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.
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[Illustration]