Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SEXTON, by ELIZA COOK Poet's Biography First Line: Mine is the fame most blazoned of all Last Line: "nor sceptre so feared as the spade." | ||||||||
"Mine is the fame most blazoned of all; Mine is the goodliest trade; Never was banner so wide as the pall, Nor sceptre so feared as the spade." This is the lay of the sexton gray -- King of the churchyard he -- While the mournful knell of the tolling bell Chimes in with his burden of glee. He dons a doublet of sober brown, And a hat of slouching felt; The mattock is over his shoulder thrown, The heavy keys clank at his belt. The dark damp vault now echoes his tread, While his song rings merrily out; With a cobweb canopy over his head, And coffins falling about. His foot may crush the full-fed worms, His hand may grasp a shroud, His gaze may rest on skeleton forms, Yet his tones are light and loud. He digs the grave and his chant will break As he gains a fathom deep -- "Whoever lies in the bed I make I warrant will soundly sleep." He piles the sod, he raises the stone, He clips the cypress tree; But whate'er his task, 'tis plied alone -- No fellowship holds he. For the sexton gray is a scaring loon -- His name is linked with death. The children at play, should he cross their way, Will pause with fluttering breath. They herd together, a frightened host, And whisper with lips all white, -- "See, see, 'tis he, that sends the ghost To walk the world at night." The old men mark him, with fear in their eye, At his labour mid skulls and dust; They hear him chant, "The young may die, But we know the aged must." The rich will frown as his ditty goes on -- "Though broad your lands may be, Six narrow feet to the beggar I mete, And the same shall serve for ye." The ear of the strong will turn from his song, And Beauty's cheek will pale; "Out, out," cry they, "what creature would stay, To list thy croaking tale!" Oh! the sexton gray is a mortal of dread; None like to see him come near; The orphan thinks on a father dead, The widow wipes a tear. All shudder to hear his bright axe chink, Upturning the hollow bone; No mate will share his toil or his fare, He works he carouses alone. By night or by day, this, this is his lay: "Mine is the goodliest trade; Never was banner so wide as the pall, Nor sceptre so feared as the spade." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD ARM-CHAIR by ELIZA COOK A FOREST THOUGHT by ELIZA COOK A HOME IN THE HEART by ELIZA COOK AFTER A MOTHER'S DEATH by ELIZA COOK |
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