The ox, that mumbled in his stall,
Perspired and gently sighed,
And then, in sympathy, it fell
Upon its back and died.
The hen that sat upon her eggs,
With high ambition fired,
Arose in simple majesty,
And, with a cluck, expired.
The jubejube bird, that carolled there,
Sat down upon a post,
And with a reverential caw,
Gave up its little ghost.
And ere its kind and loving life
Eternally had ceased,
The donkey, in the ancient barn,
In agony deceased.
The raven, perched upon the elm,
Gave forth a scraping note,
And ere the sound had died away,
Had cut its tuneful throat.
The Nyum-Nyum's love was sorrowful;
And, after she had cried,
She, with a brand-new carving-knife,
Committed suicide.
"Alas!" the Nyum-Nyum said, "alas!
With thee I will not part,"
And straightway seized a rolling-pin
And drove it through his heart.
The mourners came and gathered up
The bits that lay about;
But why the massacre had been,
They could not quite make out.
One said there was a mystery
Connected with the deaths;
But others thought the silent ones
Perhaps had lost their breaths.
The doctor soon arrived, and viewed
The corpses as they lay;
He could not give them life again,
So he was heard to say.