Rush to its long-lost friend, with stainless grace,
And dwell forever in its pure embrace.
Friday, September 18, 1840.
The cemetery at Glasgow, called the Necropolis, has a high and pleasant locality on the banks of a stream, surmounted by what is figuratively and appositely called the "Bridge of Sighs." Though it was opened only in 1833, it contains many imposing and costly monuments. A doric column and colossal statue are erected to John Knox on the apex of the hill, and visible to quite a distance. They were placed here several years before the spot was set apart for the purposes of general sepulture. It was a bright morning when we walked there, and the sun rested pleasantly upon the homes of the dead, the turrets of the fine old cathedral in its vicinity, and the noble city stretching itself beneath. That portion of the cemetery appropriated to the Jews was deeply buried in shades, and had an air of solemnity bordering on desolation. Over the entrance was inscribed, "I heard a voice from Ramah, lamentation, mourning, and woe, Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they were not."
On the shaft of a column, which is finished in imitation of Absalom's pillar in the King's dale at Jerusalem, are the stanzas from Byron's Hebrew Melodies, commencing,
