PS 991 1p1 L5 if; UBRARY OF CONGRESS DDD0ETfcDS4aE \ V ^ • ' ^ «^^ «• "OiC^ • ^ c^.l® ♦^ X5 " O « W ^^ ^.. c^ — /y"^ C-'W-i: .iz^^9^^.jf-/^_^ '»3tii yc,«<-. ai- 3. j f. ^-1a-» 'j>«.(frr. T.TFR IN DRATH COPARTNERSHIP. BEN Gasteday and Isham Henderson have entered into a copartnership under the style of Ben Casseday & Co., lor the purpose of carrying on the publishing business in all its branches. They have purchased and thoroughly re organized the printing office of G. H. Monscrrat & Co., and have procured new and excellent workmen, and are now prepared to exe culc books, pamphlets and job work of all kinds, in a style equal to any similar work executed in the East. They will rule and finish blank work of all kinds; print circulars, cards, business notices, iiotes of hand, bills of exchange, &c., &c. They are also prepared to execute orders for binding single volumes iu any style that may be desired. The chief design of the firm is to afford to authors and others having books to publish, an opportunity to give them publicity in the "West, and thus at once to save the needless expense of a trip to the Ea^t, and to have security that their volumes will be as well executed and their sale as much advanced as they could be by any Eastern house. They are thoroughly satisfied that their success depends upon the quality of their work: hence patrons will have this security that they will permit no unfinished work to leave their office. They pledge themselves that they will spare no expense and stint no en- deavor to ad ranee the art of book publishing in all its branches. And they are persuaded that their friends will understand them as expressing only the true facts of the case in this advertisement. They will be happy to re- ceive such orders as may be given them at once. BEN CASSEDAY & CO. Louisville, March lOth, 184». Office 17 Wall street. 1 V LOUISVILLE: PUBLISHED BY BEN CASSEDAY & CO. 1849. LIFE IN DEATH METRICAL ROMANCE. IN TWO PARTS. LOUISVILLE: PUBLISHED BY BEN CASSEDAY & CO. 1849. f^l v^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by BEN CASSEDAY & CO. in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Kentucky. ADVERTISEMENT. The thrilling story of the ancient philosopher who discovered the long-sought elixir of life, and whose dreadful fate in the administration of this elixir to his own mortal remains has been so admirably told, will be well remembered. That story has been embodied in the following pages. The prose version of the story was published many years ago in a London magazine, and has not since appeared. The theme is certainly well suited to metrical composition, and the design has simply been to give the history in metrical form. LIFE IN DEATH. PART FIRST. 'Tis a fearful thing to sit by the dying When life's last moments are silently flying — • When the earth seems to look but fadingly, And time draws near to eternity. And to think that the being, all Warmth and life, Will soon be done with the passions' strife, And the social heart must lie alone Under the grass and cold grave-stone, Will sadden the gayest ; — yet such has been. And such will be again, I ween. II. 'Twas eve — in an age long since gone by, That a curtained couch and darkened room Held a sick man at the point to die, — 'Twas vain to deceive him — his hour was come. 8 LIFEINDEATH. The sick man's face looked withered and old, And the wrinkled lines on his forehead told Of a life that had not been free from care ; But now his features seemed to wear A restlessness, and his quick gray eye Glanced about him anxiously. The ancient chamber where he lay Bore marks of an age now passed away* The arras hangings along the wall And the Gothic windows, narrow and tall And heavily curtained, through which a ray Now and then would steal its way, Gave it an air of dimness and gloom That well beseemed a sick man's room. While, scattered round upon the floor, Ponderous tomes of mystic lore And glass retorts lay, and remains Of broken vials, and acid stains Were faintly marked, as though long since made ; And on the old mantel there were laid Crucibles, and, covered with dust. Stood in a corner an antique bust. LIFEINDEATH. ^i III. The old man knew that his hour was near, And his anxious look was a look of fear. "Is Herman not come yet?" he said, And his voice was hollow, like one from the dead; "Curse the hour — I'm lost! — place a time-piece here!'' They brought the dial and placed it near. 