While it must drag behind it flesh and blood.
A way has been appointed and decreed,
By funeral rites, for it to be freed
From that now mere burden; who lack them pray
The Ferryman in vain; driven away,
They tread a hundred years the same dull track,
Till, less in hope than apathy straying back,
They are—disbodied—afloat! It may be,
If rarely, that friendship, or charity,
Late informed, or remorse for crime, has laid