THE APOPLECTIC.

187

Heroes of Fame, kings of their power,—Enough for Tom that blissful hour,When steaming viands graced the boardThat owned him as its bounteous lord.

Death, like a cormorant, stood by,Watching these doings silently:Smiled forth a smile of grim delight,Lake lightning flash at dead of night,And, cogitating on the wayThat should secure Tom as his prey,Resolved the masquerader's artTo try, and chose a waiter's part.He something of the craft had seenAt civic festivals, I ween ;And, like his friends assembled there,Death thinks of business ev'ry where.Besides, he had improved his skillIn varying the modes to kill;Studied attentively the booksOf Kitchener and other cooks;And found the contents of a cruetAs well as sword or pill would do it.Of pill he knew the power, for heHad dwelt with an apothecary,