'Twas an antique clock; — a cupid below Swayed with the pendulum to and fro. Of exquisite finish, but seeming to be, By the death-bed there, a mockery. The cold drops stood on the old man's face As he turned to the clock his dying gaze. Watching the moments that hurried by, Hurrying him to eternity. Just then it struck, and began to play With measured beat its mournful lay. The sick man listened, as if each sense Were wrapt in the music's influence ; And his ear was strained to catch the tone Of Jtbe Jast chord after the sound was gone. 10 LIFEINDEATH. When the rumbling of wheels and horses' feet Echoed below in the empty street. '' He comes!" the old man shrieked, and strove To raise his head, but he scarce could move A single limb of his palsied frame. Nearer and nearer the echoes came. Then suddenly ceased, — a moment more — A step was on the stair — the door Of the sick man's room was opened wide — " Father!" — his son is at his side. IV. V •* Herman, I have much to say — My life is ebbing and will not stay — What I would tell is for thee alone ;" And they left the father with his son. •* Herman, near that statue's base You may touch the spring of a secret case ; Jn the case a casket is laid — Bring it hither." The youth obeyed* 'Twas a Hindoo casket of ebony* LIFEINDEATH. 11 Carved with figures curiously. " In the right eye of that Vishnoo is hid A secret spring — press it." The lid Of the casket flew instantly open ; within, A vial of rose-colored liquid was seen. The old man's features, distorted and white. Shot forth a gleam of strange delight. Like the dying glare a taper gives While the flickering flame yet feebly lives. **0 youth! glad youth! shall I see thee again! Again shall my lips the wine-cup drain! Will the smile of woman be once more mine?" " Father! an hour is scarcely thine! If you have aught to say, O haste! Or " " In truth, I am mad to waste Moments so precious. You know, my son, How I have spent my life, alone. Engrossed in studies that seemed to be Always enveloped in mystery. Herman, from my earliest years, I have felt dark, nameless fears, 12 LIFEINDEATH. Aiid thoughts to thee I need not tell Of death — more loathsome than terrible. And I sought if there might be Aught in earth's philosophy That would break the tyrant's chain. And bring death to life again. 1 have succeeded. This vial contains That which, rubbed on my mortal remains. When the spark of life is fled, Will re- animate the dead! And my body from the tomb Will arise in pristine bloom; — Flerman, yes, you will see me rise Like your brother before your eyes!" V. The old man paused, for he saw that his son Did not listen, but looked .upon The vial, with that look which tells AVhatthe gazer inly feels. The father trembled, for he knew What must be the thoughts that threw LIFEINDEATH. 13 That cold calculating glance Out from his son's countenance. " Herman!" cried the dying man ; But the son seemed still to scan, With his cold and selfish eye, The crimson fluid thoughtfully. The pallid face of the sufferer grew More of a fearfully livid hue; With a dying effort he raised his head— Tho' he scarce could move a limb in the bed And looked once more in Herman's face Earnestly, but he could not trace Aught of love or pity there. The gentleness of youth seemed gone. And the features were stern and rigid Hke stone. The head sank back on the couch in despair. The lips moved once— he gasped for breath. And— the son stood alone in the chamber of death! VI. Twas night. Three days had passed away, And again in that ancient room 14 LIFEINDEATF. As before, the old man lay; But now he was coffined and clad for the tomb, And beside him sat his son Watching the departed one. Hours passed, as the night waned on, And still the mourner was there alone. The tapers that stood by the coffin burned Till their long and red wicks turned Downward, and around them threw Shadows on the walls that grew, In the night-air, into strange Unearthly figures, that seemed to change Every moment ; and Herman thought. As he sat alone by the coffin's side, That now and then the shapes were wrought Into the image of him that died; And his father's features would seem to be Gazing upon him wistfully. And then a dimness would cover his eyes. And shadows of youth and life would rise, — Scenes that had long since passed away, Mem'ries of many a happier day. LIFEINDEATH. 