Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the grotesque decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the knights, with their scarfs and swords; and above them are suspended their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and contrasting the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mausoleum stands the sepulchre of its founder, — his effigy, with that of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole surrounded by a superbly wrought brazen railing.
There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence: this strange mixture of tombs and trophies; these emblems of living and aspiring ambition, close beside mementos which show the dust and oblivion in which all must sooner or later terminate. Nothing impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant. On looking round on the vacant stalls of the knights and their esquires, and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners that were once borne before them, my imagination conjured up the scene when this hall was bright with the valor and beauty of the land; glittering with the splendor of jeweled rank and military array; alive with the tread of many feet and the hum of an admiring multitude. All had passed away; the silence of death had settled again upon the which had found their way into the chapel, and built their nests among its friezes and pendants — sure sign of solitariness and desertion.
When I read the names inscribed on the banners, they were those of men scattered far and wide about the world; some tossing upon distant seas; some under arms in distant lands; same mingling in the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets; all seeking to deserve one more distinction in this mansion of shadowy honors: the melancholy reward of a monument.
Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching instance of the equality of the graves; which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulchre of the haughty Elizabeth; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour in the day but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate of the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth' s sepulchre continually echo with the sighs of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival.
A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, and the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the checked and disastrous story of poor Mary.
The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the choir, these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The stillness, the desertion and obscurity that were gradually prevailing around, gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the place.
For in the silent grave no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers,
No careful father' s counsel — nothing' s heard,
For nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness.
正值深秋时节，这时的天气让人感觉冷清而忧郁，早晨的阴影几乎和傍晚的相接，这更给岁末衰落的气氛笼罩了一层灰蒙蒙的色彩。就是在这样的一天，我一个人在威斯敏斯特教堂走了几个小时。在这古老的建筑群中，有一种凄凉的感觉与这个季节的色调刚好吻合。我跨进门槛，似乎一脚迈进了古老的年代，将自己融入久远之前的夜色中。
我是从威斯敏斯特学校的内庭进去的，穿过一道低矮的有着弧顶的长廊，感觉像是在隧道里。周围是厚厚的墙壁，墙上的小孔透出丝丝光线，这里反而显得更加幽暗了。穿过这道长廊，我可以远远地望见前方的拱廊，一个上了年纪的教堂司事，身着黑色长袍，正从阴影里走过，那模样就像是一个刚刚从附近墓中爬出来的幽灵。这条路正是古修道院的遗址，景色分外凄凉，我的思绪因此陷入了庄严的沉思默想之中。这条道路一如既往地寂静，与世隔绝。灰色的墙壁因为受到潮湿空气的侵蚀，早已褪了色，而且由于年代久远，也逐渐呈现出衰败的迹象。墙壁上覆盖了一层灰白的苔衣，让人无法辨认清楚上面的碑文、骷髅像和各种丧葬的标志。弧顶上本来雕刻有华丽富贵的花纹，如今早已不见那些斧凿的痕迹；当年拱石顶上枝繁叶茂的玫瑰花也不见了昔日的风采。这里所有的事物都刻上了岁月的痕迹，然而就是在这样的颓废之中，依然有一种让人怦然心动、欢喜愉悦的感觉。
一道金秋的阳光从拱廊的广场上空倾泻下来，照耀着中间稀稀àà的小草，也给拱廊的一角披上一层微暗的光线。从拱廊中间抬头远望，可以看见一小片蓝天或时而飘过的白云，还有那铺满了金子般阳光的塔尖正笔直地向蓝天延伸。
我缓缓地走在拱廊上，时而思索着这融合了辉煌与颓败的景象，时而又力求辨析我脚下墓石上的碑文。这时，三座雕塑工艺粗糙的浮像吸引了我的目光，?过几代人在上面来来回回的行踏，它们几乎很难辨认清楚了。这是这座寺院早期三位住持的浮雕像，上面的墓志铭已?全被磨掉了，只剩下三个名字——很明显这也是?过后人重新修整的。（泰里斯住持，1082年；吉斯勃塔斯·克里斯宾诺斯住持，1114年；劳伦修斯住持，1176年）我在这里停留片刻，默默地看着这些残缺不全的古人遗迹。它们就像几艘抛了锚的破船，停靠在悠悠岁月的岸边，唯一能说给人们听的就是这几个人曾?活着，而现在已?不复存在了。它们所蕴o的道德意义，不过是告诫那些企图死后还想受人敬仰的人，要依靠墓志铭得以永生简直是痴心妄想。
再过些时日，甚至连这些模糊不清的记录都将消失，而所谓的纪念碑也不再是什么纪念物了。就在我俯视这些墓碑时，突然被大寺的钟声唤醒，钟声在墙壁之间回荡，刹那间整个拱廊都产生了共鸣。从坟墓里传出来的钟声，真是让人不寒而栗，它向人们提示时光的消逝，好似巨大的浪潮，不断地把我们推向坟墓。我继续向前走，到了一扇通向大寺里面的拱门前。走进大门，只见在拱门的衬托下，里面的建筑物显得更加雄伟壮丽。我瞪大了双眼，看着那一根根巨大的圆柱，圆柱上横架着一根根拱梁，它们那么高，真让人惊叹不已。站在柱脚下，人们不禁会想到，与人类的建筑比起来，人类自己是如此渺小。这座空旷幽暗的大寺，顿时让人产生一种神秘的敬畏之情。我们小心谨慎地走过，生怕打破了墓地的肃静；而每当四周的墙壁传出脚步声时，坟墓间也作出了低沉的回应，我们更加深刻地感受到四周的宁静，只是此时的宁静已被我们破坏了。
也许是寺院本身庄严肃穆的气氛压抑着游客的心灵，我们大家都肃然起敬，并且压低了所有的声音。我们感觉周身都被古代伟人的遗骸包围着，他们的丰功伟绩载满史册，声名遍誉世界。