PART SECOND.
I.
Oh! moan, ye winds, by the green pool's brink!
And quickly, ye Glucks, in the deep mud sink;
Prepare all the dregs of affliction to drink!
The pride of the puddle,
Breath of thy breath,
Lies low in the marshes,
Fainting to death.
Oh! weep, poor Miss Gung! for there never shall be
In thy home of the lilies a lover for thee.
Thy sun goeth down with never a glow,
He hath frowned on thy fate,
On thy maiden estate,
And the one whom thou lovest is lying all low!
II.
Ha! what is this coming? what wreck do they spy?
What driverless rat-steeds are these rushing by?
"Our child!" cried the mother; "oh! fly to him, fly!"
These words to old Gluck,
And that mother fell dead;
She had burst with her grief,
And the vital spark fled.
Then madly in search leaped that father bereft,
And wildly those goggle-eyes peered right and left;
Till at last, where the bank lay a little aslant,
He saw his son lying,
Apparently dying,
For all he could do was to quiver and pant.
III.
"Oh! leap, little Eng" (this, Gluck said to his latest,
A froggy half-grown), "bring of doctors the greatest,
And look to thy speed, that thou never abatest.
Bring Tightskin, or Squatt,
Or my cousin Paff-Puff;
But don't bring them all—
One doctor's enough.
O horror! he fails! Be quick, Eng, be quick!
His eye-balls are sinking! his breath's growing thick.
Either Tightskin or Squatt will be better than Paff—"
But Eng never heard,
He had left at the word,
Bound, of course, for the third of that medical staff.
IV.
"Oh! look at me, son! Oh! lift up your head!
And don't lie so limp, for you fill me with dread
For pity's sake, hear me. Your mother is dead!"
"Dead!" gasped Master Gluck,
"And I lying here?
Oh! why will these mothers
Step out of their sphere?
If ever I needed good nursing 'tis now,
And your masculine paw, sir, it scratches my brow.
I need some one gentle—more gentle than air—
O father! I fear
I am injured in here."
And our frog pressed his heart in the deepest despair.
V.
"Now, bear up, my son," cried the sorrowing Gluck.
"See! the doctor is coming. He'll bring us good luck.
By my croak! but it's Paff, the conceited old buck."
Then, quick to the doctor,
"My child! Is he killed?
Oh! save me my son
From the phaeton spilled.
Haste! give me the lotion! I'll pour it on here."
"No, no," moaned the patient, "I can't have him near,
His rubbing is torture. I'd rather be hung.
Dear doctor, he's rough—
He's nursed me enough—
Oh! send little Eng for that oldest Miss Gung."
VI.
Then outspake the uncle, with wrath in his face,
And a grunt of denial that filled all the place,
"No, no, Master Gluck, I'll attend to your case,
Humph! nursing indeed!
You've called me too late.
In less than an hour, sir,
We'll lay you out straight.
No Miss Gung shall you have. Her father's my friend.
If you'd done as you ought—Never mind. I intend
To have all my sons, cousin Gluck, marry early.
Had my patient seen fit
To wed, I'll admit
He might have been saved," said this doctor so surly.
VII.
And then, while our hero lay moaning with pain,
And his father kept rubbing and fussing in vain,
The doctor continued, in furious strain,
"This accident—humph!
Cousin Gluck, on my word,
With a family team, sir,
Would not have occurred.
This thinking and plotting for self all the while,
And frisking about, sir, in bachelor style,
With no one to nurse you when hurt, sir, don't pay."
"Good doctor," moaned froggy,
"It isn't too late,
Even now she'd consent
To soften my fate.
Oh Eng! dear, run off for Miss Gung, right away."
VIII.
These words were his last. He never moved more,
But lay through the starlight, all fainting and sore
(And those weary night-watchers, how rasping their snore)!
In the morning they found him
Stretched out stiff and stark—
He had died all alone
In the cold and the dark.
The chord of existence had snapt, they averred,
In trying to utter one sweet little word.
And, as over his body his weeping sire hung,
'Twas plain to be seen,
From that mouth's very mien,
That the last mournful sound of his life had been—Gung!
Oh! gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,
And striplings fair, and children dear,
Be warned by the mournful tale, heigho!
Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.
————————
