went by ;

Music and voices, from the marble halls,
Through the leaves gleaming, and the fountain-falls.

A song of joy, a bridal song came swelling,
To blend with fragrance in those southern shades,
And told of feasts within the stately dwelling,
Bright lamps, and dancing steps, and gem-crown’d

And thus it flow'd ; yet something in the lay
Belong'd to sadness, as it died away.

“ The bride comes forth! her tears no more are falling
To leave the chamber of her infant years;
Kind voices from a distant home are calling ;
She comes like day-spring-she hath done with tears;

Now must her dark eye shine on other flowers,
Her soft smile gladden other hearts than others !

-Pour the rich odours round !

“We haste! the chosen and the lovely bringing ;
Love still goes with her from her place of birth ;
Deep silent joy within her soul is springing,
Though in her glance the light no more is mirth!

Her beauty leaves us in its rosy years;
Her sisters weep-but she hath done with tears!

-Now may the timbrel sound ! "

Know'st thou for whom they sang the bridal numbers ?
-One, whose rich tresses were to wave no more!
One, whose pale cheek soft winds, nor gentle slumbers,
Nor Love's own sigh, to rose-tints might restore !

Her graceful ringlets o'er a bier were spread.-
-Weep for the young, the beautiful,—the dead !


The Indians of Bengal and of the Coast of Malabar bring cages filled with birds to the graves of their friends, over which they set the birds at liberty: This custom is alluded to in the description of Virginia's funeral:

See Paul and Virginia.

Go forth, for she is gone !
With the golden light of her wavy hair,
She is gone to the fields of the viewless air ;

She hath left her dwelling lone !

Her voice hath pass’d away!
It hath pass'd away like a summer breeze,
When it leaves the hills for the far blue seas,

Where we may not trace its way.

Go forth, and like her be free!
With thy radiant wing, and thy glancing eye,
Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky,

And what is our grief to thee?

Is it aught ev'n to her we mourn ? Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed ? Doth she rest with the flowers o'er her gentle head,

Or float on the light wind borne ?

We know not—but she is gone! Her step from the dance, her voice from the song, And the smile of her eye from the festal throng ;

-She hath left her dwelling lone !

When the waves at sunset shine,
We may hear thy voice, amidst thosands more,
In the scented woods of our glowing shore,

But we shall not know 'tis thine !

Ev'n so with the loved one flown!
Her smile in the starlight may wander by,
Her breath may be near in the wind's low sigh,

Around us but all unknown.

Go forth, we have loosed thy chain ! We may deck thy cage with the richest flowers, Which the bright day rears in our eastern bowers,

But thou wilt not be lured again.

Ev’n thus


the summer pour All fragrant things on the land's green breast, And the glorious earth like a bride be dress'd,

But it wins her back no more.

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