Page:Poems Cook.djvu/167

They herd together, a frighten'd host,
 And whisper with lips all white,—
"See, see, 'tis he that sends the ghost,
 To walk the world at night!"

The old men mark him, with fear in their eye,
 At his labour 'mid skulls and dust;
They hear him chant: "The young may die,
 But we know the aged must."

The rich will frown, as his ditty goes on—
 "Though broad your lands may be;
Six narrow feet to the beggar I mete,
 And the same shall serve for ye."

The car of the strong will turn from his song,
 And Beauty's cheek will pale;
"Out, out," cry they, "what creature would stay
 To list thy croaking tale!"

Oh! the sexton grey is a mortal of dread;
 None like to see him come near;
The orphan thinks on a father dead,
 The widow wipes a tear.

All shudder to hear his bright axe chink,
 Upturning the hollow bone;
No mate will share his toil or his fare,
 He works, he carouses alone.

By night, or by day, this, this, is the lay;
 "Mine is the goodliest trade;
Never was banner so wide as the pall,
 Nor sceptre so fear'd as the spade."

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