1850-60.] JOHN G. DUNN. 543 WHO'LL BE THE NEXT TO DIE? Sleep shut the World's great eye; Pale Sorrow found a balm ; The night-hawk ceased his shrilly cry, And Life's broad sea was calm. An undertaker hung O'er a coffin, all alone ; And wearily he sung, As the dreary work went on. He varnished every side. Then drove the screwlets bright. As he hummed away those gloomy hours. While Fancy penciled elfin powers Pavihoned in the night. All weary was his eye ; The work was nearly done ; And the crazy wind went wailing by, And every cranny moaned ; When, sadly to his ear, There came a spirit sigh : "" One coffin only, hast thou here — Who'll be the next to die ? " His heart was clutched with fright ; He glared around the room ; The pale and waning light Scarce battled with the gloom. I specter met his eye ; No fiend was penciled there; But the crazy wind still sorrowed by. And a moan was in the air. "I'm sure it was not me, Denoted in that sigh ; Thank God, it did not breathe my name. As it went moaning by ! " But still again that spirit came ; Again the quaint reply — " One coffin, only, hast thou here — Who'll be the next to die ?" He conned his sick friends o'er ; He argued every ail; Thought of self once more. And lip and cheek were pale. " Ah ! sure it was not me," Came trembling with a sigh, As he conned away right wond'ringly Who'll be the next to die ? " There's the old man, up the street, Who begs the livelong day, Death laggers at his feet, And beckons him away. The maiden, down the lane. Will soon be gone, I ween, Life's little lamp doth wane. Her eye hath lost its sheen ; " And there's my neighbor's child, Slow languishing away, 'Twill be an angel soon, I know, High at the fount of day. Tm sure it was not me, Denoted in that sigh. For these, alas, I ween, Will be the next to die ! " " Frail fool ! " the spirit cried, " Though thou art stout and hale, This night, indeed, shalt thou abide Low in the realms of wail ! " That night came grim Disease Through every vein and tissue dark Black midnight brought no ease ; Pale morning saw him stark ! Let every earthly elf Attend that spirit's cry. Nor whisper to himself, ni be the last to die !
