In twenty minutes in there came A creature black as ink, Which put its feet upon a chair And called for beer to drink. They gave him porter in a tub, But, “Give me more!” he cried; And then he drew a heavy sigh, And laid him down, and died. He died, and in the Nyum Nyum’s cave A cry of mourning rose; The Nyum Nyum sobbed a gentle sob, And slily blew his nose. The Nyum Nyum’s love, we need not state, Was overwhelmed, and sad: She said, “Oh, take the corpse away, Or you will drive me mad!” The Nyum Nyum in his supple arms Took up the gruesome weight, And, with a cry of bitter fear, He threw it at his mate. And then he wept, and tore his hair, And threw it in the sea, And loudly sobbed with streaming eyes That such a thing could be. 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. But, oh! It was a horrid sight It made the blood run cold, To see the bodies carried off And covered up with mould. The Toves across the briny sea Wept buckets-full of tears; They were relations of the dead, And had been friends for years. The Jabberwock upon the hill Gave forth a gloomy wail, When in his airy seat he sat, And told the awful tale. And who can wonder that it made That loving creature cry? For he had done the dreadful work, And caused the things to die.