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Untitled Article
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
Untitled Article
There ' s no one ' neath the yew trees cold , Save the sexton , stamping * down the mould . The Rector awakens the silent street , With the quick sounds of galloping ; feet ; The sky is bright , the flowers are out , The school is let loose with a joyous shout ; There ' s gladness in each light wind ' s breath . Tush !— ¥ e have said too much of death !'—p . 40—43 .
The sketches of character in this poem are almost all happily executed , whether they be of the peasantry or their superiors ; and they are well grouped and contrasted . The lighter and darker colourings are ably blended . The village apothecary , the farmer , the attorney , on the one hand—and the poacher , the felon , the old soldier , the pauper mother , on the other—are all excellent and
powerful . The chief defect is , that , occasionally , the author has put into the mouth of his personages a sentiment which rather belongs to the intelligent and pitying observer . Thus , in Jack Morley ' s song : 4 I curse them—not that they in sooth Have worn in want and toil my youth ;—My curses on their heads I roll
Because they ' ve brutalized my soul . * The brutalized soul does not feel the depth of its degradation . It is unconscious of its debasement , and the production of that unconsciousness is the worst feature in the oppression , or selfish neglect , to which it is sacrificed . Of the pauper songs , supposed to be chaunted by the inmates of the village poor-house , that of the expectant emigrant is , not the most powerful certainly , but to our feelings the most pleasant .
* bill harvey ' s song . There ' ship on the ocean , that gallantly rides , And she floats like a swan on the murmuring tides , Through the breeze of the summer she shoots her light form , And glides like a falcon through tempest and storm . Ride on , thou proud vessel ! bound swift o ' er the sea ! No home is there left me , no country save thee !
No home and no country , —off , off let me roam : 'Tis not in the palace the king finds a home , ' Tis not the bare wall or the desolate hearth , Is a home , —nor our country a cold spot of earth , Where food ' s to be gain'd , and where fields blossom free , Oh ! there shines a home and a country for me f
Sail on , thou gay vessel ! Far over the wave I'll find me a country or find me a grave ; Far better to die in the swamp or the wood , Than to creep thro 9 long life on the mendicant ' s food , — A grave or a homestead beneath the green tree !—For death or good fortune alike set me free *
Untitled Article
The Village Poor-Howe * 541-
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), Aug. 2, 1832, page 541, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1818/page/37/
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