Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE FUNERAL, by ROBERT SOUTHEY Poet Analysis 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 Heavierneglectforgetfulness 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNHOLY SONNET 4 by MARK JARMAN QUIA ABSURDUM by ROBINSON JEFFERS GOING TO THE HORSE FLATS by ROBINSON JEFFERS SONNET TO FORTUNE by LUCY AIKEN JONATHAN EDWARDS IN WESTERN MASSACHUSETTS by ROBERT LOWELL RELIGIOUS INSTRUCTION by MINA LOY BISHOP BRUNO by ROBERT SOUTHEY |
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