Listen, the last stroke of d**h's noon has
struck—
The plague is come," a gnashing Madman said,
And laid him down straightway upon his bed.
His writhed hands did at the linen pluck ;
Then all is over. With a careless chuck
Among his fellows he is cast. How sped
His spirit matters little : many dead
Make men hard-hearted. — '' Place him on the truck.
Go forth into the burial-ground and find
Room at so much a pitful for so many.
One thing is to be done ; one thing is clear :
Keep thou back from the hot unwholesome wind,
That it infect not thee." Say, is there any
Avho mourneth for the multitude dead here ?