The Last Trump

‘ You led the trump,’ the old man said

With fury in his eye,

‘ And yet you hope my girl to wed!

Young man! your hopes of love are fled,

‘ Twere better she should die!

‘ My sweet young daughter sitting there,

So innocent and plump!

You do n't suppose that she would care

To wed an outlawed man who'd dare

To lead the thirteenth trump!

‘ If you had drawn their leading spade

It meant a certain win!

But no! By Pembroke's mighty shade

The thirteenth trump you went and played

And let their diamonds in!

‘ My girl! Return at my command

His presents in a lump!

Return his ring! For understand

No man is fit to hold your hand

Who leads a thirteenth trump!

‘ But hold! Give every man his due

And every dog his day.

Speak up and say what made you do

This dreadful thing — that is, if you

Have anything to say!’

He spoke.‘ I meant at first,’ said he,

‘ To give their spades a bump:

Or lead the hearts, but then you see

I thought against us there might be,

Perhaps, a fourteenth trump!’

They buried him at dawn of day

Beside a ruined stump:

And there he sleeps the hours away

And waits for Gabriel to play

The last — the fourteenth — trump.