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another to patch up the poem
itself from such materials. What consistency of style and execution can be
hoped for from such an attempt? or, rather, what bad taste and tedium will
not be the infallible result?
A blending of popular legends, and a free use of the songs of other bards,
are features perfectly consistent with poetical originality. In fact, the
most original writer is still drawing upon outward impressions--nay, even
his own thoughts are a kind of secondary agents which support and
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them room, and all the talk and noise stopping,
people saying “Sh!” and all the men taking their hats off and drooping
their heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got there
they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took one sight, and then
they bust out a-crying so you could a heard them to Orleans, most; and
then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins
over each other's shoulders; and then for three minutes, or maybe four,
I never see two men leak the way they done. And, mind you, everybody
was doing the same; and the place was that damp I never see anything
like it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin, and t'other on
t'other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the
coffin, and let on to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come
to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and
everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud--the poor girls,
too; and every woman, nearly, went up to the girls, without saying a
word, and kissed them, solemn, on the forehead, and then put their hand
on their head, and looked up towards the sky, with the tears running
down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give
the next woman a show. I never see anything so disgusting.
Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and
works himself up and slobbers out a speech, all full of tears and
flapdoodle about its being a sore trial for him and his poor brother
to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long
journey of four thousand mile, but it's a trial that's sweetened and
sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he
thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out
of their mouths they can't, words being too weak and cold, and all that
kind of rot and slush, till it was just sickening; and then he blubbers
out a pious goody-goody Amen, and turns himself loose and goes