[CHAP. VI.]
THE DEATH OF THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.
“My life is drawing rapidly to its close,” faltered the old man; “my weary pilgrimage is nearly over. Farewell, ye solitary halls and voiceless palaces! Farewell, ye grassy streets and ivied porticoes! The eyes that have gazed upon ye in your splendour, and watched ye gradually passing into ruin, will soon be darkened and closed. The heart that hath drawn so many pleasures from your unfading braveries is fast sinking into that state of nothingness to which you all hasten. City of the silent! he who worshipped your prosperity, and loved your decay, must now pass from amidst your ruined dwellings. Like your time-honoured walls, I totter and tremble, and am ready to fall upon the earth that supports me—the ivy seems twining up my unsteady limbs, and the moss is spreading over my ancient heart. Farewell, ye untasted pastures, ye uncultivated fields, ye gardens of weeds and orchards of brambles—the wildness of your looks shall welcome me no more. Farewell, ye hoary mountains and savage rocks, ye untrodden forests and unhonored streams—the same iron hand that hath visited ye so heavily, as heavily must fall on me. I pass from among ye, oh land of my fathers! Your earth shall receive me to her breast!”
The old man lay on a green bank overgrown with wild flowers, while Oriel and Zabra supported his head. Lilya was reclining at his side, with one of his hands at her lips, and her face hid on his breast, and she spoke only in convulsive sobs. Tourniquet stood near him feeling his pulse, and the professor was close beside endeavouring to administer consolation. At a short distance stood the captain and midshipman, with part of the crew of the Albatross, apparently taking a deep interest in the scene. They were congregated together near a shelving hillock in the neighbourhood of an extensive marsh. Before them was an ancient arch of marble, and beyond that, the ruins of a structure evidently once of very great extent and magnificence, with many statues, some standing where they had been placed, and others lying mutilated among the heaps of stones that were piled up around the place for a considerable distance. The sun was declining in the heavens, and the day was bright and warm. Ruins, in different stages of decay, were observed as far as the eye could reach in every direction, except towards the west, where an open space showed the distant hills, over which the sun was hastening his descent.
It was evident that the Englishman was dying. His venerable brow was covered with a thick perspiration, and his fine countenance had become more pallid and anxious than it had previously been. Yet his eyes beamed as if they had lost none of their accustomed brilliancy, and his noble form possessed the same dignity which had first attracted the attention of the voyagers. He was still in possession of all his faculties, and there was an energy in his manner, and an impressiveness in his language, which proved that the spirit that had outlived so many generations had lost none of its youthful vigour.
“Your pulse is getting more feeble, don’t you see?” said the doctor, with much sympathy for his patient; “and I regret to be obliged to agree with you in stating that your hours are numbered. You have lived far beyond the usual term of life, and it must be a great consolation to you, in your present state, to know that you have lived all that time in honour, and worth, and virtue.”
“Be grateful to Providence that you have been so long spared,” observed Fortyfolios. “The age of man is threescore and ten, and this is but rarely attained; and yet your existence has been prolonged to nearly double that length of time. How much have you to be thankful for! Consider the myriads of human beings who are cut off unprepared;—who die in infancy, in early youth, or perfect manhood—who just begin to taste the sweets of life, and then are hurried from its enjoyment. Consider the advantages you have enjoyed over your fellow-countrymen, who were destroyed by war, by pestilence, and famine. You have much reason to congratulate yourself. You have been spared, doubtless, for some admirable purpose which our finite reason cannot comprehend. Reflect upon these things, and you will be enabled to meet the approach of death without apprehension.”
“What are your wishes concerning the disposal of Lilya?” inquired Oriel Porphyry. “Remember that it is impossible that she can be left alone upon this island with the slightest comfort to herself or pleasure to others. The offer I made to you the other day I repeat. It is not probable that her welfare can be secured more effectively in any other way. Let me implore you then, as you value her future happiness, to take advantage of my accidental arrival, and give me authority to bear her to a secure and honourable asylum.”