Page:The Grave, a poem, 1808 (1903).djvu/41

Felt from afar? Pliant and pow'rless now:
Like new-borm infant wound up in his swathes.
Or victim tumbled flat upon his back.
That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife;
Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues.
And coward insults of the base-born crowd,
That grudge a privilege thou never hadsts
But only hop'd for in the peaceful Grave—
Of being unmolested and alone!
Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs,
And honours by the herald duly paid
In mode and form, e'en to a very scruple;
(O cruel irony!) these come too late;
And only mock whom they were meant to honour!
Surely there's not a dungeon slave that's buried
In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd,
But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound, as he.
Sorry pre-eminence of high descent
Above the baser born, to rot in state!

But see! the well-plum'd hearse comes nodding on.
Stately and slow; and properly attended
By the whole sable tribe, that painful watch
The sick man's door, and live upon the dead,
By letting out their persons by the hour
To mimic sorrow, when the heart's not sad!