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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19226-8.txt b/19226-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e65abb7 --- /dev/null +++ b/19226-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4791 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dog's Book of Verse + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19226] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + The Dog's Book + + of Verse + + + + Collected by + + J. Earl Clauson + + + "'I never barked when out of season; + I never bit without a reason; + I ne'er insulted weaker brother, + Nor wronged by fraud or force another;' + Though brutes are placed a rank below, + Happy for man could he say so." + + [Illustration: Crest] + + + Boston + Small, Maynard & Company + Publishers + + + + + Copyright, 1916 + + BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY + + (INCORPORATED) + + + + + TO + + THE MEMORY OF + + JACK, + + AN AIREDALE + + + + + PREFACE + + + Matthew Arnold, explaining why those were his most popular poems + which dealt with his canine pets, Geist, Kaiser, and Max, said + that while comparatively few loved poetry, nearly everyone loved + dogs. + + The literature of the Anglo-Saxon is rich in tributes to the + dog, as becomes a race which beyond any other has understood and + developed its four-footed companions. Canine heroes whose + intelligence and faithfulness our prose writers have celebrated + start to the memory in scores--Bill Sykes's white shadow, which + refused to be separated from its master even by death; Rab, + savagely devoted; the immortal Bob, "son of battle"--true souls + all, with hardly a villain among them for artistic contrast. + Even Red Wull, the killer, we admire for his courage and lealty. + + Within these covers is a selection from a large body of dog + verse. It is a selection made on the principle of human appeal. + Dialect, and the poems of the earlier writers whose diction + strikes oddly on our modern ears, have for the most part been + omitted. The place of such classics as may be missed is filled + by that vagrant verse which is often most truly the flower of + inspiration. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PART I + PUPPYHOOD + + TITLE AUTHOR PAGE + + We Meet at Morn _Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley_ 3 + + The Lost Puppy _Henry Firth Wood_ 5 + + A Laugh in Church _Anonymous_ 8 + + Treasures _Anonymous_ 10 + + That There Long Dog _Alice Gill Ferguson_ 11 + + My Friend _Anonymous_ 12 + + Ted _Maxine Anna Buck_ 14 + + Little Lost Pup _Anonymous_ 16 + + My Brindle Bull-Terrier _Coletta Ryan_ 18 + + Lauth _Robert Burns_ 20 + + The Drowned Spaniel _Charles Tennyson Turner_ 21 + + + PART II + THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP + + Cluny _William Croswell Doane_ 25 + + The Best Friend _Meribah Abbott_ 26 + + My Dog and I _Alice J. Chester_ 27 + + My Gentleman _Anonymous_ 29 + + The Dead Boy's Portrait and His Dog _Gerald Massey_ 31 + + Advice to a Dog Painter _Jonathan Swift_ 33 + + Mercy's Reward _Sir Edwin Arnold_ 34 + + Beau and the Water Lily _William Cowper_ 37 + + Petronius _Frederic P. Ladd_ 39 + + My Dog _Joseph M. Anderson_ 40 + + Charity's Eye _William Rounseville Alger_ 42 + + To Blanco _J.G. Holland_ 44 + + The Ould Hound _Arthur Stringer_ 46 + + The Miser's Only Friend _George Crabbe_ 48 + + Poor Dog Tray _Thomas Campbell_ 51 + + My Comforter _Anonymous_ 53 + + The Little White Dog _May Ellis Nichols_ 54 + + The Irish Greyhound _Katherine Phillips_ 55 + + The Vagabonds _J.T. Trowbridge_ 57 + + In Cineam _Sir John Davies_ 62 + + Old Matthew's Dog _Anonymous_ 63 + + A Dog and a Man _Anonymous_ 67 + + Rover-Dog _Marie Louise Tompkins_ 68 + + Horse, Dog and Man _S.E. Kiser_ 70 + + The Best Dog _Anonymous_ 73 + + Cæsar, King Edward's Dog _O. Middleton_ 75 + + Just Our Dog _Anonymous_ 76 + + Ragged Rover _Leslie Clare Manchester_ 78 + + To Flush, My Dog _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 80 + + Frances _Richard Wightman_ 86 + + To My Setter, Scout _Frank H. Selden_ 88 + + Why Strik'st Thou Me? _Nathan Haskell Dole_ + (_Translator_) 90 + + Consolation _Howard C. Kegley_ 92 + + Argus _Alexander Pope_ 93 + + Chained in the Yard _Anonymous_ 94 + + Why the Dog's Nose is Cold _Margaret Eytinge_ 95 + + Dog Language _Marion Hovey Briggs_ 97 + + A Dog's Loyalty _Anonymous_ 98 + + + PART III + THE DOG IN ACTION + + Told to the Missionary _George R. Sims_ 101 + + The Dog of the Louvre _Ralph Cecil_ 106 + + The Chase _Lord Somerville_ 109 + + The Under Dog _Anonymous_ 111 + + The Shepherd and His Dog _William Lisle Bowles_ 112 + + Beth Gelert _William Robert Spencer_ 113 + + The Flag and the Faithful _William J. Lampton_ 117 + + A Guardian at the Gate _John Clare_ 118 + + A Tale of the Reign of Terror _Caroline Bowles Southey_ 119 + + An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog _Oliver Goldsmith_ 126 + + The Fusiliers' Dog _Francis Doyle_ 128 + + Fidelity _William Wordsworth_ 131 + + The Shepherd Dog of the Pyrenees _Ellen Murray_ 134 + + The Dog Under the Wagon _Anonymous_ 137 + + Sal's Towser and My Trouser _Anonymous_ 139 + + Rover in Church _James Buckham_ 141 + + + PART IV + THE DOG'S HEREAFTER + + Billy _Lorenzo Sears_ 145 + + The Bond _George H. Nettle_ 147 + + To a Dog _Anonymous_ 148 + + Canine Immortality _Robert Southey_ 150 + + A Friendly Welcome _Lord Byron_ 152 + + Exemplary Nick _Sydney Smith_ 153 + + The Difference _Anonymous_ 154 + + Laddie _Katherine Lee Bates_ 155 + + A Dog's Epitaph _Lord Byron_ 157 + + The Passing of a Dog _Anonymous_ 159 + + My Dog _Anonymous_ 160 + + Jack _H.P.W._ 161 + + In Memory of "Don" _M.S.W._ 162 + + Roderick Dhu _Helen Fitzgerald Sanders_ 164 + + Questions _William Hurrell Mallock_ 166 + + His Epitaph _William Watson_ 167 + + In Memoriam _Henry Willett_ 168 + + Questions _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 170 + + Our Dog Jock _James Payn_ 171 + + Tory, a Puppy _Mortimer Collins_ 172 + + On an Irish Retriever _Fanny Kemble Butler_ 173 + + A Retriever's Epitaph _Robert C. Lehmann_ 174 + + + + + PART I + + PUPPYHOOD + + + _"What other nature yours than of a child + Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call, + In wordless pity, to the souls of all, + Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute + And constant friendship links the man and brute?"_ + + + + THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE + + WE MEET AT MORN + + + Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear + A patter coming nearer and more near, + And then upon my chamber door + A gentle tapping, + For dogs, though proud, are poor, + And if a tail will do to give command + Why use a hand? + And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping, + And next a scuffle on the passage floor, + And then I know the creature lies to watch + Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch. + And like a spring + That gains its power by being tightly stayed, + The impatient thing + Into the room + Its whole glad heart doth fling, + And ere the gloom + Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled, + I hear a bounce upon the bed, + I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head, + And on my face + A tender nose, and cold-- + This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace-- + And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung, + The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue + --And so my dog and I have met and sworn + Fresh love and fealty for another morn. + + HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY. + + + + + THE LOST PUPPY + + + Say! little pup, + What's up? + Your tail is down + And out of sight + Between your legs; + Why, that ain't right. + Little pup, + Brace up! + + Say! little pup, + Look up! + Don't hang your head + And look so sad, + You're all mussed up, + But you ain't mad. + Little pup, + Cheer up! + + Say! little pup, + Stir up! + Is that a string + Around your tail? + And was it fast + To a tin pail? + Little pup, + Git up. + + Say! little pup, + Talk up. + Were those bad boys + All after you, + With sticks and stones, + And tin cans, too? + Little pup, + Speak up! + + Say! little pup, + Stand up! + Let's look at you; + You'd be all right + If you was scrubbed + And shined up bright. + Little pup, + Jump up! + + Say! little pup, + Bark up! + Let's hear your voice. + Say, you're a brick! + Now try to beg + And do a trick. + Little pup, + Sit up! + + Say! little pup, + Chime up! + Why, you can sing-- + Now come with me; + Let's wash and eat + And then we'll see, + Little pup, + What's up! + + HENRY FIRTH WOOD. + + + + + A LAUGH IN CHURCH + + + She sat on the sliding cushion, + The dear, wee woman of four; + Her feet, in their shiny slippers, + Hung dangling over the floor. + She meant to be good; she had promised, + And so with her big, brown eyes, + She stared at the meetinghouse windows + And counted the crawling flies. + + She looked far up at the preacher, + But she thought of the honeybees + Droning away at the blossoms + That whitened the cherry trees. + She thought of a broken basket, + Where curled in a dusky heap, + Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears. + Lay snuggled and fast asleep. + + Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle, + Such queer little hearts to beat, + Such swift round tongues to kiss, + Such sprawling, cushiony feet; + She could feel in her clasping fingers + The touch of the satiny skin, + And a cold, wet nose exploring + The dimples under her chin. + + Then a sudden ripple of laughter + Ran over the parted lips + So quick that she could not catch it + With her rosy finger-tips. + The people whispered "Bless the child," + As each one waked from a nap, + But the dear, wee woman hid her face + For shame in her mother's lap. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + TREASURES + + + They got a bran' new baby + At Bud Hicks' house, you see. + You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin' + The way he talks to me! + He comes around a-braggin', + An' when he wouldn't quit + I said: "What good's a baby? + You can't hunt fleas on it." + + Then Bud turned to me an' told me + How loud that kid could yell, + An' lots I can't remember, + He had so much to tell. + But I got tired o' hearin' + An' so I ast him, quick, + "If you wuz in a-swimmin' + Could it go get a stick?" + + There is no use a-talkin', + Bud thinks their baby's fine! + Huh! I'd a whole lot rather + Jest have a pup like mine. + I'll bet it's not bald-headed! + But if Bud doesn't fail + To let me hear it yellin', + I'll let him pull Spot's tail. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THAT THERE LONG DOG + + + Funniest little feller + You'd ever want to see! + Browner 'an the brownest leaf + In the autumn tree. + Shortest little bow legs! + Jes' barely touch the floor-- + And long--b'gosh, the longest dog + I ever seen afore! + + But he's mighty amusin', + For all 'at he's so queer, + Eyes so mighty solemn, + Askin' like an' clear, + And when he puts his paws up, + Head stuck on one side-- + Jes' naturally love every hair + In his durn Dutch hide. + + ALICE GILL FERGUSON. + + + + + MY FRIEND + + + True and trustful, never doubting, + Is my young and handsome friend; + Always jolly, + Full of fun, + Bright eyes gleaming + Like the sun-- + Never see him blue or pouting + From the day's break to its end. + + Whether I am "flush" or "busted" + Makes no difference to him! + "Let's be gay, sir"-- + He would say, sir-- + "Won't have any + Other way, sir!" + Oh, he's never cross and crusted-- + Light of heart and full of vim! + + Often we go out together + For a ramble far and wide-- + Catch the breezes + Fresh and strong + Down the mountain + Swept along-- + For we never mind the weather + When we two are side by side. + + But my friend is sometimes quiet, + And I've caught his clear brown eye + Gazing at me, + Mute, appealing-- + Telling something, + Yet concealing, + Yes, he'd like to talk! Well, try it-- + "Bow, wow, wow," and that's his cry! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + TED + + + I have a little brindle dog, + Seal-brown from tail to head. + His name I guess is Theodore, + But I just call him Ted. + + He's only eight months old to-day + I guess he's just a pup; + Pa says he won't be larger + When he is all grown up. + + He plays around about the house, + As good as he can be, + He don't seem like a little dog, + He's just like folks to me. + + And when it is my bed-time, + Ma opens up the bed; + Then I nestle down real cozy + And just make room for Ted + + And oh, how nice we cuddle! + He doesn't fuss or bite, + Just nestles closely up to me + And lays there still all night. + + We love each other dearly, + My little Ted and me. + We're just good chums together, + And always hope to be. + + MAXINE ANNA BUCK. + + + + + LITTLE LOST PUP + + + He was lost!--Not a shade of doubt of that; + For he never barked at a slinking cat, + But stood in the square where the wind blew raw, + With a drooping ear, and a trembling paw, + And a mournful look in his pleading eye, + And a plaintive sniff at the passer-by + That begged as plain as a tongue could sue, + "Oh, Mister, please may I follow you?" + A lorn, wee waif of a tawny brown + Adrift in the roar of a heedless town. + Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin + Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in! + + Well, he won my heart (for I set great store + On my own red Bute, who is here no more) + So I whistled clear, and he trotted up, + And who so glad as that small lost pup? + + Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed, + And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread. + Then if things go wrong, as they sometimes do, + And the world is cold, and I'm feeling blue, + He asserts his right to assuage my woes + With a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose, + And a silky head on my arm or knee, + And a paw as soft as a paw can be. + + When we rove the woods for a league about + He's as full of pranks as a school let out; + For he romps and frisks like a three-months colt, + And he runs me down like a thunder-bolt. + Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair + Is a gay little pup with his tail in air! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + MY BRINDLE BULL-TERRIER + + + My brindle bull-terrier, loving and wise, + With his little screw-tail and his wonderful eyes, + With his white little breast and his white little paws + Which, alas! he mistakes very often for claws; + With his sad little gait as he comes from the fight + When he feels that he hasn't done all that he might; + Oh, so fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog, + My near little, queer little, dear little dog! + + He shivers and shivers and shakes with the cold; + He huddles and cuddles, though three summers old. + And forsaking the sunshine, endeavors to rove + With his cold little worriments under the stove! + + At table, his majesty, dying for meat,-- + Yet never despising a lump that is sweet,-- + Sits close by my side with his head on my knee + And steals every good resolution from me! + How can I withhold from those worshipping eyes + A small bit of something that stealthily flies + Down under the table and into his mouth + As I tell my dear neighbor of life in the South. + + My near little, queer little, dear little dog, + So fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog! + The nearest and queerest and dearest of all + The race that is loving and winning and small; + The sweetest, most faithful, the truest and best + Dispenser of merriment, love and unrest! + + COLETTA RYAN. + + + + + LAUTH + + + He was a gash and faithfu' tyke + As ever lapt a sheugh or dyke. + His honest, sawnsie, bawsint face + Aye gat him friends in ilka place. + His breast was white, his towsie back + Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black. + His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, + Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl. + + ROBERT BURNS. + + + + + THE DROWNED SPANIEL + + + The day-long bluster of the storm was o'er, + The sands were bright; the winds had fallen asleep, + And, from the far horizon, o'er the deep + The sunset swam unshadowed to the shore. + + High up, the rainbow had not passed away, + When, roving o'er the shingle beach, I found + A little waif, a spaniel newly drowned; + The shining waters kissed him as he lay. + + In some kind heart thy gentle memory dwells, + I said, and, though thy latest aspect tells + Of drowning pains and mortal agony, + Thy master's self might weep and smile to see + His little dog stretched on these rosy shells, + Betwixt the rainbow and the rosy sea. + + CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER. + + + + + PART II + + THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP + + + _"A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in + health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where + the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he + can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no + food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in + encounter with the roughness of the world. When all other + friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and + reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the + sun in its journey through the heavens."_ + + SENATOR GEORGE GRAHAM VEST. + + + + + CLUNY + + + I am quite sure he thinks that I am God-- + Since he is God on whom each one depends + For life, and all things that his bounty sends-- + My dear old dog, most constant of all friends; + + Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I + To him whom God I know and own; his eye, + Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod; + He is more patient underneath the rod + + Than I, when God his wise corrections sends. + He looks love at me deep as words e'er spake, + And from me never crumb or sup will take + But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail. + + And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear + He is content and quiet if I'm near, + Secure that my protection will prevail! + + So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he + Tells me what I unto my God should be. + + WILLIAM CROSWELL DOANE. + + + + + THE BEST FRIEND + + + If I was sad, then he had grief, as well-- + Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw, + Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw + More than my halting, human speech could tell; + Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate-- + Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate. + + If I made merry--then how he would strive + To show his joy; "Good master, let's to play, + The world is ours," that gladsome bark would say; + "Just yours and mine--'tis fun to be alive!" + Our world ... four walls above the city's din, + My crutch the bar that ever held us in. + + Whate'er my mood--the fretful word, or sweet, + The swift command, the wheedling undertone, + His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone, + His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet: + Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed, + Ye taught me trust when man's dull logic failed. + + MERIBAH ABBOTT. + + + + + MY DOG AND I + + + When living seems but little worth + And all things go awry, + I close the door, we journey forth-- + My dog and I! + + For books and pen we leave behind, + But little careth he, + His one great joy in life is just + To be with me. + + He notes by just one upward glance + My mental attitude, + As on we go past laughing stream + And singing wood. + + The soft winds have a magic touch + That brings to care release, + The trees are vocal with delight, + The rivers sing of peace. + + How good it is to be alive! + Nature, the healer strong, + Has set each pulse with life athrill + And joy and song. + + Discouragement! 'Twas but a name, + And all things that annoy, + Out in the lovely world of June + Life seemeth only joy! + + And ere we reach the busy town, + Like birds my troubles fly, + We are two comrades glad of heart-- + My dog and I! + + ALICE J. CLEATOR. + + + + + MY GENTLEMAN + + + I own a dog who is a gentleman; + By birth most surely, since the creature can + Boast of a pedigree the like of which + Holds not a Howard nor a Metternich. + + By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod + He never wagged an unkind tale abroad, + He never snubbed a nameless cur because + Without a friend or credit card he was. + + By pride. He looks you squarely in the face + Unshrinking and without a single trace + Of either diffidence or arrogant + Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt. + + By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear + With absolute impunity his hair, + And pinch his silken, flowing ears, the while + He smiles upon her--yes, I've seen him smile. + + By loyalty. No truer friend than he + Has come to prove his friendship's worth to me. + He does not fear the master--knows no fear-- + But loves the man who is his master here. + + By countenance. If there be nobler eyes, + More full of honor and of honesties, + In finer head, on broader shoulders found, + Then have I never met the man or hound. + + Here is the motto on my lifeboat's log: + "God grant I may be worthy of my dog!" + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE DEAD BOY'S PORTRAIT + AND HIS DOG + + + Day after day I have come and sat + Beseechingly upon the mat, + Wistfully wondering where you are at. + + Why have they placed you on the wall, + So deathly still, so strangely tall? + You do not turn from me, nor call. + + Why do I never hear my name? + Why are you fastened in a frame? + You are the same, and not the same. + + Away from me why do you stare + So far out in the distance where + I am not? I am here! Not there! + + What has your little doggie done? + You used to whistle me to run + Beside you, or ahead, for fun! + + You used to pat me, and a glow + Of pleasure through my life would go! + How is it that I shiver so? + + My tail was once a waving flag + Of welcome. Now I cannot wag + It for the weight I have to drag. + + I know not what has come to me. + 'Tis only in my sleep I see + Things smiling as they used to be. + + I do not dare to bark; I plead + But dumbly, and you never heed; + Nor my protection seem to need. + + I watch the door, I watch the gate; + I am watching early, watching late, + Your doggie still!--I watch and wait. + + GERALD MASSEY. + + + + + ADVICE TO A DOG PAINTER + + + Happiest of the spaniel race, + Painter, with thy colors grace, + Draw his forehead large and high, + Draw his blue and humid eye; + Draw his neck, so smooth and round, + Little neck with ribands bound; + And the musely swelling breast + Where the Loves and Graces rest; + And the spreading, even back, + Soft, and sleek, and glossy black; + And the tail that gently twines, + Like the tendrils of the vines; + And the silky twisted hair, + Shadowing thick the velvet ear; + Velvet ears which, hanging low, + O'er the veiny temples flow. + + JONATHAN SWIFT. + + + + + MERCY'S REWARD + + + Hast seen + The record written of Salah-ud-Deen, + The Sultan--how he met, upon a day, + In his own city on the public way, + A woman whom they led to die? The veil + Was stripped from off her weeping face, and pale + Her shamed cheeks were, and wild her fixed eye, + And her lips drawn with terror at the cry + Of the harsh people, and the rugged stones + Borne in their hands to break her flesh and bones; + For the law stood that sinners such as she + Perish by stoning, and this doom must be; + So went the adult'ress to her death. + High noon it was, and the hot Khamseen's breath + Blew from the desert sands and parched the town. + The crows gasped, and the kine went up and down + With lolling tongues; the camels moaned; a crowd + Pressed with their pitchers, wrangling high and loud + About the tank; and one dog by a well, + Nigh dead with thirst, lay where he yelped and fell, + Glaring upon the water out of reach, + And praying succour in a silent speech, + So piteous were its eyes. + Which, when she saw, + This woman from her foot her shoe did draw, + Albeit death-sorrowful, and, looping up + The long silk of her girdle, made a cup + Of the heel's hollow, and thus let it sink + Until it touched the cool black water's brink; + So filled th' embroidered shoe, and gave a draught + To the spent beast, which whined, and fawned, and quaffed + Her kind gift to the dregs; next licked her hand, + With such glad looks that all might understand + He held his life from her; then, at her feet + He followed close, all down the cruel street, + Her one friend in that city. + But the King, + Riding within his litter, marked this thing, + And how the woman, on her way to die + Had such compassion for the misery + Of that parched hound: "Take off her chain, and place + The veil once more about the sinner's face, + And lead her to her house in peace!" he said. + "The law is that the people stone thee dead + For that which thou hast wrought; but there is come + Fawning around thy feet a witness dumb, + Not heard upon thy trial; this brute beast + Testifies for thee, sister! whose weak breast + Death could not make ungentle. I hold rule + In Allah's stead, who is 'the Merciful,' + And hope for mercy; therefore go thou free-- + I dare not show less pity unto thee." + + As we forgive--and more than we-- + Ya Barr! Good God, show clemency. + + SIR EDWIN ARNOLD. + + + + + BEAU AND THE WATER LILY + + + The noon was shady, and soft airs + Swept Ouse's silent tide, + When 'scaped from literary cares + I wandered on his side. + + My spaniel, prettiest of his race, + And high in pedigree + (Two nymphs adorned with every grace + That spaniel found for me) + + Now wantoned, lost in flags and reeds, + Now starting into sight, + Pursued the swallow o'er the meads + With scarce a slower flight. + + It was the time that Ouse displayed + His lilies newly blown; + Their beauties I intent surveyed, + And one I wished my own. + + With cane extended far I sought + To steer it close to land; + But still the prize, though nearly caught, + Escaped my eager hand. + + Beau marked my unsuccessful pains + With fixed, considerate face, + And puzzling, set his puppy brains + To comprehend the case. + + But with a chirrup clear and strong + Dispersing all his dream, + I thence withdrew, and followed long + The windings of the stream. + + My ramble ended, I returned; + Beau trotting far before + The floating wreath again discerned, + And, plunging, left the shore. + + I saw him, with that lily cropped, + Impatient swim to meet + My quick approach, and soon he dropped + The treasure at my feet. + + Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried, + "Shall hear of this thy deed; + My dog shall mortify the pride + Of man's superior breed: + + "But chief myself I will enjoin + Awake at duty's call, + To show a love as prompt as thine + To Him who gives me all." + + WILLIAM COWPER. + + + + + PETRONIUS + + + A dog there was, Petronius by name-- + A cur of no degree, yet which the same + Rejoiced him; because so worthless he + That in his worthlessness remarkably + He shone, th' example de luxe of how a cur + May be the very limit of a slur + Upon the honored name of dog; a joke + He was, a satire blasphemous; he broke + The records all for sheer insulting "bunk;" + No dog had ever breathed who was so punk! + + And yet that cur, Petronius by name, + Enkindled in his master's heart a flame + Of love, affection, reverence, so rare + That had he been an angel bright and fair + The homage paid him had been less; you see + The red-haired boy who owned him had a bee-- + There was no other dog on land or sea. + Petronius was solid; he just was + The dog, the only dog on earth, because-- + Because a red-haired boy who likes his dog, + He likes that dog so much no other dog + Exists--and that, my friends, is loyalty, + Than which there is no grander ecstasy. + + FREDERIC P. LADD. + + + + + MY DOG + + + Here is a friend who proves his worth + Without conceit or pride of birth. + Let want or plenty play the host, + He gets the least and gives the most-- + He's just a dog. + + He's ever faithful, kind and true; + He never questions what I do, + And whether I may go or stay, + He's always ready to obey + 'Cause he's a dog. + + Such meager fare his want supplies! + A hand caress, and from his eyes + There beams more love than mortals know; + Meanwhile he wags his tail to show + That he's my dog. + + He watches me all through the day, + And nothing coaxes him away; + And through the night-long slumber deep + He guards the home wherein I sleep-- + And he's a dog. + + I wonder if I'd be content + To follow where my master went, + And where he rode--as needs he must-- + Would I run after in his dust + Like other dogs. + + How strange if things were quite reversed-- + The man debased, the dog put first. + I often wonder how 'twould be + Were he the master 'stead of me-- + And I the dog. + + A world of deep devotion lies + Behind the windows of his eyes; + Yet love is only half his charm-- + He'd die to shield my life from harm. + Yet he's a dog. + + If dogs were fashioned out of men + What breed of dog would I have been? + And would I e'er deserve caress, + Or be extolled for faithfulness + Like my dog here? + + As mortals go, how few possess + Of courage, trust, and faithfulness + Enough from which to undertake, + Without some borrowed traits, to make + A decent dog! + + JOSEPH M. ANDERSON. + + + + + CHARITY'S EYE + + + One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace, + Teaching the people parables of truth and grace, + When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise, + And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries. + The Master and his meek disciples went to see + What cause for this commotion and disgust could be, + And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid-- + Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed. + + One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away, + And all among themselves began to say: + "Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!" + "His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!" + "In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left, + No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft." + Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him the saving wreath: + "Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth." + + The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one + Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own; + And one exclaimed: "No creature so accursed can be + But some good thing in him a loving eye will see." + + WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. + + + + + TO BLANCO + + + My dear, dumb friend, low-lying there, + A willing vassal at my feet, + Glad partner of my home and fare, + My shadow in the street, + + I look into your great, brown eyes, + Where love and loyal homage shine, + And wonder where the difference lies + Between your soul and mine. + + For all of good that I have found + Within myself, or human kind, + Hath royally informed and crowned + Your gentle heart and mind. + + I scan the whole broad earth around + For that one heart which, leal and true, + Bears friendship without end or bound, + And find the prize in you. + + I trust you as I trust the stars; + Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride, + Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars, + Can move you from my side. + + As patient under injury + As any Christian saint of old, + As gentle as a lamb with me, + But with your brothers bold. + + More playful than a frolic boy, + More watchful than a sentinel, + By day and night your constant joy + To guard and please me well. + + I clasp your head upon my breast, + The while you whine, and lick my hand; + And thus our friendship is confessed, + And thus we understand. + + Ah, Blanco! Did I worship God + As truly as you worship me, + Or follow where my Master trod + With your humility, + + Did I sit fondly at His feet, + As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine, + And watch Him with a love as sweet, + My life would grow divine. + + J.G. HOLLAND. + + + + + THE OULD HOUND + + + When Shamus made shift wid a turf-hut + He'd naught but a hound to his name; + And whither he went thrailed the ould friend, + Dog-faithful and iver the same! + + And he'd gnaw thro' a rope in the night-time, + He'd eat thro' a wall or a door, + He'd shwim thro' a lough in the winther, + To be wid his master wanst more! + + And the two, faith, would share their last bannock; + They'd share their last collop and bone; + And deep in the starin' ould sad eyes + Lean Shamus would stare wid his own! + + And loose hung the flanks av the ould hound + When Shamus lay sick on his bed-- + Ay, waitin' and watchin' wid sad eyes + He'd eat not av bone or av bread! + + But Shamus be springtime grew betther, + And a trouble came into his mind; + And he'd take himself off to the village, + And be leavin' his hound behind! + + And deep was the whine of the ould dog + Wid a love that was deeper than life-- + But be Michaelmas, faith, it was whispered + That Shamus was takin' a wife! + + A wife and a fine house he got him; + In a shay he went drivin' around; + And I met him be chance at the cross-roads, + And I says to him, "How's the ould hound?" + + "My wife never took to that ould dog," + Says he, wid a shrug av his slats, + "So we've got us a new dog from Galway, + _And och, he's the divil for rats!"_ + + ARTHUR STRINGER. + + + + + THE MISER'S ONLY FRIEND + + + There watched a cur before the miser's gate-- + A very cur, whom all men seemed to hate; + Gaunt, shaggy, savage, with an eye that shone + Like a live coal; and he possessed but one. + His bark was wild and eager, and became + That meager body and that eye of flame; + His master prized him much, and Fang his name, + His master fed him largely, but not that + Nor aught of kindness made the snarler fat. + Flesh he devoured, but not a bit would stay-- + He barked, and snarled, and growled it all away. + His ribs were seen extended like a rack, + And coarse red hair hung roughly o'er his back. + Lamed in one leg, and bruised in wars of yore, + Now his sore body made his temper sore. + Such was the friend of him who could not find, + Nor make him one, 'mong creatures of his kind. + Brave deeds of Fang his master often told, + The son of Fury, famed in deeds of old, + From Snatch and Rabid sprung; and noted they + In earlier times--each dog will have his day. + + The notes of Fang were to his master known + And dear--they bore some likeness to his own; + For both conveyed, to the experienced ear, + "I snarl and bite because I hate and fear." + None passed ungreeted by the master's door, + Fang railed at all, but chiefly at the poor; + And when the nights were stormy, cold and dark, + The act of Fang was a perpetual bark. + But though the master loved the growl of Fang + There were who vowed the ugly cur to hang, + Whose angry master, watchful for his friend, + As strongly vowed his servant to defend. + + In one dark night, and such as Fang before + Was ever known its tempests to outroar, + To his protector's wonder now expressed, + No angry notes--his anger was at rest. + The wond'ring master sought the silent yard, + Left Phoebe sleeping, and his door unbarred, + Nor more returned to that forsaken bed-- + But lo! the morning came, and he was dead. + Fang and his master side by side were laid + In grim repose--their debt to nature paid. + The master's hand upon the cur's cold chest + Was now reclined, and had before been pressed, + As if he sought how deep and wide the wound + That laid such spirit in a sleep so sound; + And when he found it was the sleep of death + A sympathizing sorrow stopped his breath. + Close to his trusty servant he was found, + As cold his body, and his sleep as sound. + + GEORGE CRABBE. + + + + + POOR DOG TRAY + + + On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, + No blithe Irish lad was as happy as I; + No harp like my own could so cheerily play, + And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. + + When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, + She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart) + "Oh, remember your Sheelah when far, far away, + And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray." + + Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, + And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; + When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, + I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. + + When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, + And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, + How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, + And he licked me for kindness--my poor dog Tray. + + Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case, + Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; + But he died at my feet on a cold winter's day, + And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray. + + Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken and blind? + Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind? + To my sweet native village, so far, far away, + I can ne'er more return with my poor dog Tray. + + THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + + + MY COMFORTER + + + The world had all gone wrong that day + And tired and in despair, + Discouraged with the ways of life, + I sank into my chair. + + A soft caress fell on my cheek, + My hands were thrust apart. + And two big sympathizing eyes + Gazed down into my heart. + + I had a friend; what cared I now + For fifty worlds? I knew + One heart was anxious when I grieved-- + My dog's heart, loyal, true. + + "God bless him," breathed I soft and low, + And hugged him close and tight. + One lingering lick upon my ear + And we were happy--quite. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE LITTLE WHITE DOG + + + Little white dog with the meek brown eyes, + Tell me the boon that most you prize. + Would a juicy bone meet your heart's desire? + Or a cozy rug by a blazing fire? + Or a sudden race with a truant cat? + Or a gentle word? Or a friendly pat? + Is the worn-out ball you have always near + The dearest of all the things held dear? + Or is the home you left behind + The dream of bliss to your doggish mind? + But the little white dog just shook his head + As if "None of these are best," he said. + + A boy's clear whistle came from the street; + There's a wag of the tail and a twinkle of feet, + And the little white dog did not even say, + "Excuse me, ma'am," as he scampered away; + But I'm sure as can be his greatest joy + Is just to trot behind that boy. + + MAY ELLIS NICHOLS. + + + + + THE IRISH GREYHOUND + + + Behold this creature's form and state; + Which nature therefore did create, + That to the world might be exprest + What mien there can be in a beast; + And that we in this shape may find + A lion of another kind. + For this heroic beast does seem + In majesty to rival him, + And yet vouchsafes to man to show + Both service and submission, too. + From whence we this distinction have, + That beast is fierce, but this is brave. + This dog hath so himself subdued + That hunger cannot make him rude, + And his behavior does confess + True courage dwells with gentleness. + With sternest wolves he dares engage, + And acts on them successful rage. + Yet too much courtesy may chance + To put him out of countenance. + When in his opposer's blood + Fortune hath made his virtue good, + This creature from an act so brave + Grows not more sullen, but more brave. + Man's guard he would be, not his sport, + Believing he hath ventured for't; + But yet no blood, or shed or spent, + Can ever make him insolent. + Few men of him to do great things have learned, + And when they're done to be so unconcerned. + + KATHERINE PHILLIPS. + + + + + THE VAGABONDS + + + We are two travellers, Roger and I. + Roger's my dog.--Come here, you scamp! + Jump for the gentleman,--mind your eye! + Over the table,--look out for the lamp! + The rogue is growing a little old; + Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, + And slept out-doors when nights were cold, + And ate and drank--and starved--together. + + We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! + A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, + A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow! + The paw he holds up there's been frozen), + Plenty of catgut for my fiddle + (This out-door business is bad for strings), + Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, + And Roger and I set up for kings! + + No, thank ye, Sir,--I never drink; + Roger and I are exceedingly moral,-- + Aren't we, Roger?--See him wink!-- + Well, something hot, then,--we won't quarrel. + He's thirsty, too,--see him nod his head? + What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk! + He understands every word that's said,-- + And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. + + The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, + I've been so sadly given to grog, + I wonder I've not lost the respect + (Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog. + But he sticks by, through thick and thin; + And this old coat with its empty pockets, + And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, + He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. + + There isn't another creature living + Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, + So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, + To such a miserable, thankless master! + No, Sir!--see him wag his tail and grin! + By George! it makes my old eyes water! + That is, there's something in this gin + That chokes a fellow. But no matter! + + We'll have some music, if you're willing, + And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) + Shall march a little--Start, you villain! + Paws up! Eyes front! Salute your officer! + 'Bout face! Attention! Take your rifle! + (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your + Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, + To aid a poor old patriot soldier! + + March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes + When he stands up to hear his sentence. + Now tell us how many drams it takes + To honor a jolly new acquaintance. + Five yelps,--that's five; he's mighty knowing! + The night's before us, fill the glasses!-- + Quick, Sir! I'm ill,--my brain is going!-- + Some brandy,--thank you,--there!--it passes! + + Why not reform? That's easily said; + But I've gone through such wretched treatment, + Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, + And scarce remembering what meat meant, + That my poor stomach's past reform; + And there are times when, mad with thinking, + I'd sell out heaven for something warm + To prop a horrible inward sinking. + + Is there a way to forget to think? + At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, + A dear girl's love,--but I took to drink,-- + The same old story; you know how it ends. + If you could have seen these classic features,-- + You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then + Such a burning libel on God's creatures: + I was one of your handsome men! + + If you had seen _her_, so fair and young, + Whose head was happy on this breast! + If you could have heard the songs I sung + When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed + That ever I, Sir, should be straying + From door to door, with fiddle and dog, + Ragged and penniless, and playing + To you to-night for a glass of grog! + + She's married since,--a parson's wife: + 'Twas better for her that we should part,-- + Better the soberest, prosiest life + Than a blasted home and a broken heart. + I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent + On the dusty road: a carriage stopped: + But little she dreamed, as on she went, + Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! + + You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry: + It makes me wild to think of the change! + What do you care for a beggar's story? + Is it amusing? You find it strange? + I had a mother so proud of me! + 'Twas well she died before.--Do you know + If the happy spirits in heaven can see + The ruin and wretchedness here below? + + Another glass, and strong, to deaden + This pain; then Roger and I will start. + I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, + Aching thing in place of a heart? + He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, + No doubt remembering things that were,-- + A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, + And himself a sober, respectable cur. + + I'm better now; that glass was warming.-- + You rascal! limber your lazy feet! + We must be fiddling and performing + For supper and bed, or starve in the street.-- + Not a very gay life to lead, you think? + But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, + And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink:-- + The sooner, the better for Roger and me! + + J.T. TROWBRIDGE. + + + + + IN CINEAM + + + Thou dogged Cineas, hated like a dog, + For still thou grumblest like a masty dog, + Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dog; + Thou say'st thou art as weary as a dog, + As angry, sick, and hungry as a dog, + As dull and melancholy as a dog, + As lazy, sleepy, idle as a dog. + But why dost thou compare thee to a dog + In that for which all men despise a dog? + I will compare thee better to a dog; + Thou art as fair and comely as a dog, + Thou art as true and honest as a dog, + Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog, + Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog, + But, Cineas, I have often heard thee tell + Thou art as like thy father as may be: + 'Tis like enough; and, faith, I like it well; + But I am glad thou art not like to me. + + SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + + + + OLD MATTHEW'S DOG + + + I am only a dog, and I've had my day; + So, idle and dreaming, stretched out I lay + In the welcome warmth of the summer sun, + A poor old hunter whose work is done. + + Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog. + Don't I dream of the partridge I sprung by the log? + Of the quivering hare and her desperate flight, + Of the nimble gray squirrel secure in his height, + + Far away in the top of the hickory tree, + Looking down safe and saucy at Matthew and me, + Till the hand, true and steady, a messenger shot, + And the creature upbounded, and fell, and was not? + + Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then; + And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen, + The hare on the common, the birds on the bough, + Were afraid. They are safe enough now, + + For all we can harm them, old master and I. + We have had our last hunt, the game must go by, + While Matthew sits fashioning bows in the door, + For a living. We'll never hunt more. + + For time, cold and hardship have stiffened his knee, + And since little Lottie died, often I see + His hands tremble sorely, and go to his eyes, + For the lost baby daughter, so pretty and wise. + + Oh, it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky + Look far away to the dim, fading eye; + To feel the fleet foot growing weary and sore + That in forest and hamlet shall lag evermore. + + I am going--I hear the great wolf on my track; + Already around me his shadow falls black. + One hunting cry more! Oh, master, come nigh, + And lay the white paw in your own as I die! + + Oh, come to me, master; the last hedge is passed-- + Our tramps in the wildwood are over at last; + Stoop lower, and lay my head on your knee. + What! Tears for a useless old hunter like me? + + You will see little Lottie again by and by. + I shan't. They don't have any dogs in the sky. + Tell her, loving and trusty, beside you I died, + And--bury me, master, not far from her side. + + For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I. + Ha, master, the shadow! Fire low--it is nigh-- + There was never a sound in the still morning heard, + But the heart of the hunter his old jacket stirred. + + As he flung himself down on the brute's shaggy coat, + And watched the faint life in its quivering throat + Till it stopped quite at last. The black wolf had won, + And the death-hunted hound into cover had run. + + But long ere the snow over graves softly fell, + Old Matthew was resting from labor as well; + While the cottage stood empty, yet back from the hill + The voice of the hound in the morn echoed still. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + A DOG AND A MAN + + + He was a dog, + But he stayed at home + And guarded the family night and day. + He was a dog + That didn't roam. + He lay on the porch or chased the stray-- + The tramps, the burglar, the hen, away; + For a dog's true heart for that household beat + At morning and evening, in cold and heat. + He was a dog. + + He was a man, + And didn't stay + To cherish his wife and his children fair. + He was a man. + And every day + His heart grew callous, its love-beats rare, + He thought of himself at the close of day, + And, cigar in his fingers, hurried away + To the club, the lodge, the store, the show. + But--he had a right to go, you know. + He was a man. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + ROVER-DOG + + + Old Rover-Dog, he toasts his toes + Right by th' chimney-fire wif me. + I turned his long ear wrong side out + An' he was s'rprised as he could be! + An' nen he reached right out an' took + An' int'rest in my lolly-pop-- + That's w'y I shook my finger hard + At him, 'cause he jus' better stop. + + I ast him which his sweet toof was, + An' he jus' laffed an' showed me where + He keeps um, up an' down his mouf-- + (I guess there's mos' a hundred there). + He's got a cunning little house, + But you can't climb right in, at all-- + Ain't hardly big enough for him; + I guess it is a size too small. + + 'Cause when he is "at home" his head + Stays looking out of his front door; + His paws hang out convenient like, + So's folks they will shake hands some more. + Old Rover-Dog, w'en he likes folks, + He thumps th' floor hard wif his tail-- + Where 'tis you've heard that sound before + Is w'en your pa, he drives a nail. + + One time my Uncle Fred p'tend + He's "tramp-mans" an' will come right in; + I put my ear on Rover's back + So's I could hear th' growl begin. + An' oncet he thought he'd try his nap + Right in my grampa's big armchair. + My grampa, he sat down on him, + 'Cause "he wa'n't 'spectin' dogs was there." + + 'N Rover walked off dignified + An' curled his back up 'gainst th' wall-- + If grampas ain't got manners, w'y, + He isn't goin' to care at all. + That's w'y I went an' 'xplained to him + How grampas, they ain't imperlite, + A grampa has th' bestest chair + Because his hair is very white. + + Nen Rover-Dog raise up one ear + An' lift his nose fum off his paw, + An' say his feelin's aren't all hurt + If that was _candy_ that he saw! + 'N w'en he'd et my choc'late cream + He went an' finished up his dream. + + MARIE LOUISE TOMPKINS. + + + + + HORSE, DOG AND MAN + + + The horse and the dog had tamed a man and + fastened him to a fence: + Said the horse to the dog: "For the life of + me, I don't see a bit of sense + In letting him have the thumbs that grow at + the sides of his hands. Do you?" + And the dog looked solemn and shook his head, + and said: "I'm a goat if I do!" + + The poor man groaned and tried to get loose, + and sadly he begged them, "Stay! + You will rob me of things for which I have + use by cutting my thumbs away! + You will spoil my looks, you will cause me + pain; ah, why would you treat me so? + As I am, God made me, and He knows best! + Oh, masters, pray let me go!" + + The dog laughed out, and the horse replied, + "Oh, the cutting won't hurt you, see? + We'll have a hot iron to clap right on, as you + did in your docking of me! + God gave you your thumbs and all, but still, + the Creator, you know, may fail + To do the artistic thing, as he did in the + furnishing me with a tail." + + So they bound the man and cut off his thumbs, + and were deaf to his pitiful cries, + And they seared the stumps, and they viewed + their work through happy and dazzled eyes. + "How trim he appears," the horse exclaimed, + "since his awkward thumbs are gone! + For the life of me I cannot see why the Lord + ever put them on!" + + "Still it seems to me," the dog replied, "that + there's something else to do; + His ears look rather too long for me, and how + do they look to you?" + The man cried out: "Oh, spare my ears! + God fashioned them as you see, + And if you apply your knife to them, you'll + surely disfigure me." + + "But you didn't disfigure me, you know," the + dog decisively said, + "When you bound me fast and trimmed my + ears down close to the top of my head!" + So they let him moan and they let him groan + while they cropped his ears away, + And they praised his looks when they let him + up, and proud indeed were they. + + But that was years and years ago, in an + unenlightened age! + Such things are ended, now, you know; we've + reached a higher stage. + The ears and thumbs God gave to man are his + to keep and wear, + And the cruel horse and dog look on, and + never appear to care. + + S.E. KISER. + + + + + THE BEST DOG + + + Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one, + Proud dogs of each breed and strain that's underneath the sun; + But not one could compare with--you may hear it with surprise-- + A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize. + + Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out, + Had there been a class to fit him--though his lineage is in doubt. + No judge of dogs could e'er resist the honest, faithful eyes + Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize. + + Suppose he wasn't trained to hunt, and never killed a rat, + And isn't much on tricks or looks or birth--well, what of that? + That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise, + As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize. + + It isn't what a dog can do, or what a dog may be, + That hits a man. It's simply this--does he believe in me? + And by that test I know there's not the compeer 'neath the skies + Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize. + + Oh, he's the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail, + And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail. + I'm going to start a special show--'Twill beat the world for size-- + For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + CÆSAR, KING EDWARD'S DOG + + + No deeper, truer love could spring + Spontaneously from human breast + Than Cæsar's, who has loved the king + With all a dear dog's silent zest. + + A dog's dumb way may not impart + The grief that mortals can express, + But who shall say that Cæsar's heart + Mourns his beloved king the less? + + Since ours the faith, "Love lives in space," + His love, whene'er his soul takes wing, + May be ordained, by Heaven's grace, + To reach the spirit of the king. + + O. MIDDLETON. + + + + + JUST OUR DOG + + + He was just a dog, mister--that's all; + And all of us boys called him Bub; + He was curly and not very tall + And he hadn't a tail--just a stub. + His tail froze one cold night, you see; + We just pulled the rest of him through. + No--he didn't have much pedigree-- + Perhaps that was frozen off, too. + + He always seemed quite well behaved, + And he never had many bad fights; + In summer he used to be shaved + And he slept in the woodshed o' nights. + Sometimes he would wake up too soon + And cry, if his tail got a chill; + Some nights he would bark at the moon, + But some nights he would sleep very still. + + He knew how to play hide-and-seek + And he always would come when you'd call; + He would play dead, roll over and speak, + And learned it in no time at all. + Sometimes he would growl, just in play, + But he never would bite, and his worst + Was to bark at the postman one day, + But the postman, he barked at him first. + + He used to chase cats up a tree, + But that was just only in fun; + And a cat was as safe as could be-- + Unless it should start out to run; + Sometimes he'd chase children and throw + Them down, just while running along, + And then lick their faces to show + He didn't mean anything wrong. + + He was chasing an automobile + When the wheel hit him right in the side, + So he just gave a queer little squeal + And curled up and stretched out and died. + His tail it was not very long, + He was curly and not very tall; + But he never did anything wrong-- + He was just our dog, mister--that's all. