43 



Then again all poetry that appeals to human experience and affec- 

 tions — (and there is little true poetry that does not, more or less directly) 

 — all genuine poetry that deals worthily with human joy and sorrow, 

 life and death, childhood, youth, and age ; love, friendship, home, with 

 its cares and its delights; is intelligible and touching everywhere. 

 Rogers has truly said of human life in general : — 



" Yet is the tale, biief though it be, as strange. 

 As full, methinks, of -ndld and wondrous change, 

 As any that the wandering tribes require, 

 Stretched in the desert tound their evening fire ; 

 As any sung of old, in hall or bower, 

 To minstrel harps at midnight's witching hour." 

 And James Montgomery has beautifully treated the same truth in his 

 simple but expressive poem, "The Common Lot." There is much 

 that breathes the same spirit in the heart-stirring poetry of Robert 

 Burns, who, as it has been truly said, " made rustic life and poverty 

 grow beautiful beneath his touch." 



It would be easy to quote many passages of true poetry illustrating 

 the grace, dignity and glory, of which human life admits, even under 

 the humblest and homeliest guise. I must content myself, however, 

 with a short poem by Caroline Bowles (now Southey's widow), on a 

 subject of solemn but universal interest, which will form a fitting con- 

 clusion to my extracts. 



"THE PAUPERS DEATHBED." 



" Tread softly— bow the head— That pavement damp and cold 

 In reverent silence bow — No smiling courtiers tread ; 



No passing bell doth toll— One silent woman stands, 



Yet an immortal soul Lifting with meagre hands 

 Is passmg now. A dying head. 



Stranger ! however great. No mingling voices sound — 



With lowly reverence bow; An infant wail alone ; 



There's one in that poor shed — A sob suppressed— again 



One by that paltry bed— That short deep gasp, and then 

 Greater than thou. The parting groan. 



Beneath that beggar's roof. Oh ! change — oh ! wondrous change— 



Lo ! death doth keep his state : Burst are the prison bars — 



Enter — no crowds attend— This moment there, so low, 



Enter — no guards defend So agonised, and now 

 This palace gate. Beyond the stars ! 



Oh ! change — stupendous change I 



There lies the soulless clod : 

 The sun eternal breaks — 

 The new immortal wakes — 



Wakes with liis Ood." 



