Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FUNERAL, by ROBERT SOUTHEY

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THE FUNERAL, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: The coffin, as I past across the lane
Last Line: For it pleased god to take her to his mercy.
Subject(s): Birth; Death; Faith; Mothers; Selflessness; Child Birth; Midwifery; Dead, The; Belief; Creed

THE coffin, as I past across the lane,
Came sudden on my view. It was not here
A sight of every day, as in the streets
Of the great city, and we paused and ask'd
Who to the grave was going. They replied,
It was a village girl, one who had borne
An eighteen months' strange illness, and had pined
With such slow wasting, that the hour of death
Came welcome to her. We pursued our way
To the house of mirth, and with that idle talk
Which passes o'er the mind and is forgot,
We wore away the time. But it was eve
When homewardly I went, and in the air
Was that cool freshness, that discolouring shade,
That makes the eye turn inward. Then I heard
Over the vale the heavy toll of death
Sound slow; it made me think upon the dead.
I questioned more, and learnt her sorrowful tale.
She bore unhusbanded a mother's name,
And he, who should have cherished her, far off
Sail'd on the seas, self-exiled from his home,
For he was poor. Left, thus, a wretched one,
Scorn made a mock of her, and evil tongues
Were busy with her name. She had one ill
Heavier—neglect—forgetfulness from him
Whom she had loved so dearly. Once he wrote,
But only once that drop of comfort came
To mingle with her cup of wretchedness;
And when his parents had some tidings from him,
There was no mention of poor Hannah there,
Or 'twas the cold inquiry, bitterer
Than silence. So she pined and pined away,
And for herself and baby toil'd and toil'd,
Nor did she, even on her death-bed, rest
From labour, knitting there with arms outstretch'd,
Till she sunk with very weakness. Her old mother
Omitted no kind office, working for her,
Albeit her hardest working barely earn'd
Enough to keep life struggling and prolong
The pains of grief and sickness. Thus she lay
On the sick bed of poverty, so worn
With her long suffering and those painful thoughts
Which at her heart lay rankling, and so weak,
That she could make no effort to express
Affection for her infant; and the child,
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced her,
With natural infantine ingratitude
Shunn'd her as one indifferent. She was past
That anguish, for she felt her hour draw on,
And 'twas her only comfort now to think
Upon the grave. "Poor girl!" her mother said,
"Thou hast suffered much!" "Ay, mother! there is none
Can tell what I have suffered!" she replied;
"But I shall soon be where the weary rest."
And soon the rest she prayed for was vouchsafed,
For it pleased God to take her to his mercy.

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