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + RAGGED ROVER + + + I have still a vision of him + Ragged Rover, as he lay + In the sunshine of the morning + On the door-stone worn and gray; + Where the honeysuckle trellis + Hung its tinted blossoms low, + And the well-sweep with its bucket + Swung its burden to and fro; + Where the maples were a-quiver + In the pleasant June-time breeze; + And where droned among the phloxes + Half a hundred golden bees. + + Yes, I have a vision with me + Of a home upon a hill; + And my heart is sad with longing + And my eyes with tear-drops fill. + I would be the care-free urchin + That I was so long ago + When across the sun-lit meadows + Rover with me used to go + Yonder where the graceful lindens + Threw their shadows far and cool, + And the waters waited for me + In the brimming swimming pool. + + I can see him drive the cattle + From the pasture through the lane + With their mellow bells a-tinkle, + Sending out a low refrain; + I can see him drive them homeward, + Speckle, Brindle, Bess and Belle; + All the herd from down the valley + As the shades of even fell. + Thus, I wander like a pilgrim-- + Slow the steps that once were strong; + Back to greet him, Ragged Rover, + And my childhood's ceaseless song. + + LESLIE CLARE MANCHESTER. + + + + + TO FLUSH, MY DOG + + + I + + Loving friend, the gift of one + Who her own true faith has run + Through thy lower nature, + Be my benediction said + With my hand upon thy head, + Gentle fellow-creature! + + II + + Like a lady's ringlets brown, + Flow thy silken ears adown + Either side demurely + Of thy silver-suited breast, + Shining out from all the rest + Of thy body purely. + + III + + Darkly brown thy body is, + Till the sunshine striking this + Alchemize its dulness, + When the sleek curls manifold + Flash all over into gold + With a burnished fulness. + + IV + + Underneath my stroking hand. + Startled eyes of hazel bland + Kindling, growing larger, + Up thou leanest with a spring, + Full of prank and curvetting, + Leaping like a charger. + + V + + Leap! thy broad tail waves a light, + Leap! thy slender feet are bright, + Canopied in fringes; + Leap! those tasselled ears of thine + Flicker strangely, fair and fine + Down their gold inches. + + VI + + Yet, my pretty sportive friend, + Little is't to such an end + That I praise thy rareness: + Other dogs may be thy peers + Happy in these drooping ears + And this glossy fairness. + + VII + + But of _thee_ it shall be said, + This dog watched beside a bed + Day and night unweary,-- + Watched within a curtained room + Where no sunbeam brake the gloom, + Round the sick and dreary. + + VIII + + Roses, gathered for a vase, + In that chamber died space, + Beam and breeze resigning: + This dog only waited on, + Knowing, that, when light is gone, + Love remains for shining. + + IX + + Other dogs in thymy dew + Tracked the hares, and followed through + Sunny moor or meadow: + This dog only crept and crept + Next a languid cheek that slept, + Sharing in the shadow. + + X + + Other dogs of loyal cheer + Bounded at the whistle clear, + Up the woodside hieing: + This dog only watched in reach + Of a faintly uttered speech, + Or a louder sighing. + + XI + + And if one or two quick tears + Dropped upon his glossy ears, + Or a sigh came double, + Up he sprang in eager haste, + Fawning, fondling, breathing fast, + In a tender trouble. + + XII + + And this dog was satisfied + If a pale, thin hand would glide + Down his dewlaps sloping,-- + Which he pushed his nose within, + After,--platforming his chin + On the palm left open. + + XIII + + This dog, if a friendly voice + Call him now to blither choice + Than such chamber-keeping, + "Come out!" praying from the door, + Presseth backward as before, + Up against me leaping. + + XIV + + Therefore to this dog will I, + Tenderly, not scornfully, + Render praise and favor: + With my hand upon his head, + Is my benediction said + Therefore and forever. + + XV + + And because he loves me so, + Better than his kind will do + Often man or woman, + Give I back more love again + Than dogs often take of men, + Leaning from my human. + + XVI + + Blessings on thee, dog of mine, + Pretty collars make thee fine, + Sugared milk may fat thee! + Pleasures wag on in thy tail, + Hands of gentle motion fail + Nevermore to pat thee! + + XVII + + Downy pillow take thy head, + Silken coverlet bestead, + Sunshine help thy sleeping! + No fly's buzzing wake thee up, + No man break thy purple cup + Set for drinking deep in! + + XVIII + + Whiskered cats aroynted flee, + Sturdy stoppers keep from thee + Cologne distillations; + Nuts lie in thy path for stones, + And thy feast-day macaroons + Turn to daily rations! + + XIX + + Mock I thee, in wishing weal? + Tears are in my eyes to feel + Thou art made so straitly: + Blessings need must straiten too,-- + Little canst thou joy or do + Thou who lovest _greatly_. + + XX + + Yet be blessed to the height + Of all good and all delight + Pervious to thy nature; + Only _loved_ beyond that line, + With a love that answers thine, + Loving fellow-creature! + + ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. + + + + + FRANCES + + + You were a friend, Frances, a friend, + With feeling and regard and capable of woe. + Oh, yes, I know you were a dog, but I was just a man. + I did not buy you; no, you simply came, + Lost, and squatted on my doorstep. + The place was strange--you quivered, but stayed on, + And I had need of you. + No other fellow could make you follow him, + For you had chosen me to be your pal. + My whistle was your law, + You put your paw + Upon my palm, + And in your calm, deep eyes was writ + The promise of long comradeship. + When I came home from work, + Late and ill-tempered, + Always I heard the patter of your feet upon the oaken stairs; + Your nose was at the door-crack; + And whether I'd been bad or good that day + You fawned, and loved me just the same. + It was your way to understand. + And if I struck you, my harsh hand + Was met with your caresses. + You took my leavings, crumb and bone, + And stuck by me through thick and thin-- + You were my kin. + And then one day you died + And were put deep. + But though you sleep, and ever sleep, + I sense you at my heels. + + RICHARD WIGHTMAN. + + + + + TO MY SETTER, SCOUT + + + You are a tried and loyal friend; + The end + Of life will find you leal, unweary + Of tested bonds that naught can rend, + And e'en if years be sad and dreary, + Our plighted friendship will extend. + + A truer friend man never had; + 'Tis sad + That 'mongst all earthly friends the fewest + Unfaithful ones should thus be clad + In canine lowliness; yet truest + They, be their treatment good or bad. + + Within your eyes methinks I find + A kind + And thoughtful look of speechless feeling + That mem'ry's loosened cords unbind, + And let the dreamy past come stealing + Through your dumb, reflective mind. + + Scout, my trusty friend, can it be + You see + Again, in retrospective dreaming, + The run, the woodland, and the lea, + With past autumnal sunshine streaming + O'er ev'ry frost-dyed field and tree? + + Or do you see now once again + The glen + And fern, the highland, and the thistle? + And do you still remember when + We heard the bright-eyed woodcock whistle + Down by the rippling, shrub-edged fen? + + I see you turn a listening ear + To hear + The quail upon the flower-pied heather; + But, doggie, wait till uplands sere, + And then the autumn's waning weather + Will bring the sport we hold so dear. + + Then we will hunt the loamy swale + And trail + The snipe, their cunning wiles o'ercoming; + And oft will flush the bevied quail, + And hear the partridge slowly drumming + Dull echoes in the leaf-strewn dale. + + When wooded hills with crimson light + Are bright, + We'll stroll where trees and vines are growing, + And see birds warp their southern flight + At sundown, when the Day King's throwing + Sly kisses to the Queen of Night. + + FRANK H. SELDEN. + + + + + WHY STRIK'ST THOU ME? + + + Why dost thou strike me?--Ever faithful + In service to thee do I live; + And often when thou wert in peril + My very utmost would I give; + My life I would lay down for thee! + Why strik'st thou me? + + In blustering storm and cruel Winter, + In murky night or through the day, + Obedient I have trotted by thee + And guarded thee along the way. + I've watched thee and protected thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When flashed the robber's steel against thee, + When thou wert threatened by his arm, + And thou didst call for aid and rescue, + Who saved thee then from mortal harm? + My blood flowed on the sand for thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When down the sheer walls of the chasm + That glooms the torrent thou didst slide, + Thou there had perished maimed and helpless + Had I not sought thee far and wide. + Myself forgetting, sought I thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When on the furious billows drifting + Thou heldest up a beckoning hand, + And no man dared attempt to save thee, + I brought thee safely to the land. + From certain death I rescued thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + Oh doom me not to starve and perish; + The poor old Sultan do not slay! + For thee, too, will the days soon darken + In which thy strength will fade away. + Then thou wilt beg as I beg thee:-- + Why strik'st thou me? + + NATHAN HASKELL DOLE (_Translator_). + + + + + CONSOLATION + + + Full dismal blows the wind + Without my cabin, here, + And many times I find + Myself possessed of fear. + + I often hear a sound + As if a stranger tried + To enter here, but found + The door made fast inside. + + The nights are filled with dread, + And fancy even scrolls + Gray visions of the dead-- + Ghosts of departed souls. + + But never near me creeps + What fancy oft invites. + My dog a vigil keeps + Throughout the awful nights. + + HOWARD C. KEGLEY. + + + + + ARGUS + + + When wise Ulysses, from his native coast + Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, + Arrived at last--poor, old, despised, alone, + To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown, + Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares, + Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, + In his own palace forced to ask his bread, + Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed, + Forgot of all his own domestic crew, + His faithful dog his rightful master knew! + + Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay + Like an old servant, now cashiered, he lay; + And though ev'n then expiring on the plain, + Touched with resentment of ungrateful man, + And longing to behold his ancient lord again, + Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet + ('Twas all he could), and fawned, and kissed his feet, + Seized with dumb joy; then falling by his side, + Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died. + + ALEXANDER POPE. + + + + + CHAINED IN THE YARD + + + 'Twas only a dog in a kennel + And little noise he made, + But it seemed to me as I heard it + I knew what that old dog said. + + "Another long month to get over; + Will nobody loosen my chain? + Just for a run 'round the meadow, + Then fasten me up again. + + "Give me my old life of freedom, + Give me a plunge and a swim, + A dash and a dive in the river, + A shake and a splash on the brim." + + I patted his head and spoke kindly, + I thought that his case was hard, + Oh, give him a run in the open, + Your dog chained up in the yard! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS COLD + + + "What makes the dog's nose always cold?" + I'll try to tell you, curls of gold, + If you will sit upon my knee + And very good and quiet be. + + Well, years and years and years ago-- + How many I don't really know-- + There came a rain on sea and shore; + Its like was never seen before + Or since. It fell unceasing down + Till all the world began to drown. + + But just before it down did pour, + An old, old man--his name was Noah-- + Built him an ark, that he might save + His family from a watery grave; + And in it also he designed + To shelter two of every kind + Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done, + And heavy clouds obscured the sun, + The Noah folks to it quickly ran, + And then the animals began + To gravely march along in pairs. + + The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears, + The deer, the hippopotamuses, + The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses, + The camels, goats, and cats, and donkeys, + The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys, + The rats, the big rhinoceroses, + The dromedaries and the horses, + The sheep, the mice, the kangaroos, + Hyenas, elephants, koodoos, + And many more--'twould take all day, + My dear, the very names to say-- + And at the very, very end + Of the procession, by his friend + And master, faithful dog was seen. + + The lifelong time he'd helping been + To drive the crowd of creatures in; + And now, with loud, exultant bark, + He gayly sprang aboard the bark. + + Alas! So crowded was the space + He could not in it find a place; + So, patiently, he turned about,-- + Stood half-way in, and half-way out, + And those extremely heavy showers + Descended through nine hundred hours + And more; and, darling, at their close + Most frozen was his honest nose; + And never could it lose again + The dampness of that dreadful rain. + + And that is what, my curls of gold, + Made all the doggies' noses cold. + + MARGARET EYTINGE. + + + + + DOG LANGUAGE + + + Our Towser is the finest dog that ever wore a collar, + We wouldn't sell him--no, indeed--not even for a dollar! + I understand his language now, 'cause honest, it appears + That dogs can talk, and say a lot, with just their tails and ears. + + When I come home from school he meets me with a joyous bound, + And shakes that long tail sideways, down and up, and round and round. + Pa says he's going to hang a rug beside the door to see + If Towser will not beat it while he's busy greeting me. + + Then when he sees me get my hat, but thinks he cannot go, + His ears get limp, his tail drops down, and he just walks off--slow; + Though if I say the magic words: "Well, Towser, want to come?" + Why, say! You'd know he answered "Yes," although at speech he's dumb. + + MARION HOVEY BRIGGS. + + + + + A DOG'S LOYALTY + + + Many a good + And useful quality, and virtue, too. + Attachment never to be weaned or changed + By any change of fortune; proof alike + Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; + Fidelity that neither bribe nor threat + Can move or warp; and gratitude for small + And trivial favors lasting as the life, + And glistening even in the dying eye. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + PART III + + THE DOG IN ACTION + + + _Course, hunt, in hills, in valley or in plain-- + He joys to run and stretch out every limb, + To please but thee he spareth for no pain, + His hurt (for thee) is greatest good to him. + + In fields abroad he looks unto thy flocks, + Keeping them safe from wolves and other beasts; + And oftentimes he bears away the knocks + Of some odd thief that many a fold infests._ + + + + + TOLD TO THE MISSIONARY + + + Just look 'ee here, Mr. Preacher, you're a-goin' a bit too fur; + There isn't the man as is livin' as I'd let say a word agen her. + She's a rum-lookin' bitch, that I own to, and there is a fierce look in her eyes, + But if any cove says as she's vicious, I sez in his teeth he lies. + Soh! Gently, old 'ooman; come here, now, and set by my side on the bed; + I wonder who'll have yer, my beauty, when him as you're all to 's dead. + There, stow yer palaver a minit; I knows as my end is nigh; + Is a cove to turn round on his dog, like, just 'cos he's goin' to die? + + Oh, of course, I was sartin you'd say it. It's allus the same with you. + Give it us straight, now, guv'nor--what would you have me do? + Think of my soul? I do, sir. Think of my Saviour? Right! + Don't be afeard of the bitch, sir; she's not a-goin' to bite. + Tell me about my Saviour--tell me that tale agen, + How he prayed for the coves as killed him, and died for the worst of men. + It's a tale as I always liked, sir; and bound for the 'ternal shore, + I thinks it aloud to myself, sir, and I likes it more and more. + + I've thumbed it out in the Bible, and I know it now by heart, + And it's put the steam in my boiler, and made me ready to start. + I ain't not afraid to die now; I've been a bit bad in my day, + But I know when I knock at them portals there's one as won't say me nay. + And it's thinkin' about that story, and all as he did for us, + As make me so fond o' my dawg, sir; especially now I'm wus; + For a-savin' o' folks who'd kill us is a beautiful act, the which + I never heard tell on o' no one, 'cept o' him and o' that there bitch. + + 'Twas five years ago come Chrismus, maybe you remember the row, + There was scares about hydryphoby--same as there be just now; + And the bobbies came down on us costers--came in a reggerlar wax, + And them as 'ud got no license was summerned to pay the tax. + But I had a friend among 'em, and he come in a friendly way, + And he sez, 'You must settle your dawg, Bill, unless you've a mind to pay.' + The missus was dyin' wi' fever--I'd made a mistake in my pitch, + I couldn't afford to keep her, so I sez, 'I'll drownd the bitch.' + + I wasn't a-goin' to lose her, I warn't such a brute, you bet, + As to leave her to die by inches o' hunger, and cold, and wet; + I never said now't to the missus--we both on us liked her well-- + But I takes her the follerin' Sunday down to the Grand Canell. + I gets her tight by the collar--the Lord forgive my sin! + And, kneelin' down on the towpath, I ducks the poor beast in. + She gave just a sudden whine like, then a look comes into her eyes + As 'ull last forever in mine, sir, up to the day I dies. + + And a chill came over my heart then, and thinkin' I heard her moan, + I held her below the water, beating her skull with a stone. + You can see the mark of it now, sir--that place on the top of 'er 'ed-- + And sudden she ceased to struggle, and I fancied as she was dead. + I shall never know how it happened, but goin' to lose my hold, + My knees slipped over the towpath, and into the stream I rolled; + Down like a log I went, sir, and my eyes were filled with mud, + And the water was tinged above me with a murdered creeter's blood. + + I gave myself up for lost then, and I cursed in my wild despair, + And sudden I rose to the surfis, and a su'thing grabbed at my hair, + Grabbed at my hair and loosed it, and grabbed me agin by the throat, + And she was a-holdin' my 'ed up, and somehow I kep' afloat. + I can't tell yer 'ow she done it, for I never knowed no more + Till somebody seized my collar, and give me a lug ashore; + And my head was queer and dizzy, but I see as the bitch was weak, + And she lay on her side a-pantin', waitin' for me to speak. + + What did I do with her, eh? You'd a-hardly need to ax, + But I sold my barrer a Monday, and paid the bloomin' tax. + + That's right, Mr. Preacher, pat her--you ain't not afeared of her now!-- + Dang this here tellin' of stories--look at the muck on my brow. + + I'm weaker, an' weaker, an' weaker; I fancy the end ain't fur, + But you know why here on my deathbed I think o' the Lord and her, + And he who, by men's hands tortured, uttered that prayer divine, + 'Ull pardon me linkin' him like with a dawg as forgave like mine. + When the Lord in his mercy calls me to my last eternal pitch, + I know as you'll treat her kindly--promise to take my bitch! + + GEORGE R. SIMS. + + + + + THE DOG OF THE LOUVRE + + + With gentle tread, with uncovered head, + Pass by the Louvre gate, + Where buried lie the "men of July," + And flowers are hung by the passers-by, + And the dog howls desolate. + + That dog had fought in the fierce onslaught, + Had rushed with his master on, + And both fought well; + But the master fell, + And behold the surviving one! + + By his lifeless clay, + Shaggy and gray, + His fellow-warrior stood; + Nor moved beyond, + But mingled fond + Big tears with his master's blood. + + Vigil he keeps + By those green heaps + That tell where heroes lie. + No passer-by + Can attract his eye, + For he knows it is not He! + + At the dawn, when dew + Wets the garlands new + That are hung in this place of mourning, + He will start to meet + The coming feet + Of him whom he dreamt returning. + + On the grave's wood-cross + When the chaplets toss, + By the blast of midnight shaken, + How he howleth! hark! + From that dwelling dark + The slain he would fain awaken. + + When the snow comes fast + On the chilly blast, + Blanching the bleak church-yard, + With limbs outspread + On the dismal bed + Of his liege, he still keeps guard. + + Oft in the night, + With main and might, + He strives to raise the stone; + Short respite takes: + "If master wakes, + He'll call me," then sleeps on. + + Of bayonet blades, + Of barricades, + And guns he dreams the most; + Starts from his dream, + And then would seem + To eye a pleading ghost. + + He'll linger there + In sad despair + And die on his master's grave. + His home?--'tis known + To the dead alone,-- + He's the dog of the nameless brave! + + Give a tear to the dead, + And give some bread + To the dog of the Louvre gate! + Where buried lie the men of July, + And flowers are hung by the passers-by, + And the dog howls desolate. + + RALPH CECIL. + + + + + THE CHASE + + + Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career. + Yon crowding flock, that at a distance gaze, + Have haply foil'd the turf. See that old hound! + How busily he works, but dares not trust + His doubtful sense; draws yet a wider ring. + Hark! Now again the chorus fills. As bells, + Sally'd awhile, at once their paean renew, + And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls, + See how they toss, with animated rage + Recovering all they lost! That eager haste + Some doubling wile foreshows. Ah! Yet once more + + They're checked, hold back with speed--on either hand + They flourish round--e'en yet persist--'tis right. + Away they spring. The rustling stubbles bend + Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase + Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced. + From brake to brake she flies, and visits all + Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure, + With love and plenty blest. See! There she goes, + She reels along, and by her gait betrays + Her inward weakness. See how black she looks! + The sweat, that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves + A languid scent. And now in open view + See! See! She flies! Each eager hound exerts + His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve; + How quick she turns! Their gaping jaws eludes, + And yet a moment lives--till, round enclosed + By all the greedy pack, with infant screams + She yields her breath, and there, reluctant, dies. + + LORD SOMERVILLE. + + + + + THE UNDER DOG + + + I know that the world, the great big world, + Will never a moment stop + To see which dog may be in the fault, + But will shout for the dog on top. + But for me, I shall never pause to ask + Which dog may be in the right, + For my heart will beat, while it beats at all, + For the under dog in the fight. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG + + + My dog and I are both grown old; + On these wild downs we watch all day; + He looks in my face when the wind blows cold, + And thus methinks I hear him say: + + The gray stone circlet is below, + The village smoke is at our feet; + We nothing hear but the sailing crow, + And wandering flocks that roam and bleat. + + Far off, the early horseman hies, + In shower or sunshine rushing on; + Yonder the dusty whirlwind flies; + The distant coach is seen and gone. + + Though solitude around is spread, + Master, alone thou shalt not be; + And when the turf is on thy head, + I only shall remember thee. + + I marked his look of faithful care, + I placed my hand on his shaggy side; + "There is a sun that shines above, + A sun that shines on both," I cried. + + WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. + + + + + BETH GELERT + + + The spearman heard the bugle sound, + And cheerily smiled the morn; + And many a brach, and many a hound, + Attend Llewellyn's horn: + + And still he blew a louder blast, + And gave a louder cheer: + "Come, Gelert! Why art thou the last + Llewellyn's horn to hear? + + "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? + The flower of all his race! + So true, so brave, a lamb at home, + A lion in the chase!" + + In sooth, he was a peerless hound, + The gift of royal John, + But now no Gelert could be found, + And all the chase rode on. + + And now, as over rocks and dells, + The gallant chidings rise, + All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells + With many mingled cries. + + That day Llewellyn little loved + The chase of hart or hare, + And small and scant the booty proved, + For Gelert was not there. + + Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, + When near the portal-seat, + His truant Gelert he espied, + Bounding his lord to meet. + + But when he gained the castle door, + Aghast the chieftain stood; + The hound was smeared with gouts of gore, + His lips and fangs ran blood. + + Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, + Unused such looks to meet; + His favorite checked his joyful guise, + And crouched and licked his feet. + + Onward in haste Llewellyn passed, + And on went Gelert, too, + And still, where'er his eyes were cast, + Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view. + + O'erturned his infant's bed he found, + The blood-stained covert rent; + And all around, the walls and ground, + With recent blood besprent. + + He called the child--no voice replied; + He searched, with terror wild; + Blood! Blood! He found on every side, + But nowhere found the child! + + "Hell-hound! By thee my child's devoured!" + The frantic father cried; + And to the hilt his vengeful sword + He plunged in Gelert's side. + + His suppliant, as to earth he fell, + No pity could impart, + But still his Gelert's dying yell + Passed heavy o'er his heart. + + Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, + Some slumberer wakened nigh; + What words the parent's joy can tell + To hear his infant cry! + + Concealed beneath a mangled heap + His hurried search had missed, + All glowing from his rosy sleep, + His cherub-boy he kissed. + + Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, + But, the same couch beneath, + Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-- + Tremendous still in death. + + Ah! What was then Llewellyn's pain! + For now the truth was clear: + The gallant hound the wolf had slain + To save Llewellyn's heir. + + Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; + "Best of thy kind, adieu! + The frantic deed which laid thee low + This heart shall ever rue!" + + And now a gallant tomb they raise, + With costly sculpture decked, + And marbles, storied with his praise, + Poor Gelert's bones protect. + + Here never could the spearman pass, + Or forester, unmoved! + Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass + Llewellyn's sorrow proved. + + And here he hung his horn and spear, + And oft, as evening fell, + In fancy's piercing sounds would hear + Poor Gelert's dying yell. + + WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER. + + + + + THE FLAG AND THE + FAITHFUL + + (A Washington woman has made a loud outcry to the Secretary of + War to reprimand the soldiers at the Government Aviation Station + for burying their faithful dog, Muggsie, wrapped in the Stars + and Stripes.) + + + Ah, Muggsie, good and faithful dog, + Gone to your rest! + You served your country and your flag + The very best + That lay within your humble power, + And in that far + Have been much better than some men + And women are. + As you had lived, good dog, you died, + And it is meet + The flag you served your best should be + Your winding sheet. + + WILLIAM J. LAMPTON. + + + + + A GUARDIAN AT THE GATE + + + The dog beside the threshold lies, + Mocking sleep with half-shut eyes-- + With head crouched down upon his feet, + Till strangers pass his sunny seat-- + Then quick he pricks his ears to hark + And bustles up to growl and bark; + While boys in fear stop short their song, + And sneak in startled speed along; + And beggar, creeping like a snail, + To make his hungry hopes prevail + O'er the warm heart of charity, + Leaves his lame halt and hastens by. + + JOHN CLARE. + + + + + A TALE OF THE REIGN + OF TERROR + + + 'Twas in a neighboring land what time + The Reign of Terror triumphed there, + And every horrid shape of crime + Stalked out from murder's bloody lair. + + 'Twas in those dreadful times there dwelt + In Lyons, the defiled with blood, + A loyal family that felt + The earliest fury of the flood. + + Wife, children, friends, it swept away + From wretched Valrive, one by one, + Himself severely doomed to stay + Till everything he loved was gone. + + A man proscribed, whom not to shun + Was danger, almost fate, to brave, + So all forsook him, all save one-- + One faithful, humble, powerless slave. + + His dog, old Nina. She had been, + When they were boys, his children's mate, + His gallant Claude, his mild Eugene, + Both gone before him to their fate. + + They spurned her off--but evermore, + Surmounting e'en her timid nature, + Love brought her to the prison door, + And there she crouched, fond, faithful creature! + + Watching so long, so piteously, + That e'en the jailor--man of guilt, + Of rugged heart--was moved to cry, + "Poor wretch, there enter if thou wilt." + + And who than Nina more content + When she had gained that dreary cell + Where lay in helpless dreariment + The master loved so long and well? + + And when into his arms she leapt + In her old fond, familiar way, + And close into his bosom crept, + And licked his face--a feeble ray + + Of something--not yet comfort--stole + Upon his heart's stern misery, + And his lips moved, "Poor loving fool! + Then all have not abandoned me." + + The hour by grudging kindness spared + Expired too soon--the friends must part-- + And Nina from the prison gazed, + With lingering pace and heavy heart. + + Shelter, and rest, and food she found + With one who, for the master's sake, + Though grim suspicion stalked around, + Dared his old servant home to take. + + Beneath that friendly roof, each night + She stayed, but still returning day-- + Ay, the first beam of dawning light + Beheld her on her anxious way. + + Towards the prison, there to await + The hour when through that dismal door + The keeper, half compassionate, + Should bid her enter as before. + + And well she seemed to comprehend + The time appointed for her stay, + The little hour that with her friend + She tarried there was all her day. + + At last the captive's summons came; + They led him forth his doom to hear; + No tremor shook his thrice-nerved frame + Whose heart was dead to hope and fear. + + So with calm step he moved along, + And calmly faced the murderous crew, + But close and closer for the throng, + Poor Nina to her master drew. + + And she has found a resting place + Between his knees--her old safe home-- + And she looks round in every face + As if to read his written doom. + + 'Twas but a step in those dread days + From trial to the guillotine; + A moment, and Valrive surveys + With steadfast eye the fell machine. + + He mounts the platform, takes his stand + Before the fatal block, and kneels + In preparation--but his hand + A soft warm touch that moment feels. + + His eyes glance downward, and a tear-- + The last tear they shall ever shed-- + Falls as he utters, "Thou still here!" + Upon his faithful servant's head. + + Yes, she is there; that hellish shout, + That deadly stroke, she hears them plain, + And from the headless trunk starts out + Even over her the bloody rain. + + Old faithful Nina! There lies she, + Her cold head on the cold earth pressed, + As it was wont so lovingly + To lie upon her master's breast. + + And there she stayed the livelong day, + Mute, motionless, her sad watch keeping; + A stranger who had passed that way + Would have believed her dead or sleeping. + + But if a step approached the grave + Her eye looked up with jealous care, + Imploringly, as if to crave + That no rude foot should trample there. + + That night she came not, as of late, + To her old, charitable home; + The next day's sun arose and set, + Night fell--and still she failed to come. + + Then the third day her pitying host + Went kindly forth to seek his guest, + And found her at her mournful post, + Stretched quietly as if at rest. + + Yet she was not asleep nor dead, + And when her master's friend she saw, + The poor old creature raised her head, + And moaned, and moved one feeble paw. + + But stirred not thence--and all in vain + He called, caressed her, would have led-- + Tried threats--then coaxing words again-- + Brought food--she turned away her head. + + So with kind violence at last + He bore her home with gentle care; + In her old shelter tied her fast, + Placed food beside and left her there. + + But ere the hour of rest, again + He visited the captive's shed, + And there the cord lay, gnawed in twain-- + The food untasted--she was fled. + + And, vexed, he cried, "Perverse old creature! + Well, let her go. I've done my best." + But there was something in his nature, + A feeling that would not let him rest. + + So with the early light once more + Toward the burial ground went he; + And there he found her as before, + But not, as then, stretched quietly. + + For she had worked the long night through, + In the strong impulse of despair, + Down, down into the grave--and now, + Panting and weak, still laboured there. + + But death's cold, stiffening frost benumbs + Her limbs, and clouds her heavy eye-- + And hark! her feeble moan becomes + A shriek of human agony. + + As if before her task was over + She feared to die in her despair. + But see! those last faint strokes uncover + A straggling lock of thin grey hair. + + One struggle, one convulsive start, + And there the face beloved lies-- + Now be at peace, thou faithful heart! + She licks the livid lips, and dies. + + CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. + + + + + AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH + OF A MAD DOG + + + Good people all, of every sort, + Give ear unto my song, + And if you find it wond'rous short, + It cannot hold you long. + + In Islington there was a man + Of whom the world might say + That still a godly race he ran + Whene'er he went to pray. + + A kind and gentle heart he had, + To comfort friends and foes; + The naked every day he clad + When he put on his clothes. + + And in that town a dog was found, + As many dogs there be, + Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, + And curs of low degree. + + The dog and man at first were friends, + But when a pique began, + The dog, to gain some private ends, + Went mad, and bit the man. + + Around from all the neighboring streets + The wondering neighbors ran, + And swore the dog had lost his wits, + To bite so good a man. + + The wound it seem'd both sore and sad + To every Christian eye; + And while they swore the dog was mad, + They swore the man would die. + + But soon a wonder came to light, + That showed the rogues they lied; + The man recover'd of the bite, + The dog it was that died. + + OLIVER GOLDSMITH. + + + + + THE FUSILIERS' DOG + + + Go lift him gently from the wheels, + And soothe his dying pain, + For love and care e'en yet he feels + Though love and care be vain; + 'Tis sad that, after all these years, + Our comrade and our friend, + The brave dog of the Fusiliers, + Should meet with such an end. + + Up Alma's hill, among the vines, + We laughed to see him trot, + Then frisk along the silent lines + To chase the rolling shot; + And, when the work waxed hard by day, + And hard and cold by night, + When that November morning lay + Upon us, like a blight; + + And eyes were strained, and ears were bent, + Against the muttering north, + Till the gray mist took shape and sent + Gray scores of Russians forth-- + Beneath that slaughter wild and grim + Nor man nor dog would run; + He stood by us, and we by him, + Till the great fight was done. + + And right throughout the snow and frost + He faced both shot and shell; + Though unrelieved, he kept his post, + And did his duty well. + By death on death the time was stained, + By want, disease, despair; + Like autumn leaves our army waned, + But still the dog was there. + + He cheered us through those hours of gloom; + We fed him in our dearth; + Through him the trench's living tomb + Rang loud with reckless mirth; + And thus, when peace returned once more, + After the city's fall, + That veteran home in pride we bore, + And loved him, one and all. + + With ranks re-filled, our hearts were sick, + And to old memories clung; + The grim ravines we left glared thick + With death-stones of the young. + Hands which had patted him lay chill, + Voices which called were dumb, + And footsteps that he watched for still + Never again could come. + + Never again; this world of woe + Still hurries on so fast; + They come not back; 'tis he must go + To join them in the past. + There, with brave names and deeds entwined, + Which Time may not forget, + Young Fusiliers unborn shall find + The legend of our pet. + + Whilst o'er fresh years and other life + Yet in God's mystic urn + The picture of the mighty strife + Arises sad and stern-- + Blood all in front, behind far shrines + With women weeping low, + For whom each lost one's fane but shines, + As shines the moon on snow-- + + Marked by the medal, his of right, + And by his kind, keen face, + Under that visionary light + Poor Bob shall keep his place; + And never may our honored Queen + For love and service pay + Less brave, less patient, or more mean + Than his we mourn today! + + FRANCIS DOYLE. + + + + + FIDELITY + + + A barking sound the shepherd hears, + A cry as of a dog or fox; + He halts, and searches with his eyes + Among the scattered rocks; + And now at distance can discern + A stirring in a brake of fern, + And instantly a dog is seen, + Glancing through that covert green. + + The dog is not of mountain breed, + Its motions, too, are wild and shy, + With something, as the shepherd thinks, + Unusual in its cry. + Nor is there anyone in sight, + All round, in hollow or on height, + Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. + What is the creature doing here? + + It was a cove, a huge recess + That keeps, till June, December's snow; + A lofty precipice in front, + A silent tarn below. + Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, + Remote from public road or dwelling, + Pathway, or cultivated land, + From trace of human foot or hand. + + There sometimes doth a leaping fish + Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; + The crags repeat the raven's croak + In symphony austere; + Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud, + And mists that spread the flying shroud, + And sunbeams, and the sounding blast, + That, if it could, would hurry past, + But that enormous barrier binds it fast. + + Not free from boding thoughts, a while + The shepherd stood; then makes his way + Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones, + As quickly as he may; + Nor far had gone before he found + A human skeleton on the ground; + The appalled discoverer, with a sigh, + Looks round, to learn the history + + From whose abrupt and perilous rocks + The man had fallen, that place of fear! + At length upon the shepherd's mind + It breaks, and all is clear: + He instantly recalled the name + And who he was, and whence he came; + Remembered, too, the very day + On which the traveller passed this way. + + But hear a wonder, for whose sake + This lamentable tale I tell! + A lasting monument of words + This wonder merits well. + The dog, which still was hovering nigh, + Repeating the same timid cry-- + This dog had been through three months' space + A dweller in that savage place. + + Yes, proof was plain that since the day + When this ill-fated traveller died, + The dog had watched about the spot + Or by his master's side; + How nourished here through such long time + He knows who gave that love sublime, + And gave that strength of feeling, great + Above all human estimate. + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD DOG OF + THE PYRENEES + + + _Traveler._ Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your dog. + _Shepherd._ Be not affrighted, madame. Poor Pierrot + Will do no harm. I know his voice is gruff, + But then, his heart is good. + _Traveler._ Well, call him, then. + I do not like his looks. He's growling now. + _Shepherd._ Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot, + He is as good a Christian as myself + And does not like a stick. + _Traveler._ Such a fierce look! + And such great teeth! + _Shepherd_. Ah, bless poor Pierrot's teeth! + Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth. + Come here, my Pierrot. Would you like to hear, + Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me? + _Traveler._ Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant. + _Shepherd._ Do you see + On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands + Against the sky? + _Traveler._ Just where the cliff goes down + A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock + To where the river foams along its bed? + I've often wondered who was brave to plant + A cross on such an edge. + _Shepherd._ Myself, madame, + That the good God might know I gave him thanks. + One night, it was November, black and thick, + The fog came down, when as I reached my house + Marie came running out; our little one, + Our four year Louis, so she cried, was lost. + I called Pierrot: "Go, seek him, find my boy," + And off he went. Marie ran crying loud + To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched + All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain; + Whistled and called, and listened for his voice; + He always came or barked at my first word, + But now, he answered not. When day at last + Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw + On that high ledge, against the dawning light. + My little one asleep, sitting so near + That edge that as I looked his red barette + Fell from his nodding head down the abyss. + And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth, + His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown, + Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds + Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep, + And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail, + And looked at me, so utterly distressed, + With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak," + But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue + Was safe within my arms. + Ah, ha, Pierrot, + Madame forgives your barking and your teeth; + I knew she would. + _Traveler._ Come here, Pierrot, good dog, + Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true, + Come, come, be friends with me. + + ELLEN MURRAY. + + + + + THE DOG UNDER THE WAGON + + + "Come, wife," said good old farmer Gray, + "Put on your things, 'tis market day, + And we'll be off to the nearest town, + There and back ere the sun goes down. + Spot? No, we'll leave old Spot behind," + But Spot he barked and Spot he whined, + And soon made up his doggish mind + To follow under the wagon. + + Away they went at a good round pace + And joy came into the farmer's face, + "Poor Spot," said he, "did want to come, + But I'm awful glad he's left at home-- + He'll guard the barn, and guard the cot, + And keep the cattle out of the lot." + "I'm not so sure of that," thought Spot, + The dog under the wagon. + + The farmer all his produce sold + And got his pay in yellow gold: + Home through the lonely forest. Hark! + A robber springs from behind a tree; + "Your money or else your life," says he; + The moon was up, but he didn't see + The dog under the wagon. + + Spot ne'er barked and Spot ne'er whined + But quickly caught the thief behind; + He dragged him down in the mire and dirt, + And tore his coat and tore his shirt, + Then held him fast on the miry ground; + The robber uttered not a sound, + While his hands and feet the farmer bound, + And tumbled him into the wagon. + + So Spot he saved the farmer's life, + The farmer's money, the farmer's wife, + And now a hero grand and gay, + A silver collar he wears today; + Among his friends, among his foes-- + And everywhere his master goes-- + He follows on his horny toes, + The dog under the wagon. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + SAL'S TOWSER AND MY + TROUSER + + A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER + + + But yestere'en I loved thee whole, + Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser! + And now I loathe and hate the hole + In thee, I do, I trow, sir. + + I sallied out to see my Sal, + Across yon round hill's brow, sir; + I didn't know she, charming gal, + Had a dog,--a trouser-browser. + + I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce, + When on a sudden, oh, my trouser, + I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,-- + I tarried there with Towser. + + I on the fence, he down below, + And thou the copula, my trouser, + I thought he never would let go,-- + This gentle Towser. + + They say that fashion cuts thee loose, + But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser; + Thou gavest away at last, no use + To tarry, tearèd trouser. + + Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet, + And I'd have once loved to espouse her, + But my calling trouser has no seat,-- + I left it there with Towser. + + So all unseated is my suit; + I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir; + He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit + Me to meet Towser. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + ROVER IN CHURCH + + + 'Twas a Sunday morning in early May, + A beautiful, sunny, quiet day, + And all the village, old and young, + Had trooped to church when the church bell rung. + The windows were open, and breezes sweet + Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat. + Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch + Sang as softly as if in church! + + Right in the midst of the minister's prayer + There came a knock at the door. "Who's there, + I wonder?" the gray-haired sexton thought, + As his careful ear the tapping caught. + Rap-rap, rap-rap--a louder sound, + The boys on the back seats turned around. + What could it mean? for never before + Had any one knocked at the old church door. + + Again the tapping, and now so loud, + The minister paused (though his head was bowed). + Rappety-rap! This will never do, + The girls are peeping, and laughing too! + So the sexton tripped o'er the creaking floor, + Lifted the latch and opened the door. + + In there trotted a big black dog, + As big as a bear! With a solemn jog + Right up the centre aisle he pattered; + People might stare, it little mattered. + Straight he went to a little maid, + Who blushed and hid, as though afraid, + And there sat down, as if to say, + "I'm sorry that I was late today, + But better late than never, you know; + Beside, I waited an hour or so, + And couldn't get them to open the door + Till I wagged my tail and bumped the floor. + Now little mistress, I'm going to stay, + And hear what the minister has to say." + + The poor little girl hid her face and cried! + But the big dog nestled close to her side, + And kissed her, dog fashion, tenderly, + Wondering what the matter could be! + The dog being large (and the sexton small), + He sat through the sermon, and heard it all, + As solemn and wise as any one there, + With a very dignified, scholarly air! + And instead of scolding, the minister said, + As he laid his hand on the sweet child's head, + After the service, "I never knew + Two better list'ners than Rover and you!" + + JAMES BUCKHAM. + + + + + PART IV + + THE DOG'S HEREAFTER + + + _Oh, Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through; + Let it go with me into Heaven, for my soul is full of compassion._ + + + + + BILLY + + + Dear Billy, of imperious bark + When stranger's step fell on thy ear; + Who oft inspired with wholesome fear + A prowling boy in shadows dark: + + But oftener hailed with joyous cry + Some friendly face returning home, + Or, wild with glee, the fields to roam-- + Now still and cold thou here dost lie! + + Frail vines that from the garden wall + Crept blooming o'er thy lowly bed, + Elm branches drooping overhead, + And dying leaves that wavering fall, + + In other forms of life enrolled + Shall live in ages yet to be; + And shall a mind from body free + Lie buried dark beneath the mold? + + He loved us all, and none forgot, + He guessed whate'er was done or told, + Dreamed of adventures free and bold-- + For him is there no future lot? + + If love is life and thought is mind, + And all shall last beyond the years, + And memory live in other spheres, + My steadfast friend may I not find? + + LORENZO SEARS. + + + + + THE BOND + + + When I call my terrier by his name, + Or join him at evening play; + His eyes will flash with a human flame + And he looks what he cannot say; + For the bond between us two + Is that between me and you! + + Should a seraph sing in my ear tonight, + Or a sweet voiced angel come. + Would poor speech prove my soul's delight, + Or ecstasy drive me dumb? + For the link 'twixt them and me + Is long as Eternity. + + Wide leagues our sentient forms divide + The loftier from the mean; + But soul to soul all planes are tied + When sympathy lies between; + And who shall say that the brute + Is soulless, though mean and mute? + + GEORGE H. NETTLE. + + + + + TO A DOG + + + On every side I see your trace; + Your water-trough's scarce dry; + Your empty collar in its place + Provokes the heavy sigh. + + And you were here two days ago. + There's little changed, I see. + The sun is just as bright, but oh! + The difference to me! + + The very print of your small pad + Is on the whitened stone. + Where, by what ways, or sad or glad, + Do you fare on alone? + + Oh, little face, so merry-wise, + Brisk feet and eager bark! + The house is lonesome for your eyes, + My spirit somewhat dark. + + Now, small, invinc'ble friend, your love + Is done, your fighting o'er, + No more your wandering feet will rove + Beyond your own house-door. + + The cats that feared, their hearts are high, + The dogs that loved will gaze + Long, long ere you come passing by + With all your jovial ways. + + Th' accursed archer who has sent + His arrow all too true, + Would that his evil days were spent + Ere he took aim at you! + + Your honest face, your winsome ways + Haunt me, dear little ghost, + And everywhere I see your trace, + Oh, well-beloved and lost! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + CANINE IMMORTALITY + + + And they have drowned thee then at last! poor Phillis! + The burden of old age was heavy on thee, + And yet thou shouldst have lived! What though thine eye + Was dim, and watched no more with eager joy + The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk + With fruitless repetition, the warm sun + Might still have cheered thy slumber; thou didst love + To lick the hand that fed thee, and though past + Youth's active season, even life itself + Was comfort. Poor old friend! How earnestly + Would I have pleaded for thee! thou hadst been + Still the companion of my childish sports: + And as I roamed o'er Avon's woody cliffs, + From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark + Recalled my wandering soul. I have beguiled + Often the melancholy hours at school, + Soured by some little tyrant, with the thought + Of distant home, and I remembered then + Thy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy, + Returning at the pleasant holidays, + I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively + Sometimes have I remarked the slow decay, + Feeling myself changed, too, and musing much, + On many a sad vicissitude of life! + Ah, poor companion! when thou followedst last + Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate + Which closed forever on him, thou didst lose + Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead + For the old age of brute fidelity! + But fare thee well! Mine is no narrow creed; + And He who gave thee being did not frame + The mystery of life to be the sport + Of merciless man! There is another world + For all that live and move--a better one! + Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine + Infinite goodness to the little bounds + Of their own charity, may envy thee! + + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + + + + A FRIENDLY WELCOME + + + 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark + Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; + 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark + Our coming, and look brighter when we come. + + LORD BYRON. + + + + + EXEMPLARY NICK + + + Here lies poor Nick, an honest creature, + Of faithful, gentle, courteous nature; + A parlor pet unspoiled by favor, + A pattern of good dog behavior, + Without a wish, without a dream, + Beyond his home and friends at Cheam. + Contentedly through life he trotted, + Along the path that faith allotted, + Till time, his aged body wearing, + Bereaved him of his sight and hearing, + Then laid him down without a pain + To sleep, and never wake again. + + SYDNEY SMITH. + + + + + THE DIFFERENCE + + + My dog! The difference between thee and me + Knows only our Creator--only he + Can number the degrees in being's scale + Between th' Instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail, + And that less steady light, of brighter ray, + The soul which animates thy master's clay; + And he alone can tell by what fond tie + My look thy life, my death thy sign to die. + + No, when that feeling quits thy glazing eye + 'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + LADDIE + + + Lowly the soul that waits + At the white, celestial gates, + A threshold soul to greet + Belovéd feet. + + Down the streets that are beams of sun + Cherubim children run; + They welcome it from the wall; + Their voices call. + + But the Warder saith: "Nay, this + Is the City of Holy Bliss. + What claim canst thou make good + To angelhood?" + + "Joy," answereth it from eyes + That are amber ecstasies, + Listening, alert, elate, + Before the gate. + + Oh, how the frolic feet + On lonely memory beat! + What rapture in a run + 'Twixt snow and sun! + + "Nay, brother of the sod, + What part hast thou in God? + What spirit art thou of?" + It answers: "Love." + + Lifting its head, no less + Cajoling a caress, + Our winsome collie wraith, + Than in glad faith. + + The door will open wide, + Or kind voice bid: "Abide, + A threshold soul to greet + The longed-for feet." + + Ah, Keeper of the Portal, + If Love be not immortal, + If Joy be not divine, + What prayer is mine? + + KATHERINE LEE BATES. + + + + + A DOG'S EPITAPH + + + When some proud son of man returns to earth, + Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, + The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo, + And storied urns record who rests below; + When all is done, upon the tomb is seen + Not what he was, but what he should have been, + But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, + The first to welcome, foremost to defend, + Whose honest heart is still his master's own, + Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, + + Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, + Denied in Heaven the soul he held in earth; + While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, + And claims himself a sole, exclusive Heaven. + Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, + Debased by slavery or corrupt by power, + Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, + Degraded mass of animated dust! + + Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, + Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! + By nature vile, ennobled but by name, + Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. + Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, + Pass on--it honors none you wish to mourn; + To mark a friend's remains these stones arise-- + I never knew but one, and here he lies. + + LORD BYRON. + + + + + THE PASSING OF A DOG + + + This kindly friend of mine who's passed + Beyond the realm of day, + Beyond the realm of darkling night, + To unknown bourne away + + Was one who deemed my humble home + A palace grand and fair; + Whose fullest joy it was to find + His comrade ever there. + + Ah! He has gone from out my life + Like some dear dream I knew. + A man may own a hundred dogs, + But one he loves, and true. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + MY DOG + + + The curate thinks you have no soul! + I know that he has none. But you, + Dear friend! whose solemn self-control + In our four-square, familiar pew, + + Was pattern to my youth--whose bark + Called me in summer dawns to rove-- + Have you gone down into the dark + Where none is welcome, none may love? + + I will not think those good brown eyes + Have spent their light of truth so soon; + But in some canine Paradise + Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon, + + And quarters every plain and hill + Seeking its master. As for me, + This prayer at least the gods fulfill-- + That when I pass the floor, and see + + Old Charon by the Stygian coast + Take toll of all the shades who land, + Your little, faithful, barking ghost + May leap to lick my phantom hand. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + JACK + + + Dog Jack has gone on the silent trail, + Wherever that may be; + But well I know, when I whistle the call, + He will joyfully answer me. + + That call will be when I, myself, + Have passed through the Gates of Gold; + He will come with a rush, and his soft brown eyes + Will glisten with love as of old. + + Oh, Warder of Gates, in the far-away land, + This little black dog should you see, + Throw wide your doors that this faithful friend + May enter, and wait for me. + + H.P.W. + + + + + IN MEMORY OF "DON" + + + Our Don--only a dog! + Yes, only a dog, you say; + With a large, warm heart, + And a bright, brown eye, + With an earnest bark + And a warm caress + + For you and me and + The friends he loved best. + Oh, how we shall + Miss him, you and I, + His noisy welcome, and + Rough good-bye! + + Some time, somewhere, + Some day, I trust, + We shall meet again; + Oh, yes, we must! + And the joy of that meeting + I dare not say. + + Ay, mock, ye skeptics, + And laugh to scorn + The faith I hold + Of all life that's born; + It cannot be wasted, + Nor can it be lost. + + And oh, for the faith, + And the Indian's trust, + That Don and his mistress + Will meet some day-- + Just over the river + Not far away! + + M.S.W. + + + + + RODERICK DHU + + + You are just a poor dumb brute, my Roderick Dhu, + And our scientific brethren scoff at you. + They "reason" and they "think," + Then they set it down in ink, + And clinch it with their learned "point of view." + + Even some divines deny you have a soul, + And reject you from Man's final heav'nly goal: + Your presence isn't wanted + You're not of the anointed. + You're not upon the mighty Judgment Roll. + + Yet the truth shines from your eyes, my faithful friend, + And your faithfulness doth that of men transcend; + You would lie right down and die, + Without even wond'ring why, + To save the man you loved--and meet your end. + + When my heart was almost breaking, Roderick Dhu, + Who was it gave me sympathy, but you! + You crept so close to me, + And you licked me tenderly, + And not a human friend was half so true. + + And would I, reasoning wisely, pronounce you just a beast? + Your actions "automatic," not "conscious" in the least? + Set myself so high above you, + As not to know and love you, + And toss you but a bone while I shall feast? + + My bonnie Collie, such wrong there shall not be, + Not for me to grasp at Heav'n and leave the Dark for thee, + You're nothing but a dog, + Not in Heaven's Catalogue-- + But whatsoe'er thy fate, the same for me. + + HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS. + + + + + QUESTIONS + + + Where are you now, little wandering + Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us, + Played with us, fed with us, felt with us, + Years we grew fonder and fonder in? + + You who but yesterday sprang to us, + Are we forever bereft of you? + And is this all that is left of you-- + One little grave, and a pang to us? + + WILLIAM HURRELL MALLOCK. + + + + + HIS EPITAPH + + + His friends he loves. His fellest earthly foes-- + Cats--I believe he did but feign to hate. + My hand will miss the insinuated nose, + Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate. + + WILLIAM WATSON. + + + + + IN MEMORIAM + + + I miss the little wagging tail; + I miss the plaintive, pleading wail; + I miss the wistful, loving glance; + I miss the circling welcome-dance. + + I miss the eyes that, watching, sued; + I miss her tongue of gratitude + That licked my hand, in loving mood, + When we divided cup or food. + + I miss the pertinacious scratch + (Continued till I raised the latch + Each morning), waiting at my door; + Alas, I ne'er shall hear it more. + + "What folly!" hints the cynic mind, + "Plenty of dogs are left behind + To snap and snarl, to bark and bite, + And wake us in the gloomy night. + + "You should have sought a human friend, + Whose life eternal ne'er could end-- + Whose gifts of intellect and grace + Bereavement never could efface." + + Plenty of snarling things are left, + But I am of a friend bereft; + I seek not intellect, but heart-- + 'Tis not my head that feels the smart. + + While loving sympathy is cherished, + While gratitude is not quite perished; + While patient, hopeful, cheerful meeting + At our return is pleasant greeting; + + So long my heart will feel a void-- + Grieving, my mind will be employed-- + When I, returning to my door, + Shall miss what I shall find no more. + + When we, at last, shall pass away, + And see no more the light of day, + Will many hearts as vacant mourn-- + As truly wish for our return? + + Yet love that's true will ever know + The pain of parting. Better so! + "Better to love and lose" than cold, + And colder still, let hearts grow old. + + So let the cynic snarl or smile, + And his great intellect beguile; + My little dog, so true to me, + Will dear to heart and memory be. + + HENRY WILLETT. + + + + + QUESTIONS + + + Is there not something in the pleading eye + Of the poor brute that suffers, which arraigns + The law that bids it suffer? Has it not + A claim for some remembrance in the book + That fills its pages with the idle words + Spoken of man? Or is it only clay, + Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand, + Yet all his own to treat it as he will, + And when he will to cast it at his feet, + Shattered, dishonored, lost for evermore? + My dog loves me, but could he look beyond + His earthly master, would his love extend + To Him who--hush! I will not doubt that He + Is better than our fears, and will not wrong + The least, the meanest of created things. + + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + + + + OUR DOG JOCK + + + A rollicksome, frolicsome, rare old cock + As ever did nothing was our dog Jock; + A gleesome, fleasome, affectionate beast, + As slow at a fight as swift at a feast; + A wit among dogs, when his life 'gan fail, + One couldn't but see the old wag in his tail, + When his years grew long and his eyes grew dim, + And his course of bark could not strengthen him. + Never more now shall our knees be pressed + By his dear old chops in their slobbery rest, + Nor our mirth be stirred at his solemn looks, + As wise, and as dull, as divinity books. + Our old friend's dead, but we all well know + He's gone to the Kennels where the good dogs go, + Where the cooks be not, but the beef-bones be, + And his old head never need turn for a flea. + + JAMES PAYN. + + + + + TORY, A PUPPY + + + He lies in the soft earth under the grass, + Where they who love him often pass, + And his grave is under a tall young lime, + In whose boughs the pale green hop-flowers climb; + But his spirit--where does his spirit rest? + It was God who made him--God knows best. + + MORTIMER COLLINS. + + + + + ON AN IRISH RETRIEVER + + + Ten years of loving loyalty + Unthankéd should not go to earth, + And I, who had no less from thee, + Devote this tribute to thy worth. + + For thou didst give to me, old friend, + Thy service while thy life did last; + Thy life and service have an end, + And here I thank thee for the past. + + Trusted and faithful, tried and true, + Watchful and swift to do my will, + Grateful for care that was thy due, + To duty's call obedient still, + + From ill thou knew'st thou didst refrain, + The good thou knew'st thou strove to do, + Nor dream of fame, nor greed of gain, + Man's keenest spurs, urged thee thereto. + + Brute, with a heart of human love, + And speechless soul of instinct fine! + How few by reason's law who move + Deserve an epitaph like thine! + + FANNY KEMBLE BUTLER. + + + + + A RETRIEVER'S EPITAPH + + + Beneath this turf, that formerly he pressed + With agile feet, a dog is laid to rest; + Him, as he sleeps, no well-known sound shall stir, + The rabbit's patter, or the pheasant's whir; + The keeper's "Over"--far, but well defined, + That speeds the startled partridge down the wind; + The whistled warning as the winged ones rise + Large and more large upon our straining eyes, + Till with a sweep, while every nerve is tense, + The chattering covey hurtles o'er the fence; + The double crack of every lifted gun, + The dinting thud of birds whose course is done-- + These sounds, delightful to his listening ear, + He heeds no longer, for he cannot hear. + None stauncher, till the drive was done, defied + Temptation, rooted to his master's side; + None swifter, when his master gave the word, + Leapt on his course to track the running bird, + And bore it back--ah, many a time and oft-- + His nose as faultless as his mouth was soft. + How consciously, how proudly unconcerned, + Straight to his master's side he then returned, + Wagged a glad tail, and deemed himself repaid + As in that master's hand the bird he laid, + If, while a word of praise was duly said, + The hand should stroke his smooth and honest head. + Through spring and summer, in the sportless days, + Cheerful he lived a life of simpler ways; + Chose, since official dogs at times unbend, + The household cat for confidante and friend; + With children friendly, but untaught to fawn, + Romped through the walks and rollicked on the lawn, + Rejoiced, if one the frequent ball should throw, + To fetch it, scampering gaily to and fro, + Content through every change of sportive mood + If one dear voice, one only, called him good. + + Such was my dog, who now, without my aid, + Hunts through the shadowland, himself a shade, + Or crouched intent before some ghostly gate, + Waits for my step, as here he used to wait. + + ROBERT C. LEHMANN. + + + THE END + + Transcriber's note: + + My dog and I: Author is Alice J. Chester in the Table + of contents and Alice J. Cleator in the text. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 19226-8.txt or 19226-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19226/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Earl Clauson. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + img {border: 0} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .padding {padding-bottom: 2em; padding-top: 2em;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 16em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 18em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dog's Book of Verse + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19226] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1>The Dog's Book<br /> +of Verse</h1> + + +<div class="padding"> +<p class="center">Collected by</p> + +<h2>J. Earl Clauson</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"'I never barked when out of season;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I never bit without a reason;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I ne'er insulted weaker brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor wronged by fraud or force another;'<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Though brutes are placed a rank below,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Happy for man could he say so."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 76px;"> +<img src="images/crest.jpg" width="76" height="100" alt="Crest" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center"> +Boston<br /> +Small, Maynard & Company<br /> +Publishers</p> + + + + +<div class="padding"> +<p class="center">Copyright, 1916<br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY<br /> +(INCORPORATED)</p></div> + + +<div class="padding"> +<p class="center"> +TO<br /> +THE MEMORY OF<br /> +<big>JACK,</big><br /> +AN AIREDALE</p></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>Matthew Arnold, explaining why those were his most popular poems +which dealt with his canine pets, Geist, Kaiser, and Max, said +that while comparatively few loved poetry, nearly everyone loved +dogs.</p> + +<p>The literature of the Anglo-Saxon is rich in tributes to the +dog, as becomes a race which beyond any other has understood and +developed its four-footed companions. Canine heroes whose +intelligence and faithfulness our prose writers have celebrated +start to the memory in scores—Bill Sykes's white shadow, which +refused to be separated from its master even by death; Rab, +savagely devoted; the immortal Bob, "son of battle"—true souls +all, with hardly a villain among them for artistic contrast. +Even Red Wull, the killer, we admire for his courage and lealty.</p> + +<p>Within these covers is a selection from a large body of dog +verse. It is a selection made on the principle of human appeal. +Dialect, and the poems of the earlier writers whose diction +strikes oddly on our modern ears, have for the most part been +omitted. The place of such classics as may be missed is filled +by that vagrant verse which is often most truly the flower of +inspiration.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC"> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'>PART I</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">Puppyhood</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>TITLE</td><td align='left'>AUTHOR</td><td align='left'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>We Meet at Morn</td><td align='left'><i>Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Lost Puppy</td><td align='left'><i>Henry Firth Wood</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Laugh in Church</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Treasures</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>That There Long Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Alice Gill Ferguson</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Friend</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ted</td><td align='left'><i>Maxine Anna Buck</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Little Lost Pup</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Brindle Bull-Terrier</td><td align='left'><i>Coletta Ryan</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Lauth</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Burns</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Drowned Spaniel</td><td align='left'><i>Charles Tennyson Turner</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'>PART II</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">The Human Relationship</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cluny</td><td align='left'><i>William Croswell Doane</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Best Friend</td><td align='left'><i>Meribah Abbott</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Dog and I</td><td align='left'><i>Alice J. Chester</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Gentleman</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Dead Boy's Portrait and His Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Gerald Massey</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Advice to a Dog Painter</td><td align='left'><i>Jonathan Swift</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Mercy's Reward</td><td align='left'><i>Sir Edwin Arnold</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Beau and the Water Lily</td><td align='left'><i>William Cowper</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Petronius</td><td align='left'><i>Frederic P. Ladd</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Joseph M. Anderson</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Charity's Eye</td><td align='left'><i>William Rounseville Alger</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To Blanco</td><td align='left'><i>J.G. Holland</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Ould Hound</td><td align='left'><i>Arthur Stringer</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Miser's Only Friend</td><td align='left'><i>George Crabbe</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Poor Dog Tray</td><td align='left'><i>Thomas Campbell</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Comforter</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Little White Dog</td><td align='left'><i>May Ellis Nichols</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Irish Greyhound</td><td align='left'><i>Katherine Phillips</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Vagabonds</td><td align='left'><i>J.T. Trowbridge</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Cineam</td><td align='left'><i>Sir John Davies</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Old Matthew's Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Dog and a Man</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Rover-Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Marie Louise Tompkins</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Horse, Dog and Man</td><td align='left'><i>S.E. Kiser</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Best Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Cæsar, King Edward's Dog</td><td align='left'><i>O. Middleton</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Just Our Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Ragged Rover</td><td align='left'><i>Leslie Clare Manchester</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To Flush, My Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Frances</td><td align='left'><i>Richard Wightman</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To My Setter, Scout</td><td align='left'><i>Frank H. Selden</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Why Strik'st Thou Me?</td><td align='left'><i>Nathan Haskell Dole</i> (<i>Translator</i>)</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Consolation</td><td align='left'><i>Howard C. Kegley</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Argus</td><td align='left'><i>Alexander Pope</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Chained in the Yard</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Why the Dog's Nose is Cold</td><td align='left'><i>Margaret Eytinge</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Dog Language</td><td align='left'><i>Marion Hovey Briggs</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Dog's Loyalty</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'>PART III</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">The Dog in Action</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Told to the Missionary</td><td align='left'><i>George R. Sims</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Dog of the Louvre</td><td align='left'><i>Ralph Cecil</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Chase</td><td align='left'><i>Lord Somerville</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Under Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Shepherd and His Dog</td><td align='left'><i>William Lisle Bowles</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Beth Gelert</td><td align='left'><i>William Robert Spencer</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Flag and the Faithful</td><td align='left'><i>William J. Lampton</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Guardian at the Gate</td><td align='left'><i>John Clare</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Tale of the Reign of Terror</td><td align='left'><i>Caroline Bowles Southey</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Fusiliers' Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Francis Doyle</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Fidelity</td><td align='left'><i>William Wordsworth</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Shepherd Dog of the Pyrenees</td><td align='left'><i>Ellen Murray</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Dog Under the Wagon</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Sal's Towser and My Trouser</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Rover in Church</td><td align='left'><i>James Buckham</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'>PART IV</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='3'><span class="smcap">The Dog's Hereafter</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Billy</td><td align='left'><i>Lorenzo Sears</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Bond</td><td align='left'><i>George H. Nettle</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>To a Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Canine Immortality</td><td align='left'><i>Robert Southey</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Friendly Welcome</td><td align='left'><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Exemplary Nick</td><td align='left'><i>Sydney Smith</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Difference</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Laddie</td><td align='left'><i>Katherine Lee Bates</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Dog's Epitaph</td><td align='left'><i>Lord Byron</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The Passing of a Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>My Dog</td><td align='left'><i>Anonymous</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Jack</td><td align='left'><i>H.P.W.</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Memory of "Don"</td><td align='left'><i>M.S.W.</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Roderick Dhu</td><td align='left'><i>Helen Fitzgerald Sanders</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Questions</td><td align='left'><i>William Hurrell Mallock</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>His Epitaph</td><td align='left'><i>William Watson</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>In Memoriam</td><td align='left'><i>Henry Willett</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Questions</td><td align='left'><i>Oliver Wendell Holmes</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Our Dog Jock</td><td align='left'><i>James Payn</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Tory, a Puppy</td><td align='left'><i>Mortimer Collins</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>On an Irish Retriever</td><td align='left'><i>Fanny Kemble Butler</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A Retriever's Epitaph</td><td align='left'><i>Robert C. Lehmann</i></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART I</h2> + +<h3>PUPPYHOOD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>"What other nature yours than of a child</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>In wordless pity, to the souls of all,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And constant friendship links the man and brute?"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>WE MEET AT MORN</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A patter coming nearer and more near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then upon my chamber door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gentle tapping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dogs, though proud, are poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if a tail will do to give command<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why use a hand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And next a scuffle on the passage floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I know the creature lies to watch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gains its power by being tightly stayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The impatient thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its whole glad heart doth fling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear a bounce upon the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel a creeping toward me—a soft head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on my face<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A tender nose, and cold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—And so my dog and I have met and sworn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh love and fealty for another morn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE LOST PUPPY</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What's up?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your tail is down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And out of sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between your legs;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why, that ain't right.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Brace up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Look up!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't hang your head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And look so sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're all mussed up,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But you ain't mad.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Cheer up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Stir up!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that a string<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around your tail?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And was it fast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To a tin pail?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Git up.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Talk up.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were those bad boys<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All after you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sticks and stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tin cans, too?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Speak up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Stand up!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's look at you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'd be all right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you was scrubbed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shined up bright.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Jump up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bark up!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's hear your voice.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, you're a brick!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now try to beg<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And do a trick.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Sit up!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say! little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Chime up!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, you can sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now come with me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's wash and eat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then we'll see,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Little pup,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What's up!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Henry Firth Wood</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A LAUGH IN CHURCH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sat on the sliding cushion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear, wee woman of four;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her feet, in their shiny slippers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung dangling over the floor.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She meant to be good; she had promised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so with her big, brown eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stared at the meetinghouse windows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And counted the crawling flies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She looked far up at the preacher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she thought of the honeybees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Droning away at the blossoms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That whitened the cherry trees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She thought of a broken basket,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where curled in a dusky heap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay snuggled and fast asleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such queer little hearts to beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such swift round tongues to kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such sprawling, cushiony feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could feel in her clasping fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The touch of the satiny skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a cold, wet nose exploring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dimples under her chin.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then a sudden ripple of laughter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ran over the parted lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So quick that she could not catch it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her rosy finger-tips.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people whispered "Bless the child,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As each one waked from a nap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the dear, wee woman hid her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For shame in her mother's lap.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TREASURES</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They got a bran' new baby<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Bud Hicks' house, you see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The way he talks to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He comes around a-braggin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' when he wouldn't quit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I said: "What good's a baby?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can't hunt fleas on it."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Bud turned to me an' told me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How loud that kid could yell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' lots I can't remember,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had so much to tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I got tired o' hearin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' so I ast him, quick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If you wuz in a-swimmin'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could it go get a stick?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no use a-talkin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bud thinks their baby's fine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huh! I'd a whole lot rather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest have a pup like mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll bet it's not bald-headed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if Bud doesn't fail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To let me hear it yellin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll let him pull Spot's tail.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THAT THERE LONG DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Funniest little feller<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd ever want to see!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Browner 'an the brownest leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the autumn tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shortest little bow legs!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jes' barely touch the floor—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long—b'gosh, the longest dog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ever seen afore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But he's mighty amusin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all 'at he's so queer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyes so mighty solemn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Askin' like an' clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he puts his paws up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Head stuck on one side—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jes' naturally love every hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his durn Dutch hide.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Alice Gill Ferguson</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY FRIEND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True and trustful, never doubting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is my young and handsome friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Always jolly,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Full of fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Bright eyes gleaming<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Like the sun—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never see him blue or pouting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the day's break to its end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whether I am "flush" or "busted"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes no difference to him!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Let's be gay, sir"—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He would say, sir—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Won't have any<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Other way, sir!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, he's never cross and crusted—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light of heart and full of vim!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Often we go out together<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a ramble far and wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Catch the breezes<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Fresh and strong<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Down the mountain<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Swept along—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we never mind the weather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we two are side by side.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But my friend is sometimes quiet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I've caught his clear brown eye<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Gazing at me,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Mute, appealing—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Telling something,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Yet concealing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, he'd like to talk! Well, try it—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bow, wow, wow," and that's his cry!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TED</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have a little brindle dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seal-brown from tail to head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name I guess is Theodore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I just call him Ted.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He's only eight months old to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I guess he's just a pup;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pa says he won't be larger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he is all grown up.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He plays around about the house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As good as he can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He don't seem like a little dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's just like folks to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when it is my bed-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ma opens up the bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I nestle down real cozy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And just make room for Ted<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And oh, how nice we cuddle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He doesn't fuss or bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just nestles closely up to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lays there still all night.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We love each other dearly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My little Ted and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We're just good chums together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And always hope to be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Maxine Anna Buck</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>LITTLE LOST PUP</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was lost!—Not a shade of doubt of that;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he never barked at a slinking cat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But stood in the square where the wind blew raw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a drooping ear, and a trembling paw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a mournful look in his pleading eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a plaintive sniff at the passer-by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That begged as plain as a tongue could sue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, Mister, please may I follow you?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lorn, wee waif of a tawny brown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adrift in the roar of a heedless town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, he won my heart (for I set great store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On my own red Bute, who is here no more)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who so glad as that small lost pup?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then if things go wrong, as they sometimes do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the world is cold, and I'm feeling blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He asserts his right to assuage my woes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a silky head on my arm or knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a paw as soft as a paw can be.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When we rove the woods for a league about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's as full of pranks as a school let out;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he romps and frisks like a three-months colt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he runs me down like a thunder-bolt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a gay little pup with his tail in air!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY BRINDLE BULL-TERRIER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My brindle bull-terrier, loving and wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his little screw-tail and his wonderful eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his white little breast and his white little paws<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, alas! he mistakes very often for claws;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his sad little gait as he comes from the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he feels that he hasn't done all that he might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, so fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My near little, queer little, dear little dog!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He shivers and shivers and shakes with the cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He huddles and cuddles, though three summers old.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And forsaking the sunshine, endeavors to rove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With his cold little worriments under the stove!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At table, his majesty, dying for meat,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never despising a lump that is sweet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sits close by my side with his head on my knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And steals every good resolution from me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can I withhold from those worshipping eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A small bit of something that stealthily flies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down under the table and into his mouth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I tell my dear neighbor of life in the South.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My near little, queer little, dear little dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nearest and queerest and dearest of all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The race that is loving and winning and small;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweetest, most faithful, the truest and best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispenser of merriment, love and unrest!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Coletta Ryan</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>LAUTH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a gash and faithfu' tyke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever lapt a sheugh or dyke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His honest, sawnsie, bawsint face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aye gat him friends in ilka place.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His breast was white, his towsie back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Robert Burns</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE DROWNED SPANIEL</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The day-long bluster of the storm was o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sands were bright; the winds had fallen asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, from the far horizon, o'er the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunset swam unshadowed to the shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High up, the rainbow had not passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, roving o'er the shingle beach, I found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little waif, a spaniel newly drowned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shining waters kissed him as he lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In some kind heart thy gentle memory dwells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I said, and, though thy latest aspect tells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of drowning pains and mortal agony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy master's self might weep and smile to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His little dog stretched on these rosy shells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt the rainbow and the rosy sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Charles Tennyson Turner</span>.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PART II</h2> +<h3>THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP</h3> +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>"A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in +health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where +the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he +can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no +food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in +encounter with the roughness of the world. When all other +friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and +reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the +sun in its journey through the heavens."</i></p></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Senator George Graham Vest</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CLUNY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am quite sure he thinks that I am God—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since he is God on whom each one depends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For life, and all things that his bounty sends—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him whom God I know and own; his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is more patient underneath the rod<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Than I, when God his wise corrections sends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looks love at me deep as words e'er spake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from me never crumb or sup will take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is content and quiet if I'm near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Secure that my protection will prevail!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tells me what I unto my God should be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Croswell Doane</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE BEST FRIEND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I was sad, then he had grief, as well—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More than my halting, human speech could tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If I made merry—then how he would strive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To show his joy; "Good master, let's to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world is ours," that gladsome bark would say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Just yours and mine—'tis fun to be alive!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our world ... four walls above the city's din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My crutch the bar that ever held us in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whate'er my mood—the fretful word, or sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The swift command, the wheedling undertone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye taught me trust when man's dull logic failed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Meribah Abbott</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY DOG AND I</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When living seems but little worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all things go awry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I close the door, we journey forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog and I!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For books and pen we leave behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But little careth he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His one great joy in life is just<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be with me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He notes by just one upward glance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mental attitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As on we go past laughing stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing wood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The soft winds have a magic touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brings to care release,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees are vocal with delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rivers sing of peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How good it is to be alive!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature, the healer strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has set each pulse with life athrill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joy and song.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Discouragement! 'Twas but a name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all things that annoy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out in the lovely world of June<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life seemeth only joy!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ere we reach the busy town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like birds my troubles fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are two comrades glad of heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog and I!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Alice J. Cleator</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY GENTLEMAN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I own a dog who is a gentleman;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By birth most surely, since the creature can<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boast of a pedigree the like of which<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds not a Howard nor a Metternich.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never wagged an unkind tale abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never snubbed a nameless cur because<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a friend or credit card he was.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By pride. He looks you squarely in the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unshrinking and without a single trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of either diffidence or arrogant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With absolute impunity his hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pinch his silken, flowing ears, the while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He smiles upon her—yes, I've seen him smile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By loyalty. No truer friend than he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has come to prove his friendship's worth to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He does not fear the master—knows no fear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But loves the man who is his master here.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By countenance. If there be nobler eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More full of honor and of honesties,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In finer head, on broader shoulders found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then have I never met the man or hound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here is the motto on my lifeboat's log:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"God grant I may be worthy of my dog!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE DEAD BOY'S PORTRAIT AND HIS DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Day after day I have come and sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beseechingly upon the mat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wistfully wondering where you are at.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why have they placed you on the wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So deathly still, so strangely tall?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You do not turn from me, nor call.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why do I never hear my name?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are you fastened in a frame?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are the same, and not the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Away from me why do you stare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So far out in the distance where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am not? I am here! Not there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What has your little doggie done?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You used to whistle me to run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside you, or ahead, for fun!