With smoking and cards, passed the dull winter night,
They joked and they laughed and they sung.
Three revellers left, when the midnight was come,
Unable their game to pursue,
Repaired, most unhallowed, to visit the tomb
Where enshrouded lay one of their crew.
For he, late-departed, renowned was at whist,
The marsh-men still tell of his fame,
Till Death with a spade struck the cards from his fist
And spoiled both his hand and his game.