The speaker is a dead lawyer and judge, baffled by his own obscurity. He recites his accomplishments—he knew Blackstone and Coke almost by heart, made the greatest speech the courthouse ever heard, and wrote a brief praised by Justice Breese. Yet he lies in an unmarked grave, forgotten. Meanwhile Chase Henry, the town drunkard, has a marble block topped by an urn. The speaker’s repeated question is wounded and indignant, not merely curious. The contrast stings because it reverses everything he expected from life. The mood is dry and ironic, sharpened by the final detail: a flowering weed has taken root in the drunkard’s urn, as if nature itself is laughing at human ideas of respect. Reputation, it turns out, doesn’t follow merit; the respectable man is erased, while the town’s failure gets a monument by accident.
Judge Somers — Summary
How does it happen, tell me, That I who was most erudite of lawyers, Who knew Blackstone and Coke Almost by heart, who made the greatest speech The court-house ever heard, and wrote A brief that won the praise of Justice Breese How does it happen, tell me, That I lie here unmarked, forgotten, While Chase Henry, the town drunkard, Has a marble block, topped by an urn Wherein Nature, in a mood ironical, Has sown a flowering weed?