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You used to pat me, and a glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pleasure through my life would go!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How is it that I shiver so?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My tail was once a waving flag<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of welcome. Now I cannot wag<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It for the weight I have to drag.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know not what has come to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis only in my sleep I see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things smiling as they used to be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I do not dare to bark; I plead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dumbly, and you never heed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor my protection seem to need.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I watch the door, I watch the gate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am watching early, watching late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your doggie still!—I watch and wait.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Gerald Massey</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>ADVICE TO A DOG PAINTER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Happiest of the spaniel race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Painter, with thy colors grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw his forehead large and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw his blue and humid eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw his neck, so smooth and round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little neck with ribands bound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the musely swelling breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the Loves and Graces rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spreading, even back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft, and sleek, and glossy black;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tail that gently twines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the tendrils of the vines;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the silky twisted hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowing thick the velvet ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Velvet ears which, hanging low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the veiny temples flow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Jonathan Swift</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MERCY'S REWARD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Hast seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The record written of Salah-ud-Deen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sultan—how he met, upon a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his own city on the public way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A woman whom they led to die? The veil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was stripped from off her weeping face, and pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her shamed cheeks were, and wild her fixed eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her lips drawn with terror at the cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the harsh people, and the rugged stones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Borne in their hands to break her flesh and bones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the law stood that sinners such as she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perish by stoning, and this doom must be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So went the adult'ress to her death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High noon it was, and the hot Khamseen's breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blew from the desert sands and parched the town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crows gasped, and the kine went up and down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lolling tongues; the camels moaned; a crowd<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span><span class="i0">Pressed with their pitchers, wrangling high and loud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the tank; and one dog by a well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh dead with thirst, lay where he yelped and fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glaring upon the water out of reach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And praying succour in a silent speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So piteous were its eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Which, when she saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This woman from her foot her shoe did draw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Albeit death-sorrowful, and, looping up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The long silk of her girdle, made a cup<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the heel's hollow, and thus let it sink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until it touched the cool black water's brink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So filled th' embroidered shoe, and gave a draught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the spent beast, which whined, and fawned, and quaffed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her kind gift to the dregs; next licked her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such glad looks that all might understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He held his life from her; then, at her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He followed close, all down the cruel street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her one friend in that city.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">But the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riding within his litter, marked this thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how the woman, on her way to die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had such compassion for the misery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that parched hound: "Take off her chain, and place<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span><span class="i0">The veil once more about the sinner's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lead her to her house in peace!" he said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The law is that the people stone thee dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that which thou hast wrought; but there is come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fawning around thy feet a witness dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not heard upon thy trial; this brute beast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Testifies for thee, sister! whose weak breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death could not make ungentle. I hold rule<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Allah's stead, who is 'the Merciful,'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hope for mercy; therefore go thou free—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not show less pity unto thee."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As we forgive—and more than we—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ya Barr! Good God, show clemency.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sir Edwin Arnold</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>BEAU AND THE WATER LILY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The noon was shady, and soft airs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept Ouse's silent tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When 'scaped from literary cares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wandered on his side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My spaniel, prettiest of his race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high in pedigree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Two nymphs adorned with every grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spaniel found for me)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now wantoned, lost in flags and reeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now starting into sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pursued the swallow o'er the meads<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scarce a slower flight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was the time that Ouse displayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lilies newly blown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their beauties I intent surveyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one I wished my own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With cane extended far I sought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To steer it close to land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still the prize, though nearly caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escaped my eager hand.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beau marked my unsuccessful pains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fixed, considerate face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puzzling, set his puppy brains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To comprehend the case.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But with a chirrup clear and strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dispersing all his dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thence withdrew, and followed long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windings of the stream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My ramble ended, I returned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beau trotting far before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The floating wreath again discerned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, plunging, left the shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw him, with that lily cropped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impatient swim to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My quick approach, and soon he dropped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The treasure at my feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Shall hear of this thy deed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog shall mortify the pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man's superior breed:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But chief myself I will enjoin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awake at duty's call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To show a love as prompt as thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Him who gives me all."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Cowper</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>PETRONIUS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A dog there was, Petronius by name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cur of no degree, yet which the same<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoiced him; because so worthless he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in his worthlessness remarkably<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shone, th' example de luxe of how a cur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be the very limit of a slur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the honored name of dog; a joke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was, a satire blasphemous; he broke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The records all for sheer insulting "bunk;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No dog had ever breathed who was so punk!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet that cur, Petronius by name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enkindled in his master's heart a flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love, affection, reverence, so rare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That had he been an angel bright and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The homage paid him had been less; you see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red-haired boy who owned him had a bee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was no other dog on land or sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Petronius was solid; he just was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog, the only dog on earth, because—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because a red-haired boy who likes his dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He likes that dog so much no other dog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exists—and that, my friends, is loyalty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than which there is no grander ecstasy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Frederic P. Ladd</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here is a friend who proves his worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without conceit or pride of birth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let want or plenty play the host,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gets the least and gives the most—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">He's just a dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He's ever faithful, kind and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never questions what I do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whether I may go or stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's always ready to obey<br /></span> +<span class="i10">'Cause he's a dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such meager fare his want supplies!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hand caress, and from his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There beams more love than mortals know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meanwhile he wags his tail to show<br /></span> +<span class="i10">That he's my dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He watches me all through the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nothing coaxes him away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the night-long slumber deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He guards the home wherein I sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And he's a dog.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder if I'd be content<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To follow where my master went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where he rode—as needs he must—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would I run after in his dust<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Like other dogs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How strange if things were quite reversed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man debased, the dog put first.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I often wonder how 'twould be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were he the master 'stead of me—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And I the dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A world of deep devotion lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind the windows of his eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet love is only half his charm—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd die to shield my life from harm.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Yet he's a dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If dogs were fashioned out of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What breed of dog would I have been?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would I e'er deserve caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or be extolled for faithfulness<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Like my dog here?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As mortals go, how few possess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of courage, trust, and faithfulness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough from which to undertake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without some borrowed traits, to make<br /></span> +<span class="i10">A decent dog!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Joseph M. Anderson</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CHARITY'S EYE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teaching the people parables of truth and grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Master and his meek disciples went to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What cause for this commotion and disgust could be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all among themselves began to say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him the saving wreath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one exclaimed: "No creature so accursed can be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some good thing in him a loving eye will see."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Rounseville Alger</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TO BLANCO</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My dear, dumb friend, low-lying there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A willing vassal at my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad partner of my home and fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My shadow in the street,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I look into your great, brown eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where love and loyal homage shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonder where the difference lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between your soul and mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For all of good that I have found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within myself, or human kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath royally informed and crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your gentle heart and mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I scan the whole broad earth around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that one heart which, leal and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bears friendship without end or bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And find the prize in you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I trust you as I trust the stars;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can move you from my side.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As patient under injury<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As any Christian saint of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As gentle as a lamb with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But with your brothers bold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More playful than a frolic boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More watchful than a sentinel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By day and night your constant joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guard and please me well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I clasp your head upon my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while you whine, and lick my hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus our friendship is confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus we understand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, Blanco! Did I worship God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As truly as you worship me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or follow where my Master trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With your humility,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did I sit fondly at His feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch Him with a love as sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life would grow divine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">J.G. Holland</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE OULD HOUND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Shamus made shift wid a turf-hut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd naught but a hound to his name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whither he went thrailed the ould friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dog-faithful and iver the same!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he'd gnaw thro' a rope in the night-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd eat thro' a wall or a door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd shwim thro' a lough in the winther,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be wid his master wanst more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the two, faith, would share their last bannock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd share their last collop and bone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep in the starin' ould sad eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lean Shamus would stare wid his own!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And loose hung the flanks av the ould hound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Shamus lay sick on his bed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, waitin' and watchin' wid sad eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd eat not av bone or av bread!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Shamus be springtime grew betther,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a trouble came into his mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he'd take himself off to the village,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be leavin' his hound behind!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And deep was the whine of the ould dog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wid a love that was deeper than life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But be Michaelmas, faith, it was whispered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Shamus was takin' a wife!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wife and a fine house he got him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a shay he went drivin' around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I met him be chance at the cross-roads,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I says to him, "How's the ould hound?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My wife never took to that ould dog,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Says he, wid a shrug av his slats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"So we've got us a new dog from Galway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And och, he's the divil for rats!"</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Arthur Stringer</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE MISER'S ONLY FRIEND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There watched a cur before the miser's gate—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A very cur, whom all men seemed to hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaunt, shaggy, savage, with an eye that shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a live coal; and he possessed but one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bark was wild and eager, and became<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That meager body and that eye of flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His master prized him much, and Fang his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His master fed him largely, but not that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor aught of kindness made the snarler fat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flesh he devoured, but not a bit would stay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He barked, and snarled, and growled it all away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ribs were seen extended like a rack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And coarse red hair hung roughly o'er his back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lamed in one leg, and bruised in wars of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now his sore body made his temper sore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such was the friend of him who could not find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor make him one, 'mong creatures of his kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brave deeds of Fang his master often told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The son of Fury, famed in deeds of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Snatch and Rabid sprung; and noted they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In earlier times—each dog will have his day.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The notes of Fang were to his master known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dear—they bore some likeness to his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For both conveyed, to the experienced ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I snarl and bite because I hate and fear."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None passed ungreeted by the master's door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fang railed at all, but chiefly at the poor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the nights were stormy, cold and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The act of Fang was a perpetual bark.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But though the master loved the growl of Fang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were who vowed the ugly cur to hang,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose angry master, watchful for his friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As strongly vowed his servant to defend.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In one dark night, and such as Fang before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever known its tempests to outroar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his protector's wonder now expressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No angry notes—his anger was at rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wond'ring master sought the silent yard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left Phoebe sleeping, and his door unbarred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor more returned to that forsaken bed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lo! the morning came, and he was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fang and his master side by side were laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In grim repose—their debt to nature paid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master's hand upon the cur's cold chest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was now reclined, and had before been pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if he sought how deep and wide the wound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That laid such spirit in a sleep so sound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he found it was the sleep of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sympathizing sorrow stopped his breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close to his trusty servant he was found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As cold his body, and his sleep as sound.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">George Crabbe</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>POOR DOG TRAY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No blithe Irish lad was as happy as I;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No harp like my own could so cheerily play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, remember your Sheelah when far, far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he constantly loved me, although I was poor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he licked me for kindness—my poor dog Tray.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he died at my feet on a cold winter's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken and blind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my sweet native village, so far, far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can ne'er more return with my poor dog Tray.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Thomas Campbell</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY COMFORTER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The world had all gone wrong that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tired and in despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discouraged with the ways of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sank into my chair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A soft caress fell on my cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My hands were thrust apart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And two big sympathizing eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazed down into my heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had a friend; what cared I now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fifty worlds? I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One heart was anxious when I grieved—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog's heart, loyal, true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"God bless him," breathed I soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hugged him close and tight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One lingering lick upon my ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we were happy—quite.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE LITTLE WHITE DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little white dog with the meek brown eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me the boon that most you prize.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would a juicy bone meet your heart's desire?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a cozy rug by a blazing fire?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a sudden race with a truant cat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a gentle word? Or a friendly pat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the worn-out ball you have always near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dearest of all the things held dear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is the home you left behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dream of bliss to your doggish mind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the little white dog just shook his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if "None of these are best," he said.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A boy's clear whistle came from the street;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a wag of the tail and a twinkle of feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the little white dog did not even say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Excuse me, ma'am," as he scampered away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'm sure as can be his greatest joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is just to trot behind that boy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">May Ellis Nichols</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE IRISH GREYHOUND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behold this creature's form and state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which nature therefore did create,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That to the world might be exprest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mien there can be in a beast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that we in this shape may find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lion of another kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this heroic beast does seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In majesty to rival him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet vouchsafes to man to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both service and submission, too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whence we this distinction have,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That beast is fierce, but this is brave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog hath so himself subdued<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hunger cannot make him rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his behavior does confess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True courage dwells with gentleness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sternest wolves he dares engage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And acts on them successful rage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet too much courtesy may chance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To put him out of countenance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in his opposer's blood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fortune hath made his virtue good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This creature from an act so brave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows not more sullen, but more brave.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span><span class="i0">Man's guard he would be, not his sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Believing he hath ventured for't;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet no blood, or shed or spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can ever make him insolent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Few men of him to do great things have learned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when they're done to be so unconcerned.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Katherine Phillips</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE VAGABONDS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are two travellers, Roger and I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roger's my dog.—Come here, you scamp!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jump for the gentleman,—mind your eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the table,—look out for the lamp!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rogue is growing a little old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five years we've tramped through wind and weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slept out-doors when nights were cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ate and drank—and starved—together.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We've learned what comfort is, I tell you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The paw he holds up there's been frozen),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plenty of catgut for my fiddle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(This out-door business is bad for strings),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Roger and I set up for kings!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No, thank ye, Sir,—I never drink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roger and I are exceedingly moral,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aren't we, Roger?—See him wink!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, something hot, then,—we won't quarrel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's thirsty, too,—see him nod his head?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He understands every word that's said,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The truth is, Sir, now I reflect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've been so sadly given to grog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder I've not lost the respect<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he sticks by, through thick and thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this old coat with its empty pockets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There isn't another creature living<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would do it, and prove, through every disaster,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To such a miserable, thankless master!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, Sir!—see him wag his tail and grin!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By George! it makes my old eyes water!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is, there's something in this gin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That chokes a fellow. But no matter!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We'll have some music, if you're willing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall march a little—Start, you villain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paws up! Eyes front! Salute your officer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Bout face! Attention! Take your rifle!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To aid a poor old patriot soldier!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he stands up to hear his sentence.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now tell us how many drams it takes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To honor a jolly new acquaintance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Five yelps,—that's five; he's mighty knowing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night's before us, fill the glasses!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick, Sir! I'm ill,—my brain is going!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some brandy,—thank you,—there!—it passes!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why not reform? That's easily said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I've gone through such wretched treatment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce remembering what meat meant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That my poor stomach's past reform;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there are times when, mad with thinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd sell out heaven for something warm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To prop a horrible inward sinking.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is there a way to forget to think?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dear girl's love,—but I took to drink,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same old story; you know how it ends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you could have seen these classic features,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such a burning libel on God's creatures:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was one of your handsome men!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you had seen <i>her</i>, so fair and young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose head was happy on this breast!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you could have heard the songs I sung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever I, Sir, should be straying<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From door to door, with fiddle and dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ragged and penniless, and playing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To you to-night for a glass of grog!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She's married since,—a parson's wife:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas better for her that we should part,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better the soberest, prosiest life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than a blasted home and a broken heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the dusty road: a carriage stopped:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But little she dreamed, as on she went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It makes me wild to think of the change!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do you care for a beggar's story?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it amusing? You find it strange?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had a mother so proud of me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas well she died before.—Do you know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the happy spirits in heaven can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruin and wretchedness here below?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Another glass, and strong, to deaden<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This pain; then Roger and I will start.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aching thing in place of a heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No doubt remembering things that were,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And himself a sober, respectable cur.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm better now; that glass was warming.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You rascal! limber your lazy feet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We must be fiddling and performing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For supper and bed, or starve in the street.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a very gay life to lead, you think?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soon we shall go where lodgings are free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sooner, the better for Roger and me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">J.T. Trowbridge</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>IN CINEAM</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou dogged Cineas, hated like a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For still thou grumblest like a masty dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dog;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou say'st thou art as weary as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As angry, sick, and hungry as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dull and melancholy as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As lazy, sleepy, idle as a dog.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But why dost thou compare thee to a dog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that for which all men despise a dog?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will compare thee better to a dog;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art as fair and comely as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art as true and honest as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Cineas, I have often heard thee tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art as like thy father as may be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis like enough; and, faith, I like it well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I am glad thou art not like to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sir John Davies</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>OLD MATTHEW'S DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am only a dog, and I've had my day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, idle and dreaming, stretched out I lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the welcome warmth of the summer sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poor old hunter whose work is done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't I dream of the partridge I sprung by the log?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the quivering hare and her desperate flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the nimble gray squirrel secure in his height,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far away in the top of the hickory tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking down safe and saucy at Matthew and me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the hand, true and steady, a messenger shot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the creature upbounded, and fell, and was not?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hare on the common, the birds on the bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were afraid. They are safe enough now,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For all we can harm them, old master and I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have had our last hunt, the game must go by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Matthew sits fashioning bows in the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a living. We'll never hunt more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For time, cold and hardship have stiffened his knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since little Lottie died, often I see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hands tremble sorely, and go to his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the lost baby daughter, so pretty and wise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look far away to the dim, fading eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel the fleet foot growing weary and sore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in forest and hamlet shall lag evermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am going—I hear the great wolf on my track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already around me his shadow falls black.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One hunting cry more! Oh, master, come nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lay the white paw in your own as I die!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, come to me, master; the last hedge is passed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our tramps in the wildwood are over at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stoop lower, and lay my head on your knee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What! Tears for a useless old hunter like me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You will see little Lottie again by and by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shan't. They don't have any dogs in the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell her, loving and trusty, beside you I died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—bury me, master, not far from her side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ha, master, the shadow! Fire low—it is nigh—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was never a sound in the still morning heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the heart of the hunter his old jacket stirred.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As he flung himself down on the brute's shaggy coat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched the faint life in its quivering throat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till it stopped quite at last. The black wolf had won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the death-hunted hound into cover had run.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But long ere the snow over graves softly fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Matthew was resting from labor as well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the cottage stood empty, yet back from the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voice of the hound in the morn echoed still.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A DOG AND A MAN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he stayed at home<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And guarded the family night and day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a dog<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That didn't roam.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He lay on the porch or chased the stray—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tramps, the burglar, the hen, away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a dog's true heart for that household beat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At morning and evening, in cold and heat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And didn't stay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To cherish his wife and his children fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a man.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His heart grew callous, its love-beats rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He thought of himself at the close of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, cigar in his fingers, hurried away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the club, the lodge, the store, the show.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But—he had a right to go, you know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a man.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>ROVER-DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Rover-Dog, he toasts his toes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right by th' chimney-fire wif me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned his long ear wrong side out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he was s'rprised as he could be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' nen he reached right out an' took<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' int'rest in my lolly-pop—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's w'y I shook my finger hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At him, 'cause he jus' better stop.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I ast him which his sweet toof was,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he jus' laffed an' showed me where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He keeps um, up an' down his mouf—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(I guess there's mos' a hundred there).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's got a cunning little house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you can't climb right in, at all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't hardly big enough for him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I guess it is a size too small.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Cause when he is "at home" his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stays looking out of his front door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His paws hang out convenient like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's folks they will shake hands some more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Rover-Dog, w'en he likes folks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He thumps th' floor hard wif his tail—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where 'tis you've heard that sound before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is w'en your pa, he drives a nail.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One time my Uncle Fred p'tend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's "tramp-mans" an' will come right in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I put my ear on Rover's back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's I could hear th' growl begin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' oncet he thought he'd try his nap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right in my grampa's big armchair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My grampa, he sat down on him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Cause "he wa'n't 'spectin' dogs was there."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'N Rover walked off dignified<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' curled his back up 'gainst th' wall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If grampas ain't got manners, w'y,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He isn't goin' to care at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's w'y I went an' 'xplained to him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How grampas, they ain't imperlite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A grampa has th' bestest chair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because his hair is very white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nen Rover-Dog raise up one ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' lift his nose fum off his paw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' say his feelin's aren't all hurt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If that was <i>candy</i> that he saw!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'N w'en he'd et my choc'late cream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He went an' finished up his dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Marie Louise Tompkins</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>HORSE, DOG AND MAN</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The horse and the dog had tamed a man and fastened him to a fence:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said the horse to the dog: "For the life of me, I don't see a bit of sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In letting him have the thumbs that grow at the sides of his hands. Do you?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dog looked solemn and shook his head, and said: "I'm a goat if I do!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The poor man groaned and tried to get loose, and sadly he begged them, "Stay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You will rob me of things for which I have use by cutting my thumbs away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You will spoil my looks, you will cause me pain; ah, why would you treat me so?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I am, God made me, and He knows best! Oh, masters, pray let me go!