Corpse - Bearing
Thomas Ashe (1836-1889)
I remember, they sent
Some one to me, who said,
‘You were his friend while he lived:
Be so now he is dead.’
So I went next day to the house;
And a woman nodded to me,
As I sat alone in thought: —
Said, ‘Sir, would you like to see
The poor dead body upstairs,
Before we rivet the lid?’
But I said, ‘I would rather not:
For the look would never be hid
From my sight, day after day,
From my soul, year after year.
Enough to look on the pall:
Enough to follow the bier.’
So the mourners gather'd at last;
And the poor dead body was put
In a hearse with mournful plumes,
And the door of the hearse was shut.
And when the mourners were all
In the coaches, ready to start,
The sorrowing parent came
To me, and whisper'd apart.
He smiled as well as he could;
And the import of what he said
Was, that I should bear at the feet,
And his son would bear at the head.
He was ever my friend;
And I was happy to be
Of ever so small use still
To one who had so loved me.
But, what a weight, O God!
Was that one coffin to bear!
Like a coffin of lead!
And I carry it everywhere
About, wherever I go!
If I lift the slightest thing,
That requires an effort to lift,
The effort at once will bring
The whole weight into my hands,
And I carry the corpse at the feet;
And feel as if it would drop,
And slip out of its winding-sheet.
I have made a vow in my heart,
Whatever the friends may say,
Never to carry a corpse
Again, to my dying day.