15 Would flit for a moment before him and fade , And then, in their place, dark, loathsome forms, From the mouldering charnel-house and worms. Hovered around him by the dead. *« Fool that I am," he said, *no be Haunted thus by a phantasy; My father was wrong, — yet the secret, if true, Were worth — I would indeed that I knew; — What hinders me now to make the trial?" He rose, and taking the crimson vial, Carefully raised the coffin's lid And lifted the shroud from off the head^ And then, with half-averted gaze, Looked into the dead man's face. 'Twas sickening, — in the sunken cheeks, The livid hue and the yellow streaks, Showed corruption's work begun. Just at that moment a clock struck one In a neighboring tower, and th' echoing sound Had scarcely ceased when he seemed to hear A whisper of voices in his ear. He started and looked suspiciously round ; 16 LIFEINDEATH. Rut his eye caught nothing save the tall, (Tigantic shadows along the wall, And his ear heard nought but the night-wind's moan, Whistling its low monotonous tone. He paused a moment with somewhat of fear, As the voice of the wind passed moaning along. But an evil design is ever strong, And he turned again beside the bier. VII. The night was waning fast away. When he opened the vial carefully, And leaning above where the dead man lay, Let one drop fall in the close-shut eye. The change was instant, and Herman thought Jle would almost have undone what lie had wrought. The eye that was closed in dreamless sleep^ Awoke at once from its slumber deep. And while a softness through it shone That belongs to early childhood alone, With a melting, clear, transparent blue, Turned full upon Herman ! — Llf£iND£ATH. 11 It was then true ! The Secret of life, that ages past Had sought in vain, was found at last, And all of that mighty mystery Was there, in the glance of that living eye ! E'en as he gazed his blood ran cold. And his trembling limbs beneath him shook ; Ah, never was yet a heart so bold But would quail before that eye's mild look. Its expression at first was a mingled one, , Of joy with earnest hope, and then. As Helrman gazed, a shade of fear Passed across it, and then a tear Escaped from under the dark-fringed lid And coursed dcJWn over the face that was dead ; While the newly-awakened eye Looked Up to Herman imploringly. VHI. The yoUng man stood unmoved the while, Arid over his features a selfish smile B* 18 LIFElNDflATH^ Stole, as he gazed on what he had done. Meantime the tapers around him shone More dimly, and flickered, and some went out And strange dark shapes seemed flitting abouty And voices were whispering in the air, As it moaned round that unhallowed spot, But whether of curses or whether of prayer, Herman heard or heeded not. His thoughts were many a year away, Back to his childhood's early day, When his sire was young and he but a child,— He thought how his life had been wayward and wild. His father's kindness came over him then. His last words too were remembered again ; He thought what his sire had been, who now. Lifeless, corrupting before him lay, And he could redeem him from death and decay. The clammy sweat stood on Herman's brow : Should he not break the bonds of death For one who had given him life and breath ? But the vial was small and the drops were few. And the work of a life-time would scarcely renew LIFEINDEATH. 19 The fluid, once wasted, — and he alone Possessed the secret, — how could it be known ? The secret was his ; and he turned to replace The vial and casket within their case, When he caught a glance of the living eye That chill'd his very heart with fear. For it glared upon him terribly, A look of horror, rage, despair ! LIFE IN DEATH PART SECOND. I. Years have passed,— life's but a span, And Herman is a grey old man. Little recks it to us, I ween. What th' events of his life have been. Perchance he felt the hopes and fears That mingle in all human years. Hopes that are false and fears that are true, And deeds that repentance cannot undo, Make up our life, to all the same, Or differing little m aught but name. n. Had his life been happy ? — Pleasure, All that youth and wealth and leisure, 24 LIFEINBEATH. Uncontrolled by conscience here, Unrestrained by future fear, Had of joy to give, was given, — Could not these make earth a heaven ? Life and wealth alike he'd wasted, Every cup of pleasure tasted, Sure that if his hours were stinted, If of this life he were reft, Ev'n with his sins all unrepented. He had another life still left. But to his vision present ever, E'en from his dreams departing never, Whether joy or grief betide him. Like a skeleton beside him^ Was the fresh mem'ry of the time When, by a most unfilial crime, Tho' gifted with all the power to save. He had left his sire to the dark cold grave. And from that dead face, sad and stern. Still above him seemed to burn The glance of that single living eye. Glaring upon him angrily. LIFEINDEATH. 25 III. He had lived till, one by one, Those he loved the most were gone, And saving Ernest, his only son, He was left on earth alone. The crimson vial and casket and case Lay still concealed in their secret place, O not for all that could be given Of peace on earth or hope in heaven, Which it, so dearly bought, had cost. Would he this treasure should be lost. For fifty years it there had waited, Till he, with one existence sated. Should — like the chrysalis which, breaking The Lethean shroud of its own making, Comes forth to a far brighter birth, — Awaken to new life on earth. But conscious of the fatal power Of strong temptation, in the hour When faithfulness might most be needed. Well had he in his son's case heeded 26 L I F E I N D E A T H . That Ernest's mind should be impressed AVith filial duties o'er all the rest; That, trained in pious solitude, With this chief thought it was imbued, — That his sire's command admitted no stay Or question, but simply to hear and obey. IV. One night, before a mirror turning, Glancing at his changed form and face, Amidst whose wrinkles scarce a trace Of manhood's bloom remained, a yearning For youth returned. "Yes," said he, musing. *' 'Tis folly longer to delay All hour that must be my own choosing, When to discard this withered clay. 1 might live some years yet, 'tis true, Kven in this form, and then renew My promised youth ; — but much I fear Young Ernest, — should he less revere Jlis sire's commands as he grows older 1^ LIFEINDEATH. 27 Become more curious or bolder, — Or should he chance to find the place — " (And he glanced in fear toward the secret case,) "All would be lost. It must be tried This very night." He turned aside, And taking the crimson vial again Whence it so long had secretly lain, He placed it before him, then sent for his son. And piously sighing, thus began : — ^'Ernest, thy sire is growing old. The sands of life are lessening fast, My eyes are dim and my heart grows cold. And ev'n this night may be my last. Ah ! death, my son, is a terrible thing, When its near approach can only bring Vain laments for errors past. Grief for pleasures that could not last, Despair in the future yet before, And regrets for lost time that returns no more. Alas ! I feel myself, and keenly Feel, although I know how vainly, 28 LIFEINDEATH. For my early life mis-spent 111 much of what I now repent ► Yours, my son, has been happier far. And upon your pious; care Alone it rests your sire to save From the pains of what is. beyond the grave. Many years since, at the sacred shrine Of the Sepulchre in Palestine, f knelt a pilgrim. My prayer was heard, And as that virtuous deed's reward. And to assure my soul of heaven. This crimson vial to me was given. It holds an oil of sa wondrous power^ That even after the mortal hour. If rubbed upon my earthly remains. It will remove sin's darkest stains. And, purified in heaven's own eyes, Will fit my soul for the upper skies. On you, my son, this must depend ; — Whenever then my life shall end, Come to my chamber, you alone. Your visit and purpose alike unknown. LIFEINDEATH. 29 Extinguish the lights, for a duty like this. So holy, must have no witnesses. Ernest, remember, my curse or blessing Will follow you through life, unceasing, My blessing till your latest breath, Or curse, even in the hour of death, As you observe or disobey This last command. More might I say. But my strength fails, and the vesper bell Calls you to prayer ; so now, farewell !" The old man rose, when left alone. Unstopped a vial that lay upon The mantel, and its contents drained Till not one fatal drop remained ; Then hastily heaped up anew The burning coals and in them threw The empty vial ; — One moment more — An old man's corpse lay on the floor 1 30 LIFEINDEATH. 'Tis night. Again in that Gothic room, Coffined and sere-clothed for the tomb. With gilded hatchments upon the bier, And waxen tapers burning near, An old man lies. With quiet tread. As though he feared to wake the dead Ernest appears ; — his hollow cheek And swollen, tear-stained eyes bespeak His filial grief for a father lost. Whom he, of all on earth loved most. What though that face to others seemed All cold and stern, on him it beamed With kindness ever, and his heart Had memories that seemed a part Of its existence, mem'ries dear. Of his dead sire's paternal care. Ah ! had those dim old walls a tongue, How had his filial heart been wrung, To learn that selfishness alone LIFEINDEATH. 31 Prompted the love his sire had shown. That, gamester-like, upon the chance Of his son's true obedience. He had risked all, alas, far more 1 Than deep repentance o'er and o'er, |> Or tears, or blood could e'er restore. J VI. In Ernest's mind no thought like this Comes to disturb his inward peace, As by the coffin's side he stands To do his loved sire's last commands. Nerving himself for the sacred trial, He takes from its case the crimson vial, — Glances once suspiciously round. And listens to every passing soiind, — Then mindful what his father said, Extinguishes each taper's light, And stands alone in the silent night, Alone with darkness and the dead. His heart beats quick, but not with fears. 32 LIFEINDEATH. Trembles his hand, though not with years, And through his brain come thick and fast, The thronging mem'ries of the past ; As from the head the shroud he threw, And from the vial the stopper drew ; Then, using the precious oil with care, Drop after drop, from the scanty store, Proceeds to bathe the features o'er. The forehead and the thin grey hair. But why does thus young Ernest start With staring eye and pallid cheek ? As though the life-blood at his heart Had ceased to beat ! And hark ! A shriek !- As with the strength that terror gives He bursts the fastened door — *'He lives! — My father lives! — he is not dead ! We coffined him too soon!" he said. ^'Help! help!" And from the castle hall. With blazing lights and weapons all, The frightened menials gathering come L I F E I N D E A T H . 33 And hurry to the old man's room. But who can paint the picture? There, With every feature of despair, Stands Ernest pointing to the bier; And as the trembling crowd draw near, Never, O never yet, I ween. Was such a sight of horror seen ! The corpse's body, as before. Was that of a man almost fourscore. But the youthful face seemed one On which scarce eighteen suns had shone, Rich chestnut ringlets clustering hung Around a brow all smooth and young, While the cheeks' ripe and ruddy hue, And the full eyes etherial blue. Gave an expression to the face Of almost girlish lovliness. 'Twas horrible!— that living head Joined to the body that was dead ! But where was the vial? — O never more Can be renewed that wondrous store. In the first moment of alarm, 34 LIFEINDEATH. When Ernest found the head grow warm, He felt his trembling fingers' clasp Grow weak, and his relaxing grasp Let fall the vial, and there it lay In fragments, by that half-living clay; And the treasure, obtained at such a cost, Was now remedilessly lost. But mark the expression of that eye, As it gazes upward anxiously; And then, with a look almost of command, Glances toward Ernest's empty hand. The young man mournfully shook his head,- *' 'Tis lost, forever lost !" he said. O heaven! you should have seen the look On that young face, as Ernest spoke. In its expression at once were cast Dread of the future and fear for the past. Consciousness of a terrible doom, Hoplessness in the world to come, Disappointment, rage, despair. And horror, all were pictured there! LIFEINDEATH. 35 VII. Three days the head remained alive, And oft the lips would seem to strive, Tho' ever still, alas, in vain. To speak the thoughts of the living brain. Through all the time that stony gaze Left not the eyes, nor did they raise Toward heaven one single hopeful glance; Nor from that fear-struck countenance Did the dread horror once depart. Nor in the expression of the face Aught of repentance could you trace, — The mind was living, but not the heart. The life-like look from the face at last Painfully and slowly passed. And the features' youthful glow, And the smooth cheek's ruddy hue. The lips gave one convulsive quiver, — The eyes rolled once — then closed forever! * * * * 5J; They buried the corpse in a lonely glen, 36 LIFEINDEATH. Away far off from the dwellings of men; For it must not lie within the sound Of church -bell, nor in holy ground. VIII. Yonder Abbey-walls within By that crucifix of stone, Striving to atone for sin, Kneels an aged monk alone. He has spent there three-score years, All in penitence and tears, Ever fasting, ever praying. Ever beads and masses saying. Ever there in hood and cowl. Praying for his father's soul; That old monk is Herman's son. C 32 89
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