73

DEATH AT THE TOILET.

(By the Author of" The Lollards," " Witchfinder," fyc. Sfe.)

It seems that every bard, or clown, or lord,Finds Death a striking subject to talk o'er,

He who counts syllables, in each long word,With rhyme, his hapless relatives to bore,

And he who strikes the highest-bounding chord,Who with immortal eloquence can soar;

Yet nothing make of Death, with all this fuss,

But, that he nothing means to make of us.

And some appear intolerably grieved,While dolefully lamenting earthly woes,

To think that they must one day be relieved:And gain through him, a season of repose.

But I, thank Heaven? have never yet perceivedThat I am likely to be one of those :

For, gratefully admiring Nature's plan,

Death seems to me the comforter of man.