After the funeral all our kin
Assembled, and the will was read. 
My friend, I tell thee, even the dead
Have strength, their putrid shrouds within, 460
To blast and torture.  Those who live
Still fear the living, but a corse
Is merciless, and power doth give
To such pale tyrants half the spoil
He rends from those who groan and toil, 465
Because they blush not with remorse
Among their crawling worms.  Behold,
I have no child! my tale grows old
With grief, and staggers:  let it reach
The limits of my feeble speech, 470
And languidly at length recline
On the brink of its own grave and mine.

Thou knowest what a thing is Poverty
Among the fallen on evil days: 
’Tis Crime, and Fear, and Infamy, 475
And houseless Want in frozen ways
Wandering ungarmented, and Pain,
And, worse than all, that inward stain
Foul Self-contempt, which drowns in sneers
Youth’s starlight smile, and makes its tears 480
First like hot gall, then dry for ever! 
And well thou knowest a mother never
Could doom her children to this ill,
And well he knew the same.  The will
Imported, that if e’er again 485
I sought my children to behold,
Or in my birthplace did remain
Beyond three days, whose hours were told,
They should inherit nought:  and he,
To whom next came their patrimony, 490
A sallow lawyer, cruel and cold,
Aye watched me, as the will was read,
With eyes askance, which sought to see
The secrets of my agony;
And with close lips and anxious brow 495
Stood canvassing still to and fro
The chance of my resolve, and all
The dead man’s caution just did call;
For in that killing lie ’twas said—­
’She is adulterous, and doth hold 500
In secret that the Christian creed
Is false, and therefore is much need
That I should have a care to save
My children from eternal fire.’ 
Friend, he was sheltered by the grave, 505
And therefore dared to be a liar! 
In truth, the Indian on the pyre
Of her dead husband, half consumed,
As well might there be false, as I
To those abhorred embraces doomed, 510
Far worse than fire’s brief agony
As to the Christian creed, if true
Or false, I never questioned it: 
I took it as the vulgar do: 
Nor my vexed soul had leisure yet 515
To doubt the things men say, or deem
That they are other than they seem.