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dog laughed out, and the horse replied, "Oh, the cutting won't hurt you, see?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll have a hot iron to clap right on, as you did in your docking of me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God gave you your thumbs and all, but still, the Creator, you know, may fail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To do the artistic thing, as he did in the furnishing me with a tail."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So they bound the man and cut off his thumbs, and were deaf to his pitiful cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they seared the stumps, and they viewed their work through happy and dazzled eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"How trim he appears," the horse exclaimed, "since his awkward thumbs are gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the life of me I cannot see why the Lord ever put them on!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Still it seems to me," the dog replied, "that there's something else to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ears look rather too long for me, and how do they look to you?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man cried out: "Oh, spare my ears! God fashioned them as you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if you apply your knife to them, you'll surely disfigure me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But you didn't disfigure me, you know," the dog decisively said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"When you bound me fast and trimmed my ears down close to the top of my head!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So they let him moan and they let him groan while they cropped his ears away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they praised his looks when they let him up, and proud indeed were they.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But that was years and years ago, in an unenlightened age!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such things are ended, now, you know; we've reached a higher stage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ears and thumbs God gave to man are his to keep and wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cruel horse and dog look on, and never appear to care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">S.E. Kiser</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<h3>THE BEST DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud dogs of each breed and strain that's underneath the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not one could compare with—you may hear it with surprise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had there been a class to fit him—though his lineage is in doubt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No judge of dogs could e'er resist the honest, faithful eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Suppose he wasn't trained to hunt, and never killed a rat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And isn't much on tricks or looks or birth—well, what of that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It isn't what a dog can do, or what a dog may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hits a man. It's simply this—does he believe in me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by that test I know there's not the compeer 'neath the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, he's the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm going to start a special show—'Twill beat the world for size—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CÆSAR, KING EDWARD'S DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No deeper, truer love could spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spontaneously from human breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Cæsar's, who has loved the king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all a dear dog's silent zest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A dog's dumb way may not impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grief that mortals can express,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who shall say that Cæsar's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mourns his beloved king the less?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since ours the faith, "Love lives in space,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His love, whene'er his soul takes wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May be ordained, by Heaven's grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To reach the spirit of the king.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">O. Middleton</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>JUST OUR DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was just a dog, mister—that's all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all of us boys called him Bub;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was curly and not very tall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he hadn't a tail—just a stub.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tail froze one cold night, you see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We just pulled the rest of him through.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No—he didn't have much pedigree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps that was frozen off, too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He always seemed quite well behaved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he never had many bad fights;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In summer he used to be shaved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he slept in the woodshed o' nights.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he would wake up too soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cry, if his tail got a chill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some nights he would bark at the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some nights he would sleep very still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He knew how to play hide-and-seek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he always would come when you'd call;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would play dead, roll over and speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And learned it in no time at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he would growl, just in play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he never would bite, and his worst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was to bark at the postman one day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the postman, he barked at him first.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He used to chase cats up a tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that was just only in fun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a cat was as safe as could be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless it should start out to run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he'd chase children and throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them down, just while running along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then lick their faces to show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He didn't mean anything wrong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was chasing an automobile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the wheel hit him right in the side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he just gave a queer little squeal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And curled up and stretched out and died.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His tail it was not very long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was curly and not very tall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he never did anything wrong—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was just our dog, mister—that's all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>RAGGED ROVER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have still a vision of him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ragged Rover, as he lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the sunshine of the morning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the door-stone worn and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the honeysuckle trellis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung its tinted blossoms low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the well-sweep with its bucket<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swung its burden to and fro;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the maples were a-quiver<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the pleasant June-time breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where droned among the phloxes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half a hundred golden bees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, I have a vision with me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a home upon a hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my heart is sad with longing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my eyes with tear-drops fill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would be the care-free urchin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I was so long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When across the sun-lit meadows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rover with me used to go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yonder where the graceful lindens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Threw their shadows far and cool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the waters waited for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the brimming swimming pool.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I can see him drive the cattle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the pasture through the lane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their mellow bells a-tinkle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sending out a low refrain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can see him drive them homeward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speckle, Brindle, Bess and Belle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the herd from down the valley<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the shades of even fell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus, I wander like a pilgrim—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow the steps that once were strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to greet him, Ragged Rover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my childhood's ceaseless song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Leslie Clare Manchester</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TO FLUSH, MY DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loving friend, the gift of one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who her own true faith has run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through thy lower nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be my benediction said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my hand upon thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gentle fellow-creature!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like a lady's ringlets brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flow thy silken ears adown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Either side demurely<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy silver-suited breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shining out from all the rest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thy body purely.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Darkly brown thy body is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the sunshine striking this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alchemize its dulness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the sleek curls manifold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flash all over into gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a burnished fulness.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">IV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Underneath my stroking hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Startled eyes of hazel bland<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindling, growing larger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up thou leanest with a spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of prank and curvetting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaping like a charger.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">V<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leap! thy broad tail waves a light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leap! thy slender feet are bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Canopied in fringes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leap! those tasselled ears of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flicker strangely, fair and fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down their gold inches.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">VI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet, my pretty sportive friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little is't to such an end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I praise thy rareness:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Other dogs may be thy peers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Happy in these drooping ears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this glossy fairness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">VII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But of <i>thee</i> it shall be said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog watched beside a bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day and night unweary,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched within a curtained room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where no sunbeam brake the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the sick and dreary.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">VIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Roses, gathered for a vase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that chamber died space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beam and breeze resigning:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog only waited on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knowing, that, when light is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love remains for shining.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">IX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Other dogs in thymy dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracked the hares, and followed through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunny moor or meadow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog only crept and crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Next a languid cheek that slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sharing in the shadow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">X<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Other dogs of loyal cheer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bounded at the whistle clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the woodside hieing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog only watched in reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a faintly uttered speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a louder sighing.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if one or two quick tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dropped upon his glossy ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a sigh came double,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up he sprang in eager haste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a tender trouble.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this dog was satisfied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If a pale, thin hand would glide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down his dewlaps sloping,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which he pushed his nose within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After,—platforming his chin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the palm left open.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This dog, if a friendly voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call him now to blither choice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than such chamber-keeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come out!" praying from the door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Presseth backward as before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up against me leaping.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Therefore to this dog will I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tenderly, not scornfully,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Render praise and favor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With my hand upon his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is my benediction said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore and forever.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And because he loves me so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better than his kind will do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Often man or woman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give I back more love again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than dogs often take of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaning from my human.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blessings on thee, dog of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pretty collars make thee fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sugared milk may fat thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleasures wag on in thy tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hands of gentle motion fail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nevermore to pat thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Downy pillow take thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silken coverlet bestead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunshine help thy sleeping!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No fly's buzzing wake thee up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No man break thy purple cup<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set for drinking deep in!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whiskered cats aroynted flee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sturdy stoppers keep from thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cologne distillations;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nuts lie in thy path for stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy feast-day macaroons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn to daily rations!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mock I thee, in wishing weal?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tears are in my eyes to feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art made so straitly:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessings need must straiten too,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little canst thou joy or do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou who lovest <i>greatly</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">XX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet be blessed to the height<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all good and all delight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pervious to thy nature;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only <i>loved</i> beyond that line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a love that answers thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loving fellow-creature!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>FRANCES</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You were a friend, Frances, a friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With feeling and regard and capable of woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, yes, I know you were a dog, but I was just a man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did not buy you; no, you simply came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost, and squatted on my doorstep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The place was strange—you quivered, but stayed on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I had need of you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No other fellow could make you follow him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For you had chosen me to be your pal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My whistle was your law,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You put your paw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon my palm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in your calm, deep eyes was writ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The promise of long comradeship.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I came home from work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Late and ill-tempered,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Always I heard the patter of your feet upon the oaken stairs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your nose was at the door-crack;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whether I'd been bad or good that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You fawned, and loved me just the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was your way to understand.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span><span class="i0">And if I struck you, my harsh hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was met with your caresses.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You took my leavings, crumb and bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stuck by me through thick and thin—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You were my kin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then one day you died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And were put deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But though you sleep, and ever sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sense you at my heels.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Wightman</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TO MY SETTER, SCOUT</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are a tried and loyal friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life will find you leal, unweary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of tested bonds that naught can rend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And e'en if years be sad and dreary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our plighted friendship will extend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A truer friend man never had;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Tis sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That 'mongst all earthly friends the fewest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfaithful ones should thus be clad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In canine lowliness; yet truest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They, be their treatment good or bad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within your eyes methinks I find<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A kind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thoughtful look of speechless feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mem'ry's loosened cords unbind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let the dreamy past come stealing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through your dumb, reflective mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scout, my trusty friend, can it be<br /></span> +<span class="i6">You see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again, in retrospective dreaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The run, the woodland, and the lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With past autumnal sunshine streaming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er ev'ry frost-dyed field and tree?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or do you see now once again<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The glen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fern, the highland, and the thistle?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And do you still remember when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We heard the bright-eyed woodcock whistle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down by the rippling, shrub-edged fen?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see you turn a listening ear<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quail upon the flower-pied heather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, doggie, wait till uplands sere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the autumn's waning weather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will bring the sport we hold so dear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then we will hunt the loamy swale<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And trail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snipe, their cunning wiles o'ercoming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft will flush the bevied quail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the partridge slowly drumming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dull echoes in the leaf-strewn dale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When wooded hills with crimson light<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Are bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll stroll where trees and vines are growing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see birds warp their southern flight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At sundown, when the Day King's throwing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sly kisses to the Queen of Night.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Frank H. Selden.</span></p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>WHY STRIK'ST THOU ME?</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why dost thou strike me?—Ever faithful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In service to thee do I live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often when thou wert in peril<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My very utmost would I give;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life I would lay down for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In blustering storm and cruel Winter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In murky night or through the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obedient I have trotted by thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And guarded thee along the way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've watched thee and protected thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When flashed the robber's steel against thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When thou wert threatened by his arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou didst call for aid and rescue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who saved thee then from mortal harm?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My blood flowed on the sand for thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When down the sheer walls of the chasm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That glooms the torrent thou didst slide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou there had perished maimed and helpless<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had I not sought thee far and wide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself forgetting, sought I thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When on the furious billows drifting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou heldest up a beckoning hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no man dared attempt to save thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I brought thee safely to the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From certain death I rescued thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh doom me not to starve and perish;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor old Sultan do not slay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For thee, too, will the days soon darken<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which thy strength will fade away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thou wilt beg as I beg thee:—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why strik'st thou me?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nathan Haskell Dole</span> (<i>Translator</i>).</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CONSOLATION</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full dismal blows the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without my cabin, here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many times I find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself possessed of fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I often hear a sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if a stranger tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To enter here, but found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The door made fast inside.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The nights are filled with dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fancy even scrolls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray visions of the dead—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ghosts of departed souls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But never near me creeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What fancy oft invites.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog a vigil keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throughout the awful nights.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Howard C. Kegley.</span></p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>ARGUS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When wise Ulysses, from his native coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrived at last—poor, old, despised, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his own palace forced to ask his bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgot of all his own domestic crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His faithful dog his rightful master knew!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an old servant, now cashiered, he lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though ev'n then expiring on the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched with resentment of ungrateful man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And longing to behold his ancient lord again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">('Twas all he could), and fawned, and kissed his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seized with dumb joy; then falling by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Alexander Pope</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CHAINED IN THE YARD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas only a dog in a kennel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And little noise he made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it seemed to me as I heard it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew what that old dog said.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Another long month to get over;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will nobody loosen my chain?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just for a run 'round the meadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then fasten me up again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Give me my old life of freedom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give me a plunge and a swim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dash and a dive in the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shake and a splash on the brim."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I patted his head and spoke kindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought that his case was hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, give him a run in the open,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your dog chained up in the yard!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS COLD</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What makes the dog's nose always cold?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll try to tell you, curls of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you will sit upon my knee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And very good and quiet be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, years and years and years ago—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many I don't really know—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a rain on sea and shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its like was never seen before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or since. It fell unceasing down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all the world began to drown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But just before it down did pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old, old man—his name was Noah—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built him an ark, that he might save<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His family from a watery grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in it also he designed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shelter two of every kind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heavy clouds obscured the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Noah folks to it quickly ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then the animals began<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gravely march along in pairs.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The deer, the hippopotamuses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The camels, goats, and cats, and donkeys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rats, the big rhinoceroses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dromedaries and the horses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sheep, the mice, the kangaroos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hyenas, elephants, koodoos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many more—'twould take all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dear, the very names to say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at the very, very end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the procession, by his friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And master, faithful dog was seen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lifelong time he'd helping been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drive the crowd of creatures in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, with loud, exultant bark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gayly sprang aboard the bark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! So crowded was the space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could not in it find a place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, patiently, he turned about,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood half-way in, and half-way out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those extremely heavy showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Descended through nine hundred hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more; and, darling, at their close<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most frozen was his honest nose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never could it lose again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dampness of that dreadful rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And that is what, my curls of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made all the doggies' noses cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Margaret Eytinge</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>DOG LANGUAGE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our Towser is the finest dog that ever wore a collar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We wouldn't sell him—no, indeed—not even for a dollar!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I understand his language now, 'cause honest, it appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dogs can talk, and say a lot, with just their tails and ears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I come home from school he meets me with a joyous bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shakes that long tail sideways, down and up, and round and round.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pa says he's going to hang a rug beside the door to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Towser will not beat it while he's busy greeting me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then when he sees me get my hat, but thinks he cannot go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His ears get limp, his tail drops down, and he just walks off—slow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though if I say the magic words: "Well, Towser, want to come?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, say! You'd know he answered "Yes," although at speech he's dumb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Marion Hovey Briggs</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A DOG'S LOYALTY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Many a good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And useful quality, and virtue, too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attachment never to be weaned or changed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By any change of fortune; proof alike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fidelity that neither bribe nor threat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can move or warp; and gratitude for small<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trivial favors lasting as the life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glistening even in the dying eye.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PART III</h2> +<h3>THE DOG IN ACTION</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Course, hunt, in hills, in valley or in plain—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He joys to run and stretch out every limb,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>To please but thee he spareth for no pain,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His hurt (for thee) is greatest good to him.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>In fields abroad he looks unto thy flocks,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Keeping them safe from wolves and other beasts;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And oftentimes he bears away the knocks</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Of some odd thief that many a fold infests.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TOLD TO THE MISSIONARY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just look 'ee here, Mr. Preacher, you're a-goin' a bit too fur;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There isn't the man as is livin' as I'd let say a word agen her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's a rum-lookin' bitch, that I own to, and there is a fierce look in her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if any cove says as she's vicious, I sez in his teeth he lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soh! Gently, old 'ooman; come here, now, and set by my side on the bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder who'll have yer, my beauty, when him as you're all to 's dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, stow yer palaver a minit; I knows as my end is nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is a cove to turn round on his dog, like, just 'cos he's goin' to die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, of course, I was sartin you'd say it. It's allus the same with you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give it us straight, now, guv'nor—what would you have me do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think of my soul? I do, sir. Think of my Saviour? Right!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't be afeard of the bitch, sir; she's not a-goin' to bite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me about my Saviour—tell me that tale agen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he prayed for the coves as killed him, and died for the worst of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's a tale as I always liked, sir; and bound for the 'ternal shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thinks it aloud to myself, sir, and I likes it more and more.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've thumbed it out in the Bible, and I know it now by heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's put the steam in my boiler, and made me ready to start.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ain't not afraid to die now; I've been a bit bad in my day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I know when I knock at them portals there's one as won't say me nay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's thinkin' about that story, and all as he did for us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As make me so fond o' my dawg, sir; especially now I'm wus;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a-savin' o' folks who'd kill us is a beautiful act, the which<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never heard tell on o' no one, 'cept o' him and o' that there bitch.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas five years ago come Chrismus, maybe you remember the row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was scares about hydryphoby—same as there be just now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bobbies came down on us costers—came in a reggerlar wax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And them as 'ud got no license was summerned to pay the tax.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I had a friend among 'em, and he come in a friendly way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he sez, 'You must settle your dawg, Bill, unless you've a mind to pay.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The missus was dyin' wi' fever—I'd made a mistake in my pitch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I couldn't afford to keep her, so I sez, 'I'll drownd the bitch.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wasn't a-goin' to lose her, I warn't such a brute, you bet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to leave her to die by inches o' hunger, and cold, and wet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never said now't to the missus—we both on us liked her well—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I takes her the follerin' Sunday down to the Grand Canell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gets her tight by the collar—the Lord forgive my sin!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, kneelin' down on the towpath, I ducks the poor beast in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She gave just a sudden whine like, then a look comes into her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As 'ull last forever in mine, sir, up to the day I dies.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And a chill came over my heart then, and thinkin' I heard her moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I held her below the water, beating her skull with a stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You can see the mark of it now, sir—that place on the top of 'er 'ed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sudden she ceased to struggle, and I fancied as she was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall never know how it happened, but goin' to lose my hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My knees slipped over the towpath, and into the stream I rolled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down like a log I went, sir, and my eyes were filled with mud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the water was tinged above me with a murdered creeter's blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I gave myself up for lost then, and I cursed in my wild despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sudden I rose to the surfis, and a su'thing grabbed at my hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grabbed at my hair and loosed it, and grabbed me agin by the throat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she was a-holdin' my 'ed up, and somehow I kep' afloat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can't tell yer 'ow she done it, for I never knowed no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till somebody seized my collar, and give me a lug ashore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my head was queer and dizzy, but I see as the bitch was weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she lay on her side a-pantin', waitin' for me to speak.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What did I do with her, eh? You'd a-hardly need to ax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I sold my barrer a Monday, and paid the bloomin' tax.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That's right, Mr. Preacher, pat her—you ain't not afeared of her now!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dang this here tellin' of stories—look at the muck on my brow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm weaker, an' weaker, an' weaker; I fancy the end ain't fur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you know why here on my deathbed I think o' the Lord and her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he who, by men's hands tortured, uttered that prayer divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ull pardon me linkin' him like with a dawg as forgave like mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the Lord in his mercy calls me to my last eternal pitch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know as you'll treat her kindly—promise to take my bitch!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">George R. Sims</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE DOG OF THE LOUVRE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With gentle tread, with uncovered head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pass by the Louvre gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where buried lie the "men of July,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flowers are hung by the passers-by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the dog howls desolate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That dog had fought in the fierce onslaught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had rushed with his master on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And both fought well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the master fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And behold the surviving one!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By his lifeless clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaggy and gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His fellow-warrior stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor moved beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mingled fond<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Big tears with his master's blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vigil he keeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By those green heaps<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That tell where heroes lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No passer-by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can attract his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he knows it is not He!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the dawn, when dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wets the garlands new<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That are hung in this place of mourning,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will start to meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coming feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of him whom he dreamt returning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the grave's wood-cross<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the chaplets toss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By the blast of midnight shaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he howleth! hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From that dwelling dark<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The slain he would fain awaken.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the snow comes fast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the chilly blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blanching the bleak church-yard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With limbs outspread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the dismal bed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his liege, he still keeps guard.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oft in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With main and might,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He strives to raise the stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short respite takes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If master wakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll call me," then sleeps on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of bayonet blades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of barricades,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And guns he dreams the most;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Starts from his dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then would seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To eye a pleading ghost.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He'll linger there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sad despair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And die on his master's grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His home?—'tis known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dead alone,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's the dog of the nameless brave!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give a tear to the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And give some bread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dog of the Louvre gate!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where buried lie the men of July,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flowers are hung by the passers-by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dog howls desolate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Ralph Cecil</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE CHASE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yon crowding flock, that at a distance gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have haply foil'd the turf. See that old hound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How busily he works, but dares not trust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His doubtful sense; draws yet a wider ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hark! Now again the chorus fills. As bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sally'd awhile, at once their paean renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how they toss, with animated rage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recovering all they lost! That eager haste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some doubling wile foreshows. Ah! Yet once more<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They're checked, hold back with speed—on either hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They flourish round—e'en yet persist—'tis right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away they spring. The rustling stubbles bend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From brake to brake she flies, and visits all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With love and plenty blest. See! There she goes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She reels along, and by her gait betrays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her inward weakness. See how black she looks!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sweat, that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A languid scent. And now in open view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See! See! She flies! Each eager hound exerts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How quick she turns! Their gaping jaws eludes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a moment lives—till, round enclosed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all the greedy pack, with infant screams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She yields her breath, and there, reluctant, dies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lord Somerville</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE UNDER DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I know that the world, the great big world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will never a moment stop<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see which dog may be in the fault,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But will shout for the dog on top.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for me, I shall never pause to ask<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which dog may be in the right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my heart will beat, while it beats at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the under dog in the fight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My dog and I are both grown old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On these wild downs we watch all day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looks in my face when the wind blows cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus methinks I hear him say:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The gray stone circlet is below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The village smoke is at our feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We nothing hear but the sailing crow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wandering flocks that roam and bleat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far off, the early horseman hies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In shower or sunshine rushing on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yonder the dusty whirlwind flies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The distant coach is seen and gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though solitude around is spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Master, alone thou shalt not be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the turf is on thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only shall remember thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I marked his look of faithful care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I placed my hand on his shaggy side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There is a sun that shines above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sun that shines on both," I cried.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Lisle Bowles</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>BETH GELERT</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The spearman heard the bugle sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheerily smiled the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a brach, and many a hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Attend Llewellyn's horn:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And still he blew a louder blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave a louder cheer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come, Gelert! Why art thou the last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Llewellyn's horn to hear?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flower of all his race!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So true, so brave, a lamb at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lion in the chase!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In sooth, he was a peerless hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gift of royal John,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now no Gelert could be found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the chase rode on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, as over rocks and dells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gallant chidings rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many mingled cries.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That day Llewellyn little loved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chase of hart or hare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And small and scant the booty proved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Gelert was not there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When near the portal-seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His truant Gelert he espied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bounding his lord to meet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when he gained the castle door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aghast the chieftain stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hound was smeared with gouts of gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lips and fangs ran blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unused such looks to meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His favorite checked his joyful guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crouched and licked his feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Onward in haste Llewellyn passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on went Gelert, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still, where'er his eyes were cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O'erturned his infant's bed he found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood-stained covert rent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all around, the walls and ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With recent blood besprent.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He called the child—no voice replied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He searched, with terror wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood! Blood! He found on every side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nowhere found the child!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hell-hound! By thee my child's devoured!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frantic father cried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the hilt his vengeful sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He plunged in Gelert's side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His suppliant, as to earth he fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No pity could impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still his Gelert's dying yell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed heavy o'er his heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some slumberer wakened nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What words the parent's joy can tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hear his infant cry!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Concealed beneath a mangled heap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hurried search had missed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All glowing from his rosy sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His cherub-boy he kissed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, the same couch beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tremendous still in death.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! What was then Llewellyn's pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now the truth was clear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gallant hound the wolf had slain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To save Llewellyn's heir.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Best of thy kind, adieu!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frantic deed which laid thee low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This heart shall ever rue!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now a gallant tomb they raise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With costly sculpture decked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marbles, storied with his praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Gelert's bones protect.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here never could the spearman pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or forester, unmoved!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Llewellyn's sorrow proved.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here he hung his horn and spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft, as evening fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fancy's piercing sounds would hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Gelert's dying yell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Robert Spencer</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE FLAG AND THE FAITHFUL</h3> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>(A Washington woman has made a loud outcry to the Secretary of +War to reprimand the soldiers at the Government Aviation Station +for burying their faithful dog, Muggsie, wrapped in the Stars +and Stripes.)</p></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, Muggsie, good and faithful dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Gone to your rest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You served your country and your flag<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The very best<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lay within your humble power,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And in that far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have been much better than some men<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And women are.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As you had lived, good dog, you died,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And it is meet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flag you served your best should be<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Your winding sheet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William J. Lampton</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A GUARDIAN AT THE GATE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dog beside the threshold lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mocking sleep with half-shut eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With head crouched down upon his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till strangers pass his sunny seat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then quick he pricks his ears to hark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bustles up to growl and bark;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While boys in fear stop short their song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sneak in startled speed along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And beggar, creeping like a snail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make his hungry hopes prevail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the warm heart of charity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaves his lame halt and hastens by.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">John Clare</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A TALE OF THE REIGN OF TERROR</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas in a neighboring land what time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Reign of Terror triumphed there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every horrid shape of crime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stalked out from murder's bloody lair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas in those dreadful times there dwelt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Lyons, the defiled with blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A loyal family that felt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earliest fury of the flood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wife, children, friends, it swept away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wretched Valrive, one by one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself severely doomed to stay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till everything he loved was gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A man proscribed, whom not to shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was danger, almost fate, to brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So all forsook him, all save one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One faithful, humble, powerless slave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His dog, old Nina. She had been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they were boys, his children's mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His gallant Claude, his mild Eugene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both gone before him to their fate.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They spurned her off—but evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surmounting e'en her timid nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love brought her to the prison door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there she crouched, fond, faithful creature!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Watching so long, so piteously,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That e'en the jailor—man of guilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rugged heart—was moved to cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Poor wretch, there enter if thou wilt."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And who than Nina more content<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she had gained that dreary cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where lay in helpless dreariment<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The master loved so long and well?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when into his arms she leapt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her old fond, familiar way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And close into his bosom crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And licked his face—a feeble ray<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of something—not yet comfort—stole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his heart's stern misery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his lips moved, "Poor loving fool!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all have not abandoned me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hour by grudging kindness spared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expired too soon—the friends must part—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Nina from the prison gazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lingering pace and heavy heart.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shelter, and rest, and food she found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one who, for the master's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though grim suspicion stalked around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dared his old servant home to take.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath that friendly roof, each night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stayed, but still returning day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ay, the first beam of dawning light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beheld her on her anxious way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Towards the prison, there to await<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hour when through that dismal door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keeper, half compassionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should bid her enter as before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And well she seemed to comprehend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time appointed for her stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little hour that with her friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She tarried there was all her day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last the captive's summons came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They led him forth his doom to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No tremor shook his thrice-nerved frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose heart was dead to hope and fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So with calm step he moved along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And calmly faced the murderous crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But close and closer for the throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Nina to her master drew.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And she has found a resting place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between his knees—her old safe home—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she looks round in every face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to read his written doom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas but a step in those dread days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From trial to the guillotine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment, and Valrive surveys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With steadfast eye the fell machine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He mounts the platform, takes his stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the fatal block, and kneels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In preparation—but his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soft warm touch that moment feels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His eyes glance downward, and a tear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The last tear they shall ever shed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Falls as he utters, "Thou still here!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his faithful servant's head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, she is there; that hellish shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deadly stroke, she hears them plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the headless trunk starts out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even over her the bloody rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old faithful Nina! There lies she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cold head on the cold earth pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it was wont so lovingly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie upon her master's breast.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there she stayed the livelong day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mute, motionless, her sad watch keeping;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stranger who had passed that way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would have believed her dead or sleeping.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But if a step approached the grave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eye looked up with jealous care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imploringly, as if to crave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That no rude foot should trample there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That night she came not, as of late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her old, charitable home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next day's sun arose and set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night fell—and still she failed to come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then the third day her pitying host<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went kindly forth to seek his guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And found her at her mournful post,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched quietly as if at rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet she was not asleep nor dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when her master's friend she saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poor old creature raised her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And moaned, and moved one feeble paw.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But stirred not thence—and all in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He called, caressed her, would have led—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tried threats—then coaxing words again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought food—she turned away her head.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So with kind violence at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bore her home with gentle care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her old shelter tied her fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Placed food beside and left her there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But ere the hour of rest, again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He visited the captive's shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there the cord lay, gnawed in twain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The food untasted—she was fled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, vexed, he cried, "Perverse old creature!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, let her go. I've done my best."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But there was something in his nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A feeling that would not let him rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So with the early light once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toward the burial ground went he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there he found her as before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not, as then, stretched quietly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For she had worked the long night through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the strong impulse of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down, down into the grave—and now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Panting and weak, still laboured there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But death's cold, stiffening frost benumbs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her limbs, and clouds her heavy eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! her feeble moan becomes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shriek of human agony.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As if before her task was over<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She feared to die in her despair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But see! those last faint strokes uncover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A straggling lock of thin grey hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One struggle, one convulsive start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there the face beloved lies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now be at peace, thou faithful heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She licks the livid lips, and dies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Caroline Bowles Southey</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good people all, of every sort,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give ear unto my song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if you find it wond'rous short,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It cannot hold you long.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Islington there was a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of whom the world might say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That still a godly race he ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whene'er he went to pray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A kind and gentle heart he had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To comfort friends and foes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The naked every day he clad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he put on his clothes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in that town a dog was found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As many dogs there be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And curs of low degree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dog and man at first were friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when a pique began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog, to gain some private ends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went mad, and bit the man.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around from all the neighboring streets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wondering neighbors ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swore the dog had lost his wits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bite so good a man.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wound it seem'd both sore and sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To every Christian eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while they swore the dog was mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They swore the man would die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But soon a wonder came to light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That showed the rogues they lied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man recover'd of the bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog it was that died.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Oliver Goldsmith</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE FUSILIERS' DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go lift him gently from the wheels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soothe his dying pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love and care e'en yet he feels<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though love and care be vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis sad that, after all these years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our comrade and our friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The brave dog of the Fusiliers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should meet with such an end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up Alma's hill, among the vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We laughed to see him trot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then frisk along the silent lines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To chase the rolling shot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when the work waxed hard by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hard and cold by night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that November morning lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon us, like a blight;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And eyes were strained, and ears were bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the muttering north,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the gray mist took shape and sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray scores of Russians forth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath that slaughter wild and grim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor man nor dog would run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He stood by us, and we by him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the great fight was done.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And right throughout the snow and frost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He faced both shot and shell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though unrelieved, he kept his post,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And did his duty well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By death on death the time was stained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By want, disease, despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like autumn leaves our army waned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still the dog was there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He cheered us through those hours of gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We fed him in our dearth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through him the trench's living tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang loud with reckless mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus, when peace returned once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the city's fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That veteran home in pride we bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loved him, one and all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With ranks re-filled, our hearts were sick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to old memories clung;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grim ravines we left glared thick<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With death-stones of the young.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hands which had patted him lay chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices which called were dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And footsteps that he watched for still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never again could come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never again; this world of woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still hurries on so fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They come not back; 'tis he must go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To join them in the past.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, with brave names and deeds entwined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which Time may not forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young Fusiliers unborn shall find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The legend of our pet.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whilst o'er fresh years and other life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in God's mystic urn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The picture of the mighty strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arises sad and stern—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood all in front, behind far shrines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With women weeping low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom each lost one's fane but shines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As shines the moon on snow—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Marked by the medal, his of right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by his kind, keen face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under that visionary light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Bob shall keep his place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never may our honored Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For love and service pay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less brave, less patient, or more mean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than his we mourn today!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Francis Doyle</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>FIDELITY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A barking sound the shepherd hears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cry as of a dog or fox;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He halts, and searches with his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the scattered rocks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now at distance can discern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stirring in a brake of fern,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And instantly a dog is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glancing through that covert green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dog is not of mountain breed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its motions, too, are wild and shy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With something, as the shepherd thinks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unusual in its cry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor is there anyone in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All round, in hollow or on height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is the creature doing here?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was a cove, a huge recess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That keeps, till June, December's snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lofty precipice in front,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silent tarn below.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remote from public road or dwelling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pathway, or cultivated land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From trace of human foot or hand.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There sometimes doth a leaping fish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crags repeat the raven's croak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In symphony austere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thither the rainbow comes—the cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mists that spread the flying shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sunbeams, and the sounding blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, if it could, would hurry past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that enormous barrier binds it fast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not free from boding thoughts, a while<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shepherd stood; then makes his way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As quickly as he may;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor far had gone before he found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A human skeleton on the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The appalled discoverer, with a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks round, to learn the history<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From whose abrupt and perilous rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man had fallen, that place of fear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length upon the shepherd's mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It breaks, and all is clear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He instantly recalled the name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who he was, and whence he came;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembered, too, the very day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which the traveller passed this way.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But hear a wonder, for whose sake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This lamentable tale I tell!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lasting monument of words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This wonder merits well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog, which still was hovering nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeating the same timid cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This dog had been through three months' space<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dweller in that savage place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, proof was plain that since the day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When this ill-fated traveller died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog had watched about the spot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or by his master's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How nourished here through such long time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knows who gave that love sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave that strength of feeling, great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above all human estimate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Wordsworth</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE SHEPHERD DOG OF THE PYRENEES</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your dog.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shepherd.</i> Be not affrighted, madame. Poor Pierrot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will do no harm. I know his voice is gruff,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But then, his heart is good.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Well, call him, then.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do not like his looks. He's growling now.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shepherd.</i> Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He is as good a Christian as myself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And does not like a stick.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Such a fierce look!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And such great teeth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shepherd</i>. Ah, bless poor Pierrot's teeth!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come here, my Pierrot. Would you like to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shepherd.</i> Do you see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Just where the cliff goes down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To where the river foams along its bed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've often wondered who was brave to plant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A cross on such an edge.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shepherd.</i> Myself, madame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That the good God might know I gave him thanks.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One night, it was November, black and thick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fog came down, when as I reached my house<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Marie came running out; our little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our four year Louis, so she cried, was lost.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I called Pierrot: "Go, seek him, find my boy,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And off he went. Marie ran crying loud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whistled and called, and listened for his voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He always came or barked at my first word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now, he answered not. When day at last<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On that high ledge, against the dawning light.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My little one asleep, sitting so near<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That edge that as I looked his red barette<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fell from his nodding head down the abyss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And looked at me, so utterly distressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was safe within my arms.<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Ah, ha, Pierrot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Madame forgives your barking and your teeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I knew she would.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Traveler.</i> Come here, Pierrot, good dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, come, be friends with me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Ellen Murray</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE DOG UNDER THE WAGON</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, wife," said good old farmer Gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Put on your things, 'tis market day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we'll be off to the nearest town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There and back ere the sun goes down.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spot? No, we'll leave old Spot behind,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Spot he barked and Spot he whined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon made up his doggish mind<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To follow under the wagon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Away they went at a good round pace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joy came into the farmer's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Poor Spot," said he, "did want to come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'm awful glad he's left at home—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll guard the barn, and guard the cot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And keep the cattle out of the lot."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'm not so sure of that," thought Spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dog under the wagon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The farmer all his produce sold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And got his pay in yellow gold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home through the lonely forest. Hark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A robber springs from behind a tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Your money or else your life," says he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon was up, but he didn't see<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dog under the wagon.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spot ne'er barked and Spot ne'er whined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But quickly caught the thief behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dragged him down in the mire and dirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tore his coat and tore his shirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then held him fast on the miry ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robber uttered not a sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While his hands and feet the farmer bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And tumbled him into the wagon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So Spot he saved the farmer's life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The farmer's money, the farmer's wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now a hero grand and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A silver collar he wears today;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among his friends, among his foes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And everywhere his master goes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He follows on his horny toes,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The dog under the wagon.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>SAL'S TOWSER AND MY TROUSER</h3> +<p class="center">A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But yestere'en I loved thee whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I loathe and hate the hole<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thee, I do, I trow, sir.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sallied out to see my Sal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across yon round hill's brow, sir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I didn't know she, charming gal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had a dog,—a trouser-browser.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on a sudden, oh, my trouser,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tarried there with Towser.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I on the fence, he down below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou the copula, my trouser,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought he never would let go,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This gentle Towser.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say that fashion cuts thee loose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou gavest away at last, no use<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tarry, tearèd trouser.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd have once loved to espouse her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my calling trouser has no seat,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left it there with Towser.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So all unseated is my suit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me to meet Towser.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>ROVER IN CHURCH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas a Sunday morning in early May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beautiful, sunny, quiet day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the village, old and young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had trooped to church when the church bell rung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The windows were open, and breezes sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang as softly as if in church!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Right in the midst of the minister's prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a knock at the door. "Who's there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder?" the gray-haired sexton thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his careful ear the tapping caught.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rap-rap, rap-rap—a louder sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boys on the back seats turned around.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What could it mean? for never before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had any one knocked at the old church door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again the tapping, and now so loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The minister paused (though his head was bowed).<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rappety-rap! This will never do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The girls are peeping, and laughing too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the sexton tripped o'er the creaking floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted the latch and opened the door.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In there trotted a big black dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As big as a bear! With a solemn jog<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Right up the centre aisle he pattered;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">People might stare, it little mattered.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight he went to a little maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who blushed and hid, as though afraid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there sat down, as if to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'm sorry that I was late today,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But better late than never, you know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside, I waited an hour or so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And couldn't get them to open the door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I wagged my tail and bumped the floor.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now little mistress, I'm going to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear what the minister has to say."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The poor little girl hid her face and cried!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the big dog nestled close to her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And kissed her, dog fashion, tenderly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondering what the matter could be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dog being large (and the sexton small),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sat through the sermon, and heard it all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As solemn and wise as any one there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a very dignified, scholarly air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And instead of scolding, the minister said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he laid his hand on the sweet child's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the service, "I never knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two better list'ners than Rover and you!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">James Buckham</span>.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PART IV</h2> +<h3>THE DOG'S HEREAFTER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh, Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Let it go with me into Heaven, for my soul is full of compassion.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>BILLY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear Billy, of imperious bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When stranger's step fell on thy ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who oft inspired with wholesome fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A prowling boy in shadows dark:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oftener hailed with joyous cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some friendly face returning home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, wild with glee, the fields to roam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now still and cold thou here dost lie!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Frail vines that from the garden wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crept blooming o'er thy lowly bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Elm branches drooping overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dying leaves that wavering fall,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In other forms of life enrolled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall live in ages yet to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shall a mind from body free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lie buried dark beneath the mold?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He loved us all, and none forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He guessed whate'er was done or told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreamed of adventures free and bold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him is there no future lot?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If love is life and thought is mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all shall last beyond the years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And memory live in other spheres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My steadfast friend may I not find?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lorenzo Sears</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE BOND</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I call my terrier by his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or join him at evening play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes will flash with a human flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he looks what he cannot say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the bond between us two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that between me and you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Should a seraph sing in my ear tonight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or a sweet voiced angel come.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would poor speech prove my soul's delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ecstasy drive me dumb?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the link 'twixt them and me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is long as Eternity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wide leagues our sentient forms divide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loftier from the mean;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soul to soul all planes are tied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sympathy lies between;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who shall say that the brute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is soulless, though mean and mute?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">George H. Nettle</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TO A DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On every side I see your trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your water-trough's scarce dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your empty collar in its place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Provokes the heavy sigh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And you were here two days ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's little changed, I see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun is just as bright, but oh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The difference to me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The very print of your small pad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is on the whitened stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, by what ways, or sad or glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you fare on alone?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, little face, so merry-wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brisk feet and eager bark!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The house is lonesome for your eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit somewhat dark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, small, invinc'ble friend, your love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is done, your fighting o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more your wandering feet will rove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond your own house-door.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The cats that feared, their hearts are high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dogs that loved will gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long, long ere you come passing by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all your jovial ways.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Th' accursed archer who has sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His arrow all too true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would that his evil days were spent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere he took aim at you!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your honest face, your winsome ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haunt me, dear little ghost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And everywhere I see your trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, well-beloved and lost!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>CANINE IMMORTALITY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they have drowned thee then at last! poor Phillis!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burden of old age was heavy on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet thou shouldst have lived! What though thine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was dim, and watched no more with eager joy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fruitless repetition, the warm sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might still have cheered thy slumber; thou didst love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lick the hand that fed thee, and though past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Youth's active season, even life itself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was comfort. Poor old friend! How earnestly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would I have pleaded for thee! thou hadst been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still the companion of my childish sports:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as I roamed o'er Avon's woody cliffs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recalled my wandering soul. I have beguiled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Often the melancholy hours at school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soured by some little tyrant, with the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of distant home, and I remembered then<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><span class="i0">Thy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Returning at the pleasant holidays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes have I remarked the slow decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling myself changed, too, and musing much,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On many a sad vicissitude of life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, poor companion! when thou followedst last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which closed forever on him, thou didst lose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the old age of brute fidelity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fare thee well! Mine is no narrow creed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And He who gave thee being did not frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mystery of life to be the sport<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of merciless man! There is another world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all that live and move—a better one!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infinite goodness to the little bounds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of their own charity, may envy thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Robert Southey</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A FRIENDLY WELCOME</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our coming, and look brighter when we come.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lord Byron</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>EXEMPLARY NICK</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here lies poor Nick, an honest creature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faithful, gentle, courteous nature;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A parlor pet unspoiled by favor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pattern of good dog behavior,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a wish, without a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond his home and friends at Cheam.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contentedly through life he trotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the path that faith allotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till time, his aged body wearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bereaved him of his sight and hearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then laid him down without a pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sleep, and never wake again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sydney Smith</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE DIFFERENCE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My dog! The difference between thee and me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knows only our Creator—only he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can number the degrees in being's scale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between th' Instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that less steady light, of brighter ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul which animates thy master's clay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he alone can tell by what fond tie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My look thy life, my death thy sign to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No, when that feeling quits thy glazing eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>LADDIE</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lowly the soul that waits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the white, celestial gates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A threshold soul to greet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Belovéd feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down the streets that are beams of sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cherubim children run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They welcome it from the wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their voices call.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the Warder saith: "Nay, this<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the City of Holy Bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What claim canst thou make good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To angelhood?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Joy," answereth it from eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That are amber ecstasies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening, alert, elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Oh, how the frolic feet<br /></span> +<span class="i6">On lonely memory beat!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What rapture in a run<br /></span> +<span class="i6">'Twixt snow and sun!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nay, brother of the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What part hast thou in God?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What spirit art thou of?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It answers: "Love."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lifting its head, no less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cajoling a caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our winsome collie wraith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than in glad faith.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The door will open wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or kind voice bid: "Abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A threshold soul to greet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The longed-for feet."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Ah, Keeper of the Portal,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">If Love be not immortal,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">If Joy be not divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What prayer is mine?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Katherine Lee Bates</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A DOG'S EPITAPH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When some proud son of man returns to earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And storied urns record who rests below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all is done, upon the tomb is seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not what he was, but what he should have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first to welcome, foremost to defend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose honest heart is still his master's own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Denied in Heaven the soul he held in earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And claims himself a sole, exclusive Heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Debased by slavery or corrupt by power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Degraded mass of animated dust!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By nature vile, ennobled but by name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass on—it honors none you wish to mourn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mark a friend's remains these stones arise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never knew but one, and here he lies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lord Byron</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>THE PASSING OF A DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This kindly friend of mine who's passed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the realm of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the realm of darkling night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To unknown bourne away<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was one who deemed my humble home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A palace grand and fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fullest joy it was to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His comrade ever there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! He has gone from out my life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some dear dream I knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man may own a hundred dogs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one he loves, and true.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>MY DOG</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The curate thinks you have no soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know that he has none. But you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear friend! whose solemn self-control<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In our four-square, familiar pew,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was pattern to my youth—whose bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called me in summer dawns to rove—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have you gone down into the dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where none is welcome, none may love?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I will not think those good brown eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have spent their light of truth so soon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But in some canine Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And quarters every plain and hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking its master. As for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This prayer at least the gods fulfill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when I pass the floor, and see<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Charon by the Stygian coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take toll of all the shades who land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your little, faithful, barking ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May leap to lick my phantom hand.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Anonymous</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>JACK</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dog Jack has gone on the silent trail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever that may be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But well I know, when I whistle the call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will joyfully answer me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That call will be when I, myself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have passed through the Gates of Gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will come with a rush, and his soft brown eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will glisten with love as of old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, Warder of Gates, in the far-away land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This little black dog should you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throw wide your doors that this faithful friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May enter, and wait for me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right">H.P.W.</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>IN MEMORY OF "DON"</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our Don—only a dog!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, only a dog, you say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a large, warm heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a bright, brown eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an earnest bark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a warm caress<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For you and me and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friends he loved best.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, how we shall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miss him, you and I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His noisy welcome, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rough good-bye!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some time, somewhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some day, I trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall meet again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, yes, we must!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the joy of that meeting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay, mock, ye skeptics,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laugh to scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faith I hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all life that's born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It cannot be wasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor can it be lost.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And oh, for the faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Indian's trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Don and his mistress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will meet some day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just over the river<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not far away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right">M.S.W.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>RODERICK DHU</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are just a poor dumb brute, my Roderick Dhu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And our scientific brethren scoff at you.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They "reason" and they "think,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then they set it down in ink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clinch it with their learned "point of view."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even some divines deny you have a soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reject you from Man's final heav'nly goal:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your presence isn't wanted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're not of the anointed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're not upon the mighty Judgment Roll.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet the truth shines from your eyes, my faithful friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your faithfulness doth that of men transcend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You would lie right down and die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without even wond'ring why,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To save the man you loved—and meet your end.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When my heart was almost breaking, Roderick Dhu,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who was it gave me sympathy, but you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You crept so close to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you licked me tenderly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not a human friend was half so true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And would I, reasoning wisely, pronounce you just a beast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your actions "automatic," not "conscious" in the least?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set myself so high above you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As not to know and love you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And toss you but a bone while I shall feast?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My bonnie Collie, such wrong there shall not be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not for me to grasp at Heav'n and leave the Dark for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're nothing but a dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not in Heaven's Catalogue—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whatsoe'er thy fate, the same for me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Helen Fitzgerald Sanders</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>QUESTIONS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where are you now, little wandering<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Played with us, fed with us, felt with us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Years we grew fonder and fonder in?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You who but yesterday sprang to us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are we forever bereft of you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is this all that is left of you—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One little grave, and a pang to us?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Hurrell Mallock</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>HIS EPITAPH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His friends he loves. His fellest earthly foes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cats—I believe he did but feign to hate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My hand will miss the insinuated nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">William Watson</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>IN MEMORIAM</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I miss the little wagging tail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss the plaintive, pleading wail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss the wistful, loving glance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss the circling welcome-dance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I miss the eyes that, watching, sued;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I miss her tongue of gratitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That licked my hand, in loving mood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we divided cup or food.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I miss the pertinacious scratch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Continued till I raised the latch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each morning), waiting at my door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, I ne'er shall hear it more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What folly!" hints the cynic mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Plenty of dogs are left behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To snap and snarl, to bark and bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wake us in the gloomy night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You should have sought a human friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose life eternal ne'er could end—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose gifts of intellect and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bereavement never could efface."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Plenty of snarling things are left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I am of a friend bereft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seek not intellect, but heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not my head that feels the smart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While loving sympathy is cherished,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gratitude is not quite perished;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While patient, hopeful, cheerful meeting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At our return is pleasant greeting;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So long my heart will feel a void—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grieving, my mind will be employed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I, returning to my door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall miss what I shall find no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When we, at last, shall pass away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see no more the light of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will many hearts as vacant mourn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As truly wish for our return?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet love that's true will ever know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pain of parting. Better so!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Better to love and lose" than cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And colder still, let hearts grow old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So let the cynic snarl or smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his great intellect beguile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My little dog, so true to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will dear to heart and memory be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Henry Willett</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>QUESTIONS</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is there not something in the pleading eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the poor brute that suffers, which arraigns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The law that bids it suffer? Has it not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A claim for some remembrance in the book<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fills its pages with the idle words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoken of man? Or is it only clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet all his own to treat it as he will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he will to cast it at his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shattered, dishonored, lost for evermore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My dog loves me, but could he look beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His earthly master, would his love extend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Him who—hush! I will not doubt that He<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is better than our fears, and will not wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The least, the meanest of created things.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Oliver Wendell Holmes</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>OUR DOG JOCK</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A rollicksome, frolicsome, rare old cock<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As ever did nothing was our dog Jock;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gleesome, fleasome, affectionate beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As slow at a fight as swift at a feast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wit among dogs, when his life 'gan fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One couldn't but see the old wag in his tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When his years grew long and his eyes grew dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his course of bark could not strengthen him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never more now shall our knees be pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By his dear old chops in their slobbery rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor our mirth be stirred at his solemn looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wise, and as dull, as divinity books.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our old friend's dead, but we all well know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's gone to the Kennels where the good dogs go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the cooks be not, but the beef-bones be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his old head never need turn for a flea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">James Payn</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>TORY, A PUPPY</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lies in the soft earth under the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where they who love him often pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his grave is under a tall young lime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whose boughs the pale green hop-flowers climb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his spirit—where does his spirit rest?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was God who made him—God knows best.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Mortimer Collins</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>ON AN IRISH RETRIEVER</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ten years of loving loyalty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unthankéd should not go to earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, who had no less from thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devote this tribute to thy worth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For thou didst give to me, old friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy service while thy life did last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy life and service have an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here I thank thee for the past.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Trusted and faithful, tried and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watchful and swift to do my will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grateful for care that was thy due,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To duty's call obedient still,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From ill thou knew'st thou didst refrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The good thou knew'st thou strove to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dream of fame, nor greed of gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man's keenest spurs, urged thee thereto.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brute, with a heart of human love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And speechless soul of instinct fine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How few by reason's law who move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deserve an epitaph like thine!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Fanny Kemble Butler</span>.</p> + + + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>A RETRIEVER'S EPITAPH</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath this turf, that formerly he pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With agile feet, a dog is laid to rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him, as he sleeps, no well-known sound shall stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rabbit's patter, or the pheasant's whir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The keeper's "Over"—far, but well defined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That speeds the startled partridge down the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whistled warning as the winged ones rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Large and more large upon our straining eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till with a sweep, while every nerve is tense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chattering covey hurtles o'er the fence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The double crack of every lifted gun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dinting thud of birds whose course is done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These sounds, delightful to his listening ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heeds no longer, for he cannot hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None stauncher, till the drive was done, defied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Temptation, rooted to his master's side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None swifter, when his master gave the word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leapt on his course to track the running bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bore it back—ah, many a time and oft—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His nose as faultless as his mouth was soft.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How consciously, how proudly unconcerned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight to his master's side he then returned,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span><span class="i0">Wagged a glad tail, and deemed himself repaid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in that master's hand the bird he laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, while a word of praise was duly said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand should stroke his smooth and honest head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through spring and summer, in the sportless days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheerful he lived a life of simpler ways;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chose, since official dogs at times unbend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The household cat for confidante and friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With children friendly, but untaught to fawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Romped through the walks and rollicked on the lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rejoiced, if one the frequent ball should throw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fetch it, scampering gaily to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Content through every change of sportive mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If one dear voice, one only, called him good.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such was my dog, who now, without my aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hunts through the shadowland, himself a shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or crouched intent before some ghostly gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waits for my step, as here he used to wait.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Robert C. Lehmann</span>.</p> + + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<p>Transcriber's note:</p> + +<p>My dog and I: Author is Alice J. Chester in the Table +of contents and Alice J. Cleator in the text.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 19226-h.htm or 19226-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19226/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dog's Book of Verse + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 9, 2006 [EBook #19226] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + The Dog's Book + + of Verse + + + + Collected by + + J. Earl Clauson + + + "'I never barked when out of season; + I never bit without a reason; + I ne'er insulted weaker brother, + Nor wronged by fraud or force another;' + Though brutes are placed a rank below, + Happy for man could he say so." + + [Illustration: Crest] + + + Boston + Small, Maynard & Company + Publishers + + + + + Copyright, 1916 + + BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY + + (INCORPORATED) + + + + + TO + + THE MEMORY OF + + JACK, + + AN AIREDALE + + + + + PREFACE + + + Matthew Arnold, explaining why those were his most popular poems + which dealt with his canine pets, Geist, Kaiser, and Max, said + that while comparatively few loved poetry, nearly everyone loved + dogs. + + The literature of the Anglo-Saxon is rich in tributes to the + dog, as becomes a race which beyond any other has understood and + developed its four-footed companions. Canine heroes whose + intelligence and faithfulness our prose writers have celebrated + start to the memory in scores--Bill Sykes's white shadow, which + refused to be separated from its master even by death; Rab, + savagely devoted; the immortal Bob, "son of battle"--true souls + all, with hardly a villain among them for artistic contrast. + Even Red Wull, the killer, we admire for his courage and lealty. + + Within these covers is a selection from a large body of dog + verse. It is a selection made on the principle of human appeal. + Dialect, and the poems of the earlier writers whose diction + strikes oddly on our modern ears, have for the most part been + omitted. The place of such classics as may be missed is filled + by that vagrant verse which is often most truly the flower of + inspiration. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PART I + PUPPYHOOD + + TITLE AUTHOR PAGE + + We Meet at Morn _Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley_ 3 + + The Lost Puppy _Henry Firth Wood_ 5 + + A Laugh in Church _Anonymous_ 8 + + Treasures _Anonymous_ 10 + + That There Long Dog _Alice Gill Ferguson_ 11 + + My Friend _Anonymous_ 12 + + Ted _Maxine Anna Buck_ 14 + + Little Lost Pup _Anonymous_ 16 + + My Brindle Bull-Terrier _Coletta Ryan_ 18 + + Lauth _Robert Burns_ 20 + + The Drowned Spaniel _Charles Tennyson Turner_ 21 + + + PART II + THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP + + Cluny _William Croswell Doane_ 25 + + The Best Friend _Meribah Abbott_ 26 + + My Dog and I _Alice J. Chester_ 27 + + My Gentleman _Anonymous_ 29 + + The Dead Boy's Portrait and His Dog _Gerald Massey_ 31 + + Advice to a Dog Painter _Jonathan Swift_ 33 + + Mercy's Reward _Sir Edwin Arnold_ 34 + + Beau and the Water Lily _William Cowper_ 37 + + Petronius _Frederic P. Ladd_ 39 + + My Dog _Joseph M. Anderson_ 40 + + Charity's Eye _William Rounseville Alger_ 42 + + To Blanco _J.G. Holland_ 44 + + The Ould Hound _Arthur Stringer_ 46 + + The Miser's Only Friend _George Crabbe_ 48 + + Poor Dog Tray _Thomas Campbell_ 51 + + My Comforter _Anonymous_ 53 + + The Little White Dog _May Ellis Nichols_ 54 + + The Irish Greyhound _Katherine Phillips_ 55 + + The Vagabonds _J.T. Trowbridge_ 57 + + In Cineam _Sir John Davies_ 62 + + Old Matthew's Dog _Anonymous_ 63 + + A Dog and a Man _Anonymous_ 67 + + Rover-Dog _Marie Louise Tompkins_ 68 + + Horse, Dog and Man _S.E. Kiser_ 70 + + The Best Dog _Anonymous_ 73 + + Caesar, King Edward's Dog _O. Middleton_ 75 + + Just Our Dog _Anonymous_ 76 + + Ragged Rover _Leslie Clare Manchester_ 78 + + To Flush, My Dog _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 80 + + Frances _Richard Wightman_ 86 + + To My Setter, Scout _Frank H. Selden_ 88 + + Why Strik'st Thou Me? _Nathan Haskell Dole_ + (_Translator_) 90 + + Consolation _Howard C. Kegley_ 92 + + Argus _Alexander Pope_ 93 + + Chained in the Yard _Anonymous_ 94 + + Why the Dog's Nose is Cold _Margaret Eytinge_ 95 + + Dog Language _Marion Hovey Briggs_ 97 + + A Dog's Loyalty _Anonymous_ 98 + + + PART III + THE DOG IN ACTION + + Told to the Missionary _George R. Sims_ 101 + + The Dog of the Louvre _Ralph Cecil_ 106 + + The Chase _Lord Somerville_ 109 + + The Under Dog _Anonymous_ 111 + + The Shepherd and His Dog _William Lisle Bowles_ 112 + + Beth Gelert _William Robert Spencer_ 113 + + The Flag and the Faithful _William J. Lampton_ 117 + + A Guardian at the Gate _John Clare_ 118 + + A Tale of the Reign of Terror _Caroline Bowles Southey_ 119 + + An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog _Oliver Goldsmith_ 126 + + The Fusiliers' Dog _Francis Doyle_ 128 + + Fidelity _William Wordsworth_ 131 + + The Shepherd Dog of the Pyrenees _Ellen Murray_ 134 + + The Dog Under the Wagon _Anonymous_ 137 + + Sal's Towser and My Trouser _Anonymous_ 139 + + Rover in Church _James Buckham_ 141 + + + PART IV + THE DOG'S HEREAFTER + + Billy _Lorenzo Sears_ 145 + + The Bond _George H. Nettle_ 147 + + To a Dog _Anonymous_ 148 + + Canine Immortality _Robert Southey_ 150 + + A Friendly Welcome _Lord Byron_ 152 + + Exemplary Nick _Sydney Smith_ 153 + + The Difference _Anonymous_ 154 + + Laddie _Katherine Lee Bates_ 155 + + A Dog's Epitaph _Lord Byron_ 157 + + The Passing of a Dog _Anonymous_ 159 + + My Dog _Anonymous_ 160 + + Jack _H.P.W._ 161 + + In Memory of "Don" _M.S.W._ 162 + + Roderick Dhu _Helen Fitzgerald Sanders_ 164 + + Questions _William Hurrell Mallock_ 166 + + His Epitaph _William Watson_ 167 + + In Memoriam _Henry Willett_ 168 + + Questions _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 170 + + Our Dog Jock _James Payn_ 171 + + Tory, a Puppy _Mortimer Collins_ 172 + + On an Irish Retriever _Fanny Kemble Butler_ 173 + + A Retriever's Epitaph _Robert C. Lehmann_ 174 + + + + + PART I + + PUPPYHOOD + + + _"What other nature yours than of a child + Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call, + In wordless pity, to the souls of all, + Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute + And constant friendship links the man and brute?"_ + + + + THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE + + WE MEET AT MORN + + + Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear + A patter coming nearer and more near, + And then upon my chamber door + A gentle tapping, + For dogs, though proud, are poor, + And if a tail will do to give command + Why use a hand? + And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping, + And next a scuffle on the passage floor, + And then I know the creature lies to watch + Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch. + And like a spring + That gains its power by being tightly stayed, + The impatient thing + Into the room + Its whole glad heart doth fling, + And ere the gloom + Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled, + I hear a bounce upon the bed, + I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head, + And on my face + A tender nose, and cold-- + This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace-- + And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung, + The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue + --And so my dog and I have met and sworn + Fresh love and fealty for another morn. + + HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY. + + + + + THE LOST PUPPY + + + Say! little pup, + What's up? + Your tail is down + And out of sight + Between your legs; + Why, that ain't right. + Little pup, + Brace up! + + Say! little pup, + Look up! + Don't hang your head + And look so sad, + You're all mussed up, + But you ain't mad. + Little pup, + Cheer up! + + Say! little pup, + Stir up! + Is that a string + Around your tail? + And was it fast + To a tin pail? + Little pup, + Git up. + + Say! little pup, + Talk up. + Were those bad boys + All after you, + With sticks and stones, + And tin cans, too? + Little pup, + Speak up! + + Say! little pup, + Stand up! + Let's look at you; + You'd be all right + If you was scrubbed + And shined up bright. + Little pup, + Jump up! + + Say! little pup, + Bark up! + Let's hear your voice. + Say, you're a brick! + Now try to beg + And do a trick. + Little pup, + Sit up! + + Say! little pup, + Chime up! + Why, you can sing-- + Now come with me; + Let's wash and eat + And then we'll see, + Little pup, + What's up! + + HENRY FIRTH WOOD. + + + + + A LAUGH IN CHURCH + + + She sat on the sliding cushion, + The dear, wee woman of four; + Her feet, in their shiny slippers, + Hung dangling over the floor. + She meant to be good; she had promised, + And so with her big, brown eyes, + She stared at the meetinghouse windows + And counted the crawling flies. + + She looked far up at the preacher, + But she thought of the honeybees + Droning away at the blossoms + That whitened the cherry trees. + She thought of a broken basket, + Where curled in a dusky heap, + Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears. + Lay snuggled and fast asleep. + + Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle, + Such queer little hearts to beat, + Such swift round tongues to kiss, + Such sprawling, cushiony feet; + She could feel in her clasping fingers + The touch of the satiny skin, + And a cold, wet nose exploring + The dimples under her chin. + + Then a sudden ripple of laughter + Ran over the parted lips + So quick that she could not catch it + With her rosy finger-tips. + The people whispered "Bless the child," + As each one waked from a nap, + But the dear, wee woman hid her face + For shame in her mother's lap. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + TREASURES + + + They got a bran' new baby + At Bud Hicks' house, you see. + You'd think Bud Hicks had somethin' + The way he talks to me! + He comes around a-braggin', + An' when he wouldn't quit + I said: "What good's a baby? + You can't hunt fleas on it." + + Then Bud turned to me an' told me + How loud that kid could yell, + An' lots I can't remember, + He had so much to tell. + But I got tired o' hearin' + An' so I ast him, quick, + "If you wuz in a-swimmin' + Could it go get a stick?" + + There is no use a-talkin', + Bud thinks their baby's fine! + Huh! I'd a whole lot rather + Jest have a pup like mine. + I'll bet it's not bald-headed! + But if Bud doesn't fail + To let me hear it yellin', + I'll let him pull Spot's tail. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THAT THERE LONG DOG + + + Funniest little feller + You'd ever want to see! + Browner 'an the brownest leaf + In the autumn tree. + Shortest little bow legs! + Jes' barely touch the floor-- + And long--b'gosh, the longest dog + I ever seen afore! + + But he's mighty amusin', + For all 'at he's so queer, + Eyes so mighty solemn, + Askin' like an' clear, + And when he puts his paws up, + Head stuck on one side-- + Jes' naturally love every hair + In his durn Dutch hide. + + ALICE GILL FERGUSON. + + + + + MY FRIEND + + + True and trustful, never doubting, + Is my young and handsome friend; + Always jolly, + Full of fun, + Bright eyes gleaming + Like the sun-- + Never see him blue or pouting + From the day's break to its end. + + Whether I am "flush" or "busted" + Makes no difference to him! + "Let's be gay, sir"-- + He would say, sir-- + "Won't have any + Other way, sir!" + Oh, he's never cross and crusted-- + Light of heart and full of vim! + + Often we go out together + For a ramble far and wide-- + Catch the breezes + Fresh and strong + Down the mountain + Swept along-- + For we never mind the weather + When we two are side by side. + + But my friend is sometimes quiet, + And I've caught his clear brown eye + Gazing at me, + Mute, appealing-- + Telling something, + Yet concealing, + Yes, he'd like to talk! Well, try it-- + "Bow, wow, wow," and that's his cry! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + TED + + + I have a little brindle dog, + Seal-brown from tail to head. + His name I guess is Theodore, + But I just call him Ted. + + He's only eight months old to-day + I guess he's just a pup; + Pa says he won't be larger + When he is all grown up. + + He plays around about the house, + As good as he can be, + He don't seem like a little dog, + He's just like folks to me. + + And when it is my bed-time, + Ma opens up the bed; + Then I nestle down real cozy + And just make room for Ted + + And oh, how nice we cuddle! + He doesn't fuss or bite, + Just nestles closely up to me + And lays there still all night. + + We love each other dearly, + My little Ted and me. + We're just good chums together, + And always hope to be. + + MAXINE ANNA BUCK. + + + + + LITTLE LOST PUP + + + He was lost!--Not a shade of doubt of that; + For he never barked at a slinking cat, + But stood in the square where the wind blew raw, + With a drooping ear, and a trembling paw, + And a mournful look in his pleading eye, + And a plaintive sniff at the passer-by + That begged as plain as a tongue could sue, + "Oh, Mister, please may I follow you?" + A lorn, wee waif of a tawny brown + Adrift in the roar of a heedless town. + Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin + Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in! + + Well, he won my heart (for I set great store + On my own red Bute, who is here no more) + So I whistled clear, and he trotted up, + And who so glad as that small lost pup? + + Now he shares my board, and he owns my bed, + And he fairly shouts when he hears my tread. + Then if things go wrong, as they sometimes do, + And the world is cold, and I'm feeling blue, + He asserts his right to assuage my woes + With a warm, red tongue and a nice, cold nose, + And a silky head on my arm or knee, + And a paw as soft as a paw can be. + + When we rove the woods for a league about + He's as full of pranks as a school let out; + For he romps and frisks like a three-months colt, + And he runs me down like a thunder-bolt. + Oh, the blithest of sights in the world so fair + Is a gay little pup with his tail in air! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + MY BRINDLE BULL-TERRIER + + + My brindle bull-terrier, loving and wise, + With his little screw-tail and his wonderful eyes, + With his white little breast and his white little paws + Which, alas! he mistakes very often for claws; + With his sad little gait as he comes from the fight + When he feels that he hasn't done all that he might; + Oh, so fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog, + My near little, queer little, dear little dog! + + He shivers and shivers and shakes with the cold; + He huddles and cuddles, though three summers old. + And forsaking the sunshine, endeavors to rove + With his cold little worriments under the stove! + + At table, his majesty, dying for meat,-- + Yet never despising a lump that is sweet,-- + Sits close by my side with his head on my knee + And steals every good resolution from me! + How can I withhold from those worshipping eyes + A small bit of something that stealthily flies + Down under the table and into his mouth + As I tell my dear neighbor of life in the South. + + My near little, queer little, dear little dog, + So fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog! + The nearest and queerest and dearest of all + The race that is loving and winning and small; + The sweetest, most faithful, the truest and best + Dispenser of merriment, love and unrest! + + COLETTA RYAN. + + + + + LAUTH + + + He was a gash and faithfu' tyke + As ever lapt a sheugh or dyke. + His honest, sawnsie, bawsint face + Aye gat him friends in ilka place. + His breast was white, his towsie back + Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black. + His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, + Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl. + + ROBERT BURNS. + + + + + THE DROWNED SPANIEL + + + The day-long bluster of the storm was o'er, + The sands were bright; the winds had fallen asleep, + And, from the far horizon, o'er the deep + The sunset swam unshadowed to the shore. + + High up, the rainbow had not passed away, + When, roving o'er the shingle beach, I found + A little waif, a spaniel newly drowned; + The shining waters kissed him as he lay. + + In some kind heart thy gentle memory dwells, + I said, and, though thy latest aspect tells + Of drowning pains and mortal agony, + Thy master's self might weep and smile to see + His little dog stretched on these rosy shells, + Betwixt the rainbow and the rosy sea. + + CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER. + + + + + PART II + + THE HUMAN RELATIONSHIP + + + _"A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in + health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where + the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he + can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no + food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in + encounter with the roughness of the world. When all other + friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and + reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the + sun in its journey through the heavens."_ + + SENATOR GEORGE GRAHAM VEST. + + + + + CLUNY + + + I am quite sure he thinks that I am God-- + Since he is God on whom each one depends + For life, and all things that his bounty sends-- + My dear old dog, most constant of all friends; + + Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I + To him whom God I know and own; his eye, + Deep brown and liquid, watches for my nod; + He is more patient underneath the rod + + Than I, when God his wise corrections sends. + He looks love at me deep as words e'er spake, + And from me never crumb or sup will take + But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail. + + And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear + He is content and quiet if I'm near, + Secure that my protection will prevail! + + So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he + Tells me what I unto my God should be. + + WILLIAM CROSWELL DOANE. + + + + + THE BEST FRIEND + + + If I was sad, then he had grief, as well-- + Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw, + Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw + More than my halting, human speech could tell; + Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate-- + Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate. + + If I made merry--then how he would strive + To show his joy; "Good master, let's to play, + The world is ours," that gladsome bark would say; + "Just yours and mine--'tis fun to be alive!" + Our world ... four walls above the city's din, + My crutch the bar that ever held us in. + + Whate'er my mood--the fretful word, or sweet, + The swift command, the wheedling undertone, + His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone, + His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet: + Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed, + Ye taught me trust when man's dull logic failed. + + MERIBAH ABBOTT. + + + + + MY DOG AND I + + + When living seems but little worth + And all things go awry, + I close the door, we journey forth-- + My dog and I! + + For books and pen we leave behind, + But little careth he, + His one great joy in life is just + To be with me. + + He notes by just one upward glance + My mental attitude, + As on we go past laughing stream + And singing wood. + + The soft winds have a magic touch + That brings to care release, + The trees are vocal with delight, + The rivers sing of peace. + + How good it is to be alive! + Nature, the healer strong, + Has set each pulse with life athrill + And joy and song. + + Discouragement! 'Twas but a name, + And all things that annoy, + Out in the lovely world of June + Life seemeth only joy! + + And ere we reach the busy town, + Like birds my troubles fly, + We are two comrades glad of heart-- + My dog and I! + + ALICE J. CLEATOR. + + + + + MY GENTLEMAN + + + I own a dog who is a gentleman; + By birth most surely, since the creature can + Boast of a pedigree the like of which + Holds not a Howard nor a Metternich. + + By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod + He never wagged an unkind tale abroad, + He never snubbed a nameless cur because + Without a friend or credit card he was. + + By pride. He looks you squarely in the face + Unshrinking and without a single trace + Of either diffidence or arrogant + Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt. + + By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear + With absolute impunity his hair, + And pinch his silken, flowing ears, the while + He smiles upon her--yes, I've seen him smile. + + By loyalty. No truer friend than he + Has come to prove his friendship's worth to me. + He does not fear the master--knows no fear-- + But loves the man who is his master here. + + By countenance. If there be nobler eyes, + More full of honor and of honesties, + In finer head, on broader shoulders found, + Then have I never met the man or hound. + + Here is the motto on my lifeboat's log: + "God grant I may be worthy of my dog!" + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE DEAD BOY'S PORTRAIT + AND HIS DOG + + + Day after day I have come and sat + Beseechingly upon the mat, + Wistfully wondering where you are at. + + Why have they placed you on the wall, + So deathly still, so strangely tall? + You do not turn from me, nor call. + + Why do I never hear my name? + Why are you fastened in a frame? + You are the same, and not the same. + + Away from me why do you stare + So far out in the distance where + I am not? I am here! Not there! + + What has your little doggie done? + You used to whistle me to run + Beside you, or ahead, for fun! + + You used to pat me, and a glow + Of pleasure through my life would go! + How is it that I shiver so? + + My tail was once a waving flag + Of welcome. Now I cannot wag + It for the weight I have to drag. + + I know not what has come to me. + 'Tis only in my sleep I see + Things smiling as they used to be. + + I do not dare to bark; I plead + But dumbly, and you never heed; + Nor my protection seem to need. + + I watch the door, I watch the gate; + I am watching early, watching late, + Your doggie still!--I watch and wait. + + GERALD MASSEY. + + + + + ADVICE TO A DOG PAINTER + + + Happiest of the spaniel race, + Painter, with thy colors grace, + Draw his forehead large and high, + Draw his blue and humid eye; + Draw his neck, so smooth and round, + Little neck with ribands bound; + And the musely swelling breast + Where the Loves and Graces rest; + And the spreading, even back, + Soft, and sleek, and glossy black; + And the tail that gently twines, + Like the tendrils of the vines; + And the silky twisted hair, + Shadowing thick the velvet ear; + Velvet ears which, hanging low, + O'er the veiny temples flow. + + JONATHAN SWIFT. + + + + + MERCY'S REWARD + + + Hast seen + The record written of Salah-ud-Deen, + The Sultan--how he met, upon a day, + In his own city on the public way, + A woman whom they led to die? The veil + Was stripped from off her weeping face, and pale + Her shamed cheeks were, and wild her fixed eye, + And her lips drawn with terror at the cry + Of the harsh people, and the rugged stones + Borne in their hands to break her flesh and bones; + For the law stood that sinners such as she + Perish by stoning, and this doom must be; + So went the adult'ress to her death. + High noon it was, and the hot Khamseen's breath + Blew from the desert sands and parched the town. + The crows gasped, and the kine went up and down + With lolling tongues; the camels moaned; a crowd + Pressed with their pitchers, wrangling high and loud + About the tank; and one dog by a well, + Nigh dead with thirst, lay where he yelped and fell, + Glaring upon the water out of reach, + And praying succour in a silent speech, + So piteous were its eyes. + Which, when she saw, + This woman from her foot her shoe did draw, + Albeit death-sorrowful, and, looping up + The long silk of her girdle, made a cup + Of the heel's hollow, and thus let it sink + Until it touched the cool black water's brink; + So filled th' embroidered shoe, and gave a draught + To the spent beast, which whined, and fawned, and quaffed + Her kind gift to the dregs; next licked her hand, + With such glad looks that all might understand + He held his life from her; then, at her feet + He followed close, all down the cruel street, + Her one friend in that city. + But the King, + Riding within his litter, marked this thing, + And how the woman, on her way to die + Had such compassion for the misery + Of that parched hound: "Take off her chain, and place + The veil once more about the sinner's face, + And lead her to her house in peace!" he said. + "The law is that the people stone thee dead + For that which thou hast wrought; but there is come + Fawning around thy feet a witness dumb, + Not heard upon thy trial; this brute beast + Testifies for thee, sister! whose weak breast + Death could not make ungentle. I hold rule + In Allah's stead, who is 'the Merciful,' + And hope for mercy; therefore go thou free-- + I dare not show less pity unto thee." + + As we forgive--and more than we-- + Ya Barr! Good God, show clemency. + + SIR EDWIN ARNOLD. + + + + + BEAU AND THE WATER LILY + + + The noon was shady, and soft airs + Swept Ouse's silent tide, + When 'scaped from literary cares + I wandered on his side. + + My spaniel, prettiest of his race, + And high in pedigree + (Two nymphs adorned with every grace + That spaniel found for me) + + Now wantoned, lost in flags and reeds, + Now starting into sight, + Pursued the swallow o'er the meads + With scarce a slower flight. + + It was the time that Ouse displayed + His lilies newly blown; + Their beauties I intent surveyed, + And one I wished my own. + + With cane extended far I sought + To steer it close to land; + But still the prize, though nearly caught, + Escaped my eager hand. + + Beau marked my unsuccessful pains + With fixed, considerate face, + And puzzling, set his puppy brains + To comprehend the case. + + But with a chirrup clear and strong + Dispersing all his dream, + I thence withdrew, and followed long + The windings of the stream. + + My ramble ended, I returned; + Beau trotting far before + The floating wreath again discerned, + And, plunging, left the shore. + + I saw him, with that lily cropped, + Impatient swim to meet + My quick approach, and soon he dropped + The treasure at my feet. + + Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried, + "Shall hear of this thy deed; + My dog shall mortify the pride + Of man's superior breed: + + "But chief myself I will enjoin + Awake at duty's call, + To show a love as prompt as thine + To Him who gives me all." + + WILLIAM COWPER. + + + + + PETRONIUS + + + A dog there was, Petronius by name-- + A cur of no degree, yet which the same + Rejoiced him; because so worthless he + That in his worthlessness remarkably + He shone, th' example de luxe of how a cur + May be the very limit of a slur + Upon the honored name of dog; a joke + He was, a satire blasphemous; he broke + The records all for sheer insulting "bunk;" + No dog had ever breathed who was so punk! + + And yet that cur, Petronius by name, + Enkindled in his master's heart a flame + Of love, affection, reverence, so rare + That had he been an angel bright and fair + The homage paid him had been less; you see + The red-haired boy who owned him had a bee-- + There was no other dog on land or sea. + Petronius was solid; he just was + The dog, the only dog on earth, because-- + Because a red-haired boy who likes his dog, + He likes that dog so much no other dog + Exists--and that, my friends, is loyalty, + Than which there is no grander ecstasy. + + FREDERIC P. LADD. + + + + + MY DOG + + + Here is a friend who proves his worth + Without conceit or pride of birth. + Let want or plenty play the host, + He gets the least and gives the most-- + He's just a dog. + + He's ever faithful, kind and true; + He never questions what I do, + And whether I may go or stay, + He's always ready to obey + 'Cause he's a dog. + + Such meager fare his want supplies! + A hand caress, and from his eyes + There beams more love than mortals know; + Meanwhile he wags his tail to show + That he's my dog. + + He watches me all through the day, + And nothing coaxes him away; + And through the night-long slumber deep + He guards the home wherein I sleep-- + And he's a dog. + + I wonder if I'd be content + To follow where my master went, + And where he rode--as needs he must-- + Would I run after in his dust + Like other dogs. + + How strange if things were quite reversed-- + The man debased, the dog put first. + I often wonder how 'twould be + Were he the master 'stead of me-- + And I the dog. + + A world of deep devotion lies + Behind the windows of his eyes; + Yet love is only half his charm-- + He'd die to shield my life from harm. + Yet he's a dog. + + If dogs were fashioned out of men + What breed of dog would I have been? + And would I e'er deserve caress, + Or be extolled for faithfulness + Like my dog here? + + As mortals go, how few possess + Of courage, trust, and faithfulness + Enough from which to undertake, + Without some borrowed traits, to make + A decent dog! + + JOSEPH M. ANDERSON. + + + + + CHARITY'S EYE + + + One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace, + Teaching the people parables of truth and grace, + When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise, + And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries. + The Master and his meek disciples went to see + What cause for this commotion and disgust could be, + And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid-- + Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed. + + One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away, + And all among themselves began to say: + "Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!" + "His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!" + "In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left, + No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft." + Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him the saving wreath: + "Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth." + + The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one + Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own; + And one exclaimed: "No creature so accursed can be + But some good thing in him a loving eye will see." + + WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. + + + + + TO BLANCO + + + My dear, dumb friend, low-lying there, + A willing vassal at my feet, + Glad partner of my home and fare, + My shadow in the street, + + I look into your great, brown eyes, + Where love and loyal homage shine, + And wonder where the difference lies + Between your soul and mine. + + For all of good that I have found + Within myself, or human kind, + Hath royally informed and crowned + Your gentle heart and mind. + + I scan the whole broad earth around + For that one heart which, leal and true, + Bears friendship without end or bound, + And find the prize in you. + + I trust you as I trust the stars; + Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride, + Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars, + Can move you from my side. + + As patient under injury + As any Christian saint of old, + As gentle as a lamb with me, + But with your brothers bold. + + More playful than a frolic boy, + More watchful than a sentinel, + By day and night your constant joy + To guard and please me well. + + I clasp your head upon my breast, + The while you whine, and lick my hand; + And thus our friendship is confessed, + And thus we understand. + + Ah, Blanco! Did I worship God + As truly as you worship me, + Or follow where my Master trod + With your humility, + + Did I sit fondly at His feet, + As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine, + And watch Him with a love as sweet, + My life would grow divine. + + J.G. HOLLAND. + + + + + THE OULD HOUND + + + When Shamus made shift wid a turf-hut + He'd naught but a hound to his name; + And whither he went thrailed the ould friend, + Dog-faithful and iver the same! + + And he'd gnaw thro' a rope in the night-time, + He'd eat thro' a wall or a door, + He'd shwim thro' a lough in the winther, + To be wid his master wanst more! + + And the two, faith, would share their last bannock; + They'd share their last collop and bone; + And deep in the starin' ould sad eyes + Lean Shamus would stare wid his own! + + And loose hung the flanks av the ould hound + When Shamus lay sick on his bed-- + Ay, waitin' and watchin' wid sad eyes + He'd eat not av bone or av bread! + + But Shamus be springtime grew betther, + And a trouble came into his mind; + And he'd take himself off to the village, + And be leavin' his hound behind! + + And deep was the whine of the ould dog + Wid a love that was deeper than life-- + But be Michaelmas, faith, it was whispered + That Shamus was takin' a wife! + + A wife and a fine house he got him; + In a shay he went drivin' around; + And I met him be chance at the cross-roads, + And I says to him, "How's the ould hound?" + + "My wife never took to that ould dog," + Says he, wid a shrug av his slats, + "So we've got us a new dog from Galway, + _And och, he's the divil for rats!"_ + + ARTHUR STRINGER. + + + + + THE MISER'S ONLY FRIEND + + + There watched a cur before the miser's gate-- + A very cur, whom all men seemed to hate; + Gaunt, shaggy, savage, with an eye that shone + Like a live coal; and he possessed but one. + His bark was wild and eager, and became + That meager body and that eye of flame; + His master prized him much, and Fang his name, + His master fed him largely, but not that + Nor aught of kindness made the snarler fat. + Flesh he devoured, but not a bit would stay-- + He barked, and snarled, and growled it all away. + His ribs were seen extended like a rack, + And coarse red hair hung roughly o'er his back. + Lamed in one leg, and bruised in wars of yore, + Now his sore body made his temper sore. + Such was the friend of him who could not find, + Nor make him one, 'mong creatures of his kind. + Brave deeds of Fang his master often told, + The son of Fury, famed in deeds of old, + From Snatch and Rabid sprung; and noted they + In earlier times--each dog will have his day. + + The notes of Fang were to his master known + And dear--they bore some likeness to his own; + For both conveyed, to the experienced ear, + "I snarl and bite because I hate and fear." + None passed ungreeted by the master's door, + Fang railed at all, but chiefly at the poor; + And when the nights were stormy, cold and dark, + The act of Fang was a perpetual bark. + But though the master loved the growl of Fang + There were who vowed the ugly cur to hang, + Whose angry master, watchful for his friend, + As strongly vowed his servant to defend. + + In one dark night, and such as Fang before + Was ever known its tempests to outroar, + To his protector's wonder now expressed, + No angry notes--his anger was at rest. + The wond'ring master sought the silent yard, + Left Phoebe sleeping, and his door unbarred, + Nor more returned to that forsaken bed-- + But lo! the morning came, and he was dead. + Fang and his master side by side were laid + In grim repose--their debt to nature paid. + The master's hand upon the cur's cold chest + Was now reclined, and had before been pressed, + As if he sought how deep and wide the wound + That laid such spirit in a sleep so sound; + And when he found it was the sleep of death + A sympathizing sorrow stopped his breath. + Close to his trusty servant he was found, + As cold his body, and his sleep as sound. + + GEORGE CRABBE. + + + + + POOR DOG TRAY + + + On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, + No blithe Irish lad was as happy as I; + No harp like my own could so cheerily play, + And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. + + When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, + She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart) + "Oh, remember your Sheelah when far, far away, + And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray." + + Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, + And he constantly loved me, although I was poor; + When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, + I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. + + When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, + And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, + How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, + And he licked me for kindness--my poor dog Tray. + + Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case, + Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; + But he died at my feet on a cold winter's day, + And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray. + + Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken and blind? + Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind? + To my sweet native village, so far, far away, + I can ne'er more return with my poor dog Tray. + + THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + + + MY COMFORTER + + + The world had all gone wrong that day + And tired and in despair, + Discouraged with the ways of life, + I sank into my chair. + + A soft caress fell on my cheek, + My hands were thrust apart. + And two big sympathizing eyes + Gazed down into my heart. + + I had a friend; what cared I now + For fifty worlds? I knew + One heart was anxious when I grieved-- + My dog's heart, loyal, true. + + "God bless him," breathed I soft and low, + And hugged him close and tight. + One lingering lick upon my ear + And we were happy--quite. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE LITTLE WHITE DOG + + + Little white dog with the meek brown eyes, + Tell me the boon that most you prize. + Would a juicy bone meet your heart's desire? + Or a cozy rug by a blazing fire? + Or a sudden race with a truant cat? + Or a gentle word? Or a friendly pat? + Is the worn-out ball you have always near + The dearest of all the things held dear? + Or is the home you left behind + The dream of bliss to your doggish mind? + But the little white dog just shook his head + As if "None of these are best," he said. + + A boy's clear whistle came from the street; + There's a wag of the tail and a twinkle of feet, + And the little white dog did not even say, + "Excuse me, ma'am," as he scampered away; + But I'm sure as can be his greatest joy + Is just to trot behind that boy. + + MAY ELLIS NICHOLS. + + + + + THE IRISH GREYHOUND + + + Behold this creature's form and state; + Which nature therefore did create, + That to the world might be exprest + What mien there can be in a beast; + And that we in this shape may find + A lion of another kind. + For this heroic beast does seem + In majesty to rival him, + And yet vouchsafes to man to show + Both service and submission, too. + From whence we this distinction have, + That beast is fierce, but this is brave. + This dog hath so himself subdued + That hunger cannot make him rude, + And his behavior does confess + True courage dwells with gentleness. + With sternest wolves he dares engage, + And acts on them successful rage. + Yet too much courtesy may chance + To put him out of countenance. + When in his opposer's blood + Fortune hath made his virtue good, + This creature from an act so brave + Grows not more sullen, but more brave. + Man's guard he would be, not his sport, + Believing he hath ventured for't; + But yet no blood, or shed or spent, + Can ever make him insolent. + Few men of him to do great things have learned, + And when they're done to be so unconcerned. + + KATHERINE PHILLIPS. + + + + + THE VAGABONDS + + + We are two travellers, Roger and I. + Roger's my dog.--Come here, you scamp! + Jump for the gentleman,--mind your eye! + Over the table,--look out for the lamp! + The rogue is growing a little old; + Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, + And slept out-doors when nights were cold, + And ate and drank--and starved--together. + + We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! + A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, + A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow! + The paw he holds up there's been frozen), + Plenty of catgut for my fiddle + (This out-door business is bad for strings), + Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, + And Roger and I set up for kings! + + No, thank ye, Sir,--I never drink; + Roger and I are exceedingly moral,-- + Aren't we, Roger?--See him wink!-- + Well, something hot, then,--we won't quarrel. + He's thirsty, too,--see him nod his head? + What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk! + He understands every word that's said,-- + And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. + + The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, + I've been so sadly given to grog, + I wonder I've not lost the respect + (Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog. + But he sticks by, through thick and thin; + And this old coat with its empty pockets, + And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, + He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. + + There isn't another creature living + Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, + So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, + To such a miserable, thankless master! + No, Sir!--see him wag his tail and grin! + By George! it makes my old eyes water! + That is, there's something in this gin + That chokes a fellow. But no matter! + + We'll have some music, if you're willing, + And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) + Shall march a little--Start, you villain! + Paws up! Eyes front! Salute your officer! + 'Bout face! Attention! Take your rifle! + (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your + Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, + To aid a poor old patriot soldier! + + March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes + When he stands up to hear his sentence. + Now tell us how many drams it takes + To honor a jolly new acquaintance. + Five yelps,--that's five; he's mighty knowing! + The night's before us, fill the glasses!-- + Quick, Sir! I'm ill,--my brain is going!-- + Some brandy,--thank you,--there!--it passes! + + Why not reform? That's easily said; + But I've gone through such wretched treatment, + Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, + And scarce remembering what meat meant, + That my poor stomach's past reform; + And there are times when, mad with thinking, + I'd sell out heaven for something warm + To prop a horrible inward sinking. + + Is there a way to forget to think? + At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, + A dear girl's love,--but I took to drink,-- + The same old story; you know how it ends. + If you could have seen these classic features,-- + You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then + Such a burning libel on God's creatures: + I was one of your handsome men! + + If you had seen _her_, so fair and young, + Whose head was happy on this breast! + If you could have heard the songs I sung + When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed + That ever I, Sir, should be straying + From door to door, with fiddle and dog, + Ragged and penniless, and playing + To you to-night for a glass of grog! + + She's married since,--a parson's wife: + 'Twas better for her that we should part,-- + Better the soberest, prosiest life + Than a blasted home and a broken heart. + I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent + On the dusty road: a carriage stopped: + But little she dreamed, as on she went, + Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! + + You've set me talking, Sir; I'm sorry: + It makes me wild to think of the change! + What do you care for a beggar's story? + Is it amusing? You find it strange? + I had a mother so proud of me! + 'Twas well she died before.--Do you know + If the happy spirits in heaven can see + The ruin and wretchedness here below? + + Another glass, and strong, to deaden + This pain; then Roger and I will start. + I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, + Aching thing in place of a heart? + He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, + No doubt remembering things that were,-- + A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, + And himself a sober, respectable cur. + + I'm better now; that glass was warming.-- + You rascal! limber your lazy feet! + We must be fiddling and performing + For supper and bed, or starve in the street.-- + Not a very gay life to lead, you think? + But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, + And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink:-- + The sooner, the better for Roger and me! + + J.T. TROWBRIDGE. + + + + + IN CINEAM + + + Thou dogged Cineas, hated like a dog, + For still thou grumblest like a masty dog, + Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dog; + Thou say'st thou art as weary as a dog, + As angry, sick, and hungry as a dog, + As dull and melancholy as a dog, + As lazy, sleepy, idle as a dog. + But why dost thou compare thee to a dog + In that for which all men despise a dog? + I will compare thee better to a dog; + Thou art as fair and comely as a dog, + Thou art as true and honest as a dog, + Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog, + Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog, + But, Cineas, I have often heard thee tell + Thou art as like thy father as may be: + 'Tis like enough; and, faith, I like it well; + But I am glad thou art not like to me. + + SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + + + + OLD MATTHEW'S DOG + + + I am only a dog, and I've had my day; + So, idle and dreaming, stretched out I lay + In the welcome warmth of the summer sun, + A poor old hunter whose work is done. + + Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog. + Don't I dream of the partridge I sprung by the log? + Of the quivering hare and her desperate flight, + Of the nimble gray squirrel secure in his height, + + Far away in the top of the hickory tree, + Looking down safe and saucy at Matthew and me, + Till the hand, true and steady, a messenger shot, + And the creature upbounded, and fell, and was not? + + Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then; + And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen, + The hare on the common, the birds on the bough, + Were afraid. They are safe enough now, + + For all we can harm them, old master and I. + We have had our last hunt, the game must go by, + While Matthew sits fashioning bows in the door, + For a living. We'll never hunt more. + + For time, cold and hardship have stiffened his knee, + And since little Lottie died, often I see + His hands tremble sorely, and go to his eyes, + For the lost baby daughter, so pretty and wise. + + Oh, it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky + Look far away to the dim, fading eye; + To feel the fleet foot growing weary and sore + That in forest and hamlet shall lag evermore. + + I am going--I hear the great wolf on my track; + Already around me his shadow falls black. + One hunting cry more! Oh, master, come nigh, + And lay the white paw in your own as I die! + + Oh, come to me, master; the last hedge is passed-- + Our tramps in the wildwood are over at last; + Stoop lower, and lay my head on your knee. + What! Tears for a useless old hunter like me? + + You will see little Lottie again by and by. + I shan't. They don't have any dogs in the sky. + Tell her, loving and trusty, beside you I died, + And--bury me, master, not far from her side. + + For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I. + Ha, master, the shadow! Fire low--it is nigh-- + There was never a sound in the still morning heard, + But the heart of the hunter his old jacket stirred. + + As he flung himself down on the brute's shaggy coat, + And watched the faint life in its quivering throat + Till it stopped quite at last. The black wolf had won, + And the death-hunted hound into cover had run. + + But long ere the snow over graves softly fell, + Old Matthew was resting from labor as well; + While the cottage stood empty, yet back from the hill + The voice of the hound in the morn echoed still. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + A DOG AND A MAN + + + He was a dog, + But he stayed at home + And guarded the family night and day. + He was a dog + That didn't roam. + He lay on the porch or chased the stray-- + The tramps, the burglar, the hen, away; + For a dog's true heart for that household beat + At morning and evening, in cold and heat. + He was a dog. + + He was a man, + And didn't stay + To cherish his wife and his children fair. + He was a man. + And every day + His heart grew callous, its love-beats rare, + He thought of himself at the close of day, + And, cigar in his fingers, hurried away + To the club, the lodge, the store, the show. + But--he had a right to go, you know. + He was a man. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + ROVER-DOG + + + Old Rover-Dog, he toasts his toes + Right by th' chimney-fire wif me. + I turned his long ear wrong side out + An' he was s'rprised as he could be! + An' nen he reached right out an' took + An' int'rest in my lolly-pop-- + That's w'y I shook my finger hard + At him, 'cause he jus' better stop. + + I ast him which his sweet toof was, + An' he jus' laffed an' showed me where + He keeps um, up an' down his mouf-- + (I guess there's mos' a hundred there). + He's got a cunning little house, + But you can't climb right in, at all-- + Ain't hardly big enough for him; + I guess it is a size too small. + + 'Cause when he is "at home" his head + Stays looking out of his front door; + His paws hang out convenient like, + So's folks they will shake hands some more. + Old Rover-Dog, w'en he likes folks, + He thumps th' floor hard wif his tail-- + Where 'tis you've heard that sound before + Is w'en your pa, he drives a nail. + + One time my Uncle Fred p'tend + He's "tramp-mans" an' will come right in; + I put my ear on Rover's back + So's I could hear th' growl begin. + An' oncet he thought he'd try his nap + Right in my grampa's big armchair. + My grampa, he sat down on him, + 'Cause "he wa'n't 'spectin' dogs was there." + + 'N Rover walked off dignified + An' curled his back up 'gainst th' wall-- + If grampas ain't got manners, w'y, + He isn't goin' to care at all. + That's w'y I went an' 'xplained to him + How grampas, they ain't imperlite, + A grampa has th' bestest chair + Because his hair is very white. + + Nen Rover-Dog raise up one ear + An' lift his nose fum off his paw, + An' say his feelin's aren't all hurt + If that was _candy_ that he saw! + 'N w'en he'd et my choc'late cream + He went an' finished up his dream. + + MARIE LOUISE TOMPKINS. + + + + + HORSE, DOG AND MAN + + + The horse and the dog had tamed a man and + fastened him to a fence: + Said the horse to the dog: "For the life of + me, I don't see a bit of sense + In letting him have the thumbs that grow at + the sides of his hands. Do you?" + And the dog looked solemn and shook his head, + and said: "I'm a goat if I do!" + + The poor man groaned and tried to get loose, + and sadly he begged them, "Stay! + You will rob me of things for which I have + use by cutting my thumbs away! + You will spoil my looks, you will cause me + pain; ah, why would you treat me so? + As I am, God made me, and He knows best! + Oh, masters, pray let me go!" + + The dog laughed out, and the horse replied, + "Oh, the cutting won't hurt you, see? + We'll have a hot iron to clap right on, as you + did in your docking of me! + God gave you your thumbs and all, but still, + the Creator, you know, may fail + To do the artistic thing, as he did in the + furnishing me with a tail." + + So they bound the man and cut off his thumbs, + and were deaf to his pitiful cries, + And they seared the stumps, and they viewed + their work through happy and dazzled eyes. + "How trim he appears," the horse exclaimed, + "since his awkward thumbs are gone! + For the life of me I cannot see why the Lord + ever put them on!" + + "Still it seems to me," the dog replied, "that + there's something else to do; + His ears look rather too long for me, and how + do they look to you?" + The man cried out: "Oh, spare my ears! + God fashioned them as you see, + And if you apply your knife to them, you'll + surely disfigure me." + + "But you didn't disfigure me, you know," the + dog decisively said, + "When you bound me fast and trimmed my + ears down close to the top of my head!" + So they let him moan and they let him groan + while they cropped his ears away, + And they praised his looks when they let him + up, and proud indeed were they. + + But that was years and years ago, in an + unenlightened age! + Such things are ended, now, you know; we've + reached a higher stage. + The ears and thumbs God gave to man are his + to keep and wear, + And the cruel horse and dog look on, and + never appear to care. + + S.E. KISER. + + + + + THE BEST DOG + + + Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one, + Proud dogs of each breed and strain that's underneath the sun; + But not one could compare with--you may hear it with surprise-- + A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize. + + Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out, + Had there been a class to fit him--though his lineage is in doubt. + No judge of dogs could e'er resist the honest, faithful eyes + Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize. + + Suppose he wasn't trained to hunt, and never killed a rat, + And isn't much on tricks or looks or birth--well, what of that? + That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise, + As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize. + + It isn't what a dog can do, or what a dog may be, + That hits a man. It's simply this--does he believe in me? + And by that test I know there's not the compeer 'neath the skies + Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize. + + Oh, he's the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail, + And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail. + I'm going to start a special show--'Twill beat the world for size-- + For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + CAESAR, KING EDWARD'S DOG + + + No deeper, truer love could spring + Spontaneously from human breast + Than Caesar's, who has loved the king + With all a dear dog's silent zest. + + A dog's dumb way may not impart + The grief that mortals can express, + But who shall say that Caesar's heart + Mourns his beloved king the less? + + Since ours the faith, "Love lives in space," + His love, whene'er his soul takes wing, + May be ordained, by Heaven's grace, + To reach the spirit of the king. + + O. MIDDLETON. + + + + + JUST OUR DOG + + + He was just a dog, mister--that's all; + And all of us boys called him Bub; + He was curly and not very tall + And he hadn't a tail--just a stub. + His tail froze one cold night, you see; + We just pulled the rest of him through. + No--he didn't have much pedigree-- + Perhaps that was frozen off, too. + + He always seemed quite well behaved, + And he never had many bad fights; + In summer he used to be shaved + And he slept in the woodshed o' nights. + Sometimes he would wake up too soon + And cry, if his tail got a chill; + Some nights he would bark at the moon, + But some nights he would sleep very still. + + He knew how to play hide-and-seek + And he always would come when you'd call; + He would play dead, roll over and speak, + And learned it in no time at all. + Sometimes he would growl, just in play, + But he never would bite, and his worst + Was to bark at the postman one day, + But the postman, he barked at him first. + + He used to chase cats up a tree, + But that was just only in fun; + And a cat was as safe as could be-- + Unless it should start out to run; + Sometimes he'd chase children and throw + Them down, just while running along, + And then lick their faces to show + He didn't mean anything wrong. + + He was chasing an automobile + When the wheel hit him right in the side, + So he just gave a queer little squeal + And curled up and stretched out and died. + His tail it was not very long, + He was curly and not very tall; + But he never did anything wrong-- + He was just our dog, mister--that's all. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + RAGGED ROVER + + + I have still a vision of him + Ragged Rover, as he lay + In the sunshine of the morning + On the door-stone worn and gray; + Where the honeysuckle trellis + Hung its tinted blossoms low, + And the well-sweep with its bucket + Swung its burden to and fro; + Where the maples were a-quiver + In the pleasant June-time breeze; + And where droned among the phloxes + Half a hundred golden bees. + + Yes, I have a vision with me + Of a home upon a hill; + And my heart is sad with longing + And my eyes with tear-drops fill. + I would be the care-free urchin + That I was so long ago + When across the sun-lit meadows + Rover with me used to go + Yonder where the graceful lindens + Threw their shadows far and cool, + And the waters waited for me + In the brimming swimming pool. + + I can see him drive the cattle + From the pasture through the lane + With their mellow bells a-tinkle, + Sending out a low refrain; + I can see him drive them homeward, + Speckle, Brindle, Bess and Belle; + All the herd from down the valley + As the shades of even fell. + Thus, I wander like a pilgrim-- + Slow the steps that once were strong; + Back to greet him, Ragged Rover, + And my childhood's ceaseless song. + + LESLIE CLARE MANCHESTER. + + + + + TO FLUSH, MY DOG + + + I + + Loving friend, the gift of one + Who her own true faith has run + Through thy lower nature, + Be my benediction said + With my hand upon thy head, + Gentle fellow-creature! + + II + + Like a lady's ringlets brown, + Flow thy silken ears adown + Either side demurely + Of thy silver-suited breast, + Shining out from all the rest + Of thy body purely. + + III + + Darkly brown thy body is, + Till the sunshine striking this + Alchemize its dulness, + When the sleek curls manifold + Flash all over into gold + With a burnished fulness. + + IV + + Underneath my stroking hand. + Startled eyes of hazel bland + Kindling, growing larger, + Up thou leanest with a spring, + Full of prank and curvetting, + Leaping like a charger. + + V + + Leap! thy broad tail waves a light, + Leap! thy slender feet are bright, + Canopied in fringes; + Leap! those tasselled ears of thine + Flicker strangely, fair and fine + Down their gold inches. + + VI + + Yet, my pretty sportive friend, + Little is't to such an end + That I praise thy rareness: + Other dogs may be thy peers + Happy in these drooping ears + And this glossy fairness. + + VII + + But of _thee_ it shall be said, + This dog watched beside a bed + Day and night unweary,-- + Watched within a curtained room + Where no sunbeam brake the gloom, + Round the sick and dreary. + + VIII + + Roses, gathered for a vase, + In that chamber died space, + Beam and breeze resigning: + This dog only waited on, + Knowing, that, when light is gone, + Love remains for shining. + + IX + + Other dogs in thymy dew + Tracked the hares, and followed through + Sunny moor or meadow: + This dog only crept and crept + Next a languid cheek that slept, + Sharing in the shadow. + + X + + Other dogs of loyal cheer + Bounded at the whistle clear, + Up the woodside hieing: + This dog only watched in reach + Of a faintly uttered speech, + Or a louder sighing. + + XI + + And if one or two quick tears + Dropped upon his glossy ears, + Or a sigh came double, + Up he sprang in eager haste, + Fawning, fondling, breathing fast, + In a tender trouble. + + XII + + And this dog was satisfied + If a pale, thin hand would glide + Down his dewlaps sloping,-- + Which he pushed his nose within, + After,--platforming his chin + On the palm left open. + + XIII + + This dog, if a friendly voice + Call him now to blither choice + Than such chamber-keeping, + "Come out!" praying from the door, + Presseth backward as before, + Up against me leaping. + + XIV + + Therefore to this dog will I, + Tenderly, not scornfully, + Render praise and favor: + With my hand upon his head, + Is my benediction said + Therefore and forever. + + XV + + And because he loves me so, + Better than his kind will do + Often man or woman, + Give I back more love again + Than dogs often take of men, + Leaning from my human. + + XVI + + Blessings on thee, dog of mine, + Pretty collars make thee fine, + Sugared milk may fat thee! + Pleasures wag on in thy tail, + Hands of gentle motion fail + Nevermore to pat thee! + + XVII + + Downy pillow take thy head, + Silken coverlet bestead, + Sunshine help thy sleeping! + No fly's buzzing wake thee up, + No man break thy purple cup + Set for drinking deep in! + + XVIII + + Whiskered cats aroynted flee, + Sturdy stoppers keep from thee + Cologne distillations; + Nuts lie in thy path for stones, + And thy feast-day macaroons + Turn to daily rations! + + XIX + + Mock I thee, in wishing weal? + Tears are in my eyes to feel + Thou art made so straitly: + Blessings need must straiten too,-- + Little canst thou joy or do + Thou who lovest _greatly_. + + XX + + Yet be blessed to the height + Of all good and all delight + Pervious to thy nature; + Only _loved_ beyond that line, + With a love that answers thine, + Loving fellow-creature! + + ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. + + + + + FRANCES + + + You were a friend, Frances, a friend, + With feeling and regard and capable of woe. + Oh, yes, I know you were a dog, but I was just a man. + I did not buy you; no, you simply came, + Lost, and squatted on my doorstep. + The place was strange--you quivered, but stayed on, + And I had need of you. + No other fellow could make you follow him, + For you had chosen me to be your pal. + My whistle was your law, + You put your paw + Upon my palm, + And in your calm, deep eyes was writ + The promise of long comradeship. + When I came home from work, + Late and ill-tempered, + Always I heard the patter of your feet upon the oaken stairs; + Your nose was at the door-crack; + And whether I'd been bad or good that day + You fawned, and loved me just the same. + It was your way to understand. + And if I struck you, my harsh hand + Was met with your caresses. + You took my leavings, crumb and bone, + And stuck by me through thick and thin-- + You were my kin. + And then one day you died + And were put deep. + But though you sleep, and ever sleep, + I sense you at my heels. + + RICHARD WIGHTMAN. + + + + + TO MY SETTER, SCOUT + + + You are a tried and loyal friend; + The end + Of life will find you leal, unweary + Of tested bonds that naught can rend, + And e'en if years be sad and dreary, + Our plighted friendship will extend. + + A truer friend man never had; + 'Tis sad + That 'mongst all earthly friends the fewest + Unfaithful ones should thus be clad + In canine lowliness; yet truest + They, be their treatment good or bad. + + Within your eyes methinks I find + A kind + And thoughtful look of speechless feeling + That mem'ry's loosened cords unbind, + And let the dreamy past come stealing + Through your dumb, reflective mind. + + Scout, my trusty friend, can it be + You see + Again, in retrospective dreaming, + The run, the woodland, and the lea, + With past autumnal sunshine streaming + O'er ev'ry frost-dyed field and tree? + + Or do you see now once again + The glen + And fern, the highland, and the thistle? + And do you still remember when + We heard the bright-eyed woodcock whistle + Down by the rippling, shrub-edged fen? + + I see you turn a listening ear + To hear + The quail upon the flower-pied heather; + But, doggie, wait till uplands sere, + And then the autumn's waning weather + Will bring the sport we hold so dear. + + Then we will hunt the loamy swale + And trail + The snipe, their cunning wiles o'ercoming; + And oft will flush the bevied quail, + And hear the partridge slowly drumming + Dull echoes in the leaf-strewn dale. + + When wooded hills with crimson light + Are bright, + We'll stroll where trees and vines are growing, + And see birds warp their southern flight + At sundown, when the Day King's throwing + Sly kisses to the Queen of Night. + + FRANK H. SELDEN. + + + + + WHY STRIK'ST THOU ME? + + + Why dost thou strike me?--Ever faithful + In service to thee do I live; + And often when thou wert in peril + My very utmost would I give; + My life I would lay down for thee! + Why strik'st thou me? + + In blustering storm and cruel Winter, + In murky night or through the day, + Obedient I have trotted by thee + And guarded thee along the way. + I've watched thee and protected thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When flashed the robber's steel against thee, + When thou wert threatened by his arm, + And thou didst call for aid and rescue, + Who saved thee then from mortal harm? + My blood flowed on the sand for thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When down the sheer walls of the chasm + That glooms the torrent thou didst slide, + Thou there had perished maimed and helpless + Had I not sought thee far and wide. + Myself forgetting, sought I thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + When on the furious billows drifting + Thou heldest up a beckoning hand, + And no man dared attempt to save thee, + I brought thee safely to the land. + From certain death I rescued thee: + Why strik'st thou me? + + Oh doom me not to starve and perish; + The poor old Sultan do not slay! + For thee, too, will the days soon darken + In which thy strength will fade away. + Then thou wilt beg as I beg thee:-- + Why strik'st thou me? + + NATHAN HASKELL DOLE (_Translator_). + + + + + CONSOLATION + + + Full dismal blows the wind + Without my cabin, here, + And many times I find + Myself possessed of fear. + + I often hear a sound + As if a stranger tried + To enter here, but found + The door made fast inside. + + The nights are filled with dread, + And fancy even scrolls + Gray visions of the dead-- + Ghosts of departed souls. + + But never near me creeps + What fancy oft invites. + My dog a vigil keeps + Throughout the awful nights. + + HOWARD C. KEGLEY. + + + + + ARGUS + + + When wise Ulysses, from his native coast + Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, + Arrived at last--poor, old, despised, alone, + To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown, + Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares, + Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs, + In his own palace forced to ask his bread, + Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed, + Forgot of all his own domestic crew, + His faithful dog his rightful master knew! + + Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay + Like an old servant, now cashiered, he lay; + And though ev'n then expiring on the plain, + Touched with resentment of ungrateful man, + And longing to behold his ancient lord again, + Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet + ('Twas all he could), and fawned, and kissed his feet, + Seized with dumb joy; then falling by his side, + Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died. + + ALEXANDER POPE. + + + + + CHAINED IN THE YARD + + + 'Twas only a dog in a kennel + And little noise he made, + But it seemed to me as I heard it + I knew what that old dog said. + + "Another long month to get over; + Will nobody loosen my chain? + Just for a run 'round the meadow, + Then fasten me up again. + + "Give me my old life of freedom, + Give me a plunge and a swim, + A dash and a dive in the river, + A shake and a splash on the brim." + + I patted his head and spoke kindly, + I thought that his case was hard, + Oh, give him a run in the open, + Your dog chained up in the yard! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS COLD + + + "What makes the dog's nose always cold?" + I'll try to tell you, curls of gold, + If you will sit upon my knee + And very good and quiet be. + + Well, years and years and years ago-- + How many I don't really know-- + There came a rain on sea and shore; + Its like was never seen before + Or since. It fell unceasing down + Till all the world began to drown. + + But just before it down did pour, + An old, old man--his name was Noah-- + Built him an ark, that he might save + His family from a watery grave; + And in it also he designed + To shelter two of every kind + Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done, + And heavy clouds obscured the sun, + The Noah folks to it quickly ran, + And then the animals began + To gravely march along in pairs. + + The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears, + The deer, the hippopotamuses, + The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses, + The camels, goats, and cats, and donkeys, + The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys, + The rats, the big rhinoceroses, + The dromedaries and the horses, + The sheep, the mice, the kangaroos, + Hyenas, elephants, koodoos, + And many more--'twould take all day, + My dear, the very names to say-- + And at the very, very end + Of the procession, by his friend + And master, faithful dog was seen. + + The lifelong time he'd helping been + To drive the crowd of creatures in; + And now, with loud, exultant bark, + He gayly sprang aboard the bark. + + Alas! So crowded was the space + He could not in it find a place; + So, patiently, he turned about,-- + Stood half-way in, and half-way out, + And those extremely heavy showers + Descended through nine hundred hours + And more; and, darling, at their close + Most frozen was his honest nose; + And never could it lose again + The dampness of that dreadful rain. + + And that is what, my curls of gold, + Made all the doggies' noses cold. + + MARGARET EYTINGE. + + + + + DOG LANGUAGE + + + Our Towser is the finest dog that ever wore a collar, + We wouldn't sell him--no, indeed--not even for a dollar! + I understand his language now, 'cause honest, it appears + That dogs can talk, and say a lot, with just their tails and ears. + + When I come home from school he meets me with a joyous bound, + And shakes that long tail sideways, down and up, and round and round. + Pa says he's going to hang a rug beside the door to see + If Towser will not beat it while he's busy greeting me. + + Then when he sees me get my hat, but thinks he cannot go, + His ears get limp, his tail drops down, and he just walks off--slow; + Though if I say the magic words: "Well, Towser, want to come?" + Why, say! You'd know he answered "Yes," although at speech he's dumb. + + MARION HOVEY BRIGGS. + + + + + A DOG'S LOYALTY + + + Many a good + And useful quality, and virtue, too. + Attachment never to be weaned or changed + By any change of fortune; proof alike + Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; + Fidelity that neither bribe nor threat + Can move or warp; and gratitude for small + And trivial favors lasting as the life, + And glistening even in the dying eye. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + PART III + + THE DOG IN ACTION + + + _Course, hunt, in hills, in valley or in plain-- + He joys to run and stretch out every limb, + To please but thee he spareth for no pain, + His hurt (for thee) is greatest good to him. + + In fields abroad he looks unto thy flocks, + Keeping them safe from wolves and other beasts; + And oftentimes he bears away the knocks + Of some odd thief that many a fold infests._ + + + + + TOLD TO THE MISSIONARY + + + Just look 'ee here, Mr. Preacher, you're a-goin' a bit too fur; + There isn't the man as is livin' as I'd let say a word agen her. + She's a rum-lookin' bitch, that I own to, and there is a fierce look in her eyes, + But if any cove says as she's vicious, I sez in his teeth he lies. + Soh! Gently, old 'ooman; come here, now, and set by my side on the bed; + I wonder who'll have yer, my beauty, when him as you're all to 's dead. + There, stow yer palaver a minit; I knows as my end is nigh; + Is a cove to turn round on his dog, like, just 'cos he's goin' to die? + + Oh, of course, I was sartin you'd say it. It's allus the same with you. + Give it us straight, now, guv'nor--what would you have me do? + Think of my soul? I do, sir. Think of my Saviour? Right! + Don't be afeard of the bitch, sir; she's not a-goin' to bite. + Tell me about my Saviour--tell me that tale agen, + How he prayed for the coves as killed him, and died for the worst of men. + It's a tale as I always liked, sir; and bound for the 'ternal shore, + I thinks it aloud to myself, sir, and I likes it more and more. + + I've thumbed it out in the Bible, and I know it now by heart, + And it's put the steam in my boiler, and made me ready to start. + I ain't not afraid to die now; I've been a bit bad in my day, + But I know when I knock at them portals there's one as won't say me nay. + And it's thinkin' about that story, and all as he did for us, + As make me so fond o' my dawg, sir; especially now I'm wus; + For a-savin' o' folks who'd kill us is a beautiful act, the which + I never heard tell on o' no one, 'cept o' him and o' that there bitch. + + 'Twas five years ago come Chrismus, maybe you remember the row, + There was scares about hydryphoby--same as there be just now; + And the bobbies came down on us costers--came in a reggerlar wax, + And them as 'ud got no license was summerned to pay the tax. + But I had a friend among 'em, and he come in a friendly way, + And he sez, 'You must settle your dawg, Bill, unless you've a mind to pay.' + The missus was dyin' wi' fever--I'd made a mistake in my pitch, + I couldn't afford to keep her, so I sez, 'I'll drownd the bitch.' + + I wasn't a-goin' to lose her, I warn't such a brute, you bet, + As to leave her to die by inches o' hunger, and cold, and wet; + I never said now't to the missus--we both on us liked her well-- + But I takes her the follerin' Sunday down to the Grand Canell. + I gets her tight by the collar--the Lord forgive my sin! + And, kneelin' down on the towpath, I ducks the poor beast in. + She gave just a sudden whine like, then a look comes into her eyes + As 'ull last forever in mine, sir, up to the day I dies. + + And a chill came over my heart then, and thinkin' I heard her moan, + I held her below the water, beating her skull with a stone. + You can see the mark of it now, sir--that place on the top of 'er 'ed-- + And sudden she ceased to struggle, and I fancied as she was dead. + I shall never know how it happened, but goin' to lose my hold, + My knees slipped over the towpath, and into the stream I rolled; + Down like a log I went, sir, and my eyes were filled with mud, + And the water was tinged above me with a murdered creeter's blood. + + I gave myself up for lost then, and I cursed in my wild despair, + And sudden I rose to the surfis, and a su'thing grabbed at my hair, + Grabbed at my hair and loosed it, and grabbed me agin by the throat, + And she was a-holdin' my 'ed up, and somehow I kep' afloat. + I can't tell yer 'ow she done it, for I never knowed no more + Till somebody seized my collar, and give me a lug ashore; + And my head was queer and dizzy, but I see as the bitch was weak, + And she lay on her side a-pantin', waitin' for me to speak. + + What did I do with her, eh? You'd a-hardly need to ax, + But I sold my barrer a Monday, and paid the bloomin' tax. + + That's right, Mr. Preacher, pat her--you ain't not afeared of her now!-- + Dang this here tellin' of stories--look at the muck on my brow. + + I'm weaker, an' weaker, an' weaker; I fancy the end ain't fur, + But you know why here on my deathbed I think o' the Lord and her, + And he who, by men's hands tortured, uttered that prayer divine, + 'Ull pardon me linkin' him like with a dawg as forgave like mine. + When the Lord in his mercy calls me to my last eternal pitch, + I know as you'll treat her kindly--promise to take my bitch! + + GEORGE R. SIMS. + + + + + THE DOG OF THE LOUVRE + + + With gentle tread, with uncovered head, + Pass by the Louvre gate, + Where buried lie the "men of July," + And flowers are hung by the passers-by, + And the dog howls desolate. + + That dog had fought in the fierce onslaught, + Had rushed with his master on, + And both fought well; + But the master fell, + And behold the surviving one! + + By his lifeless clay, + Shaggy and gray, + His fellow-warrior stood; + Nor moved beyond, + But mingled fond + Big tears with his master's blood. + + Vigil he keeps + By those green heaps + That tell where heroes lie. + No passer-by + Can attract his eye, + For he knows it is not He! + + At the dawn, when dew + Wets the garlands new + That are hung in this place of mourning, + He will start to meet + The coming feet + Of him whom he dreamt returning. + + On the grave's wood-cross + When the chaplets toss, + By the blast of midnight shaken, + How he howleth! hark! + From that dwelling dark + The slain he would fain awaken. + + When the snow comes fast + On the chilly blast, + Blanching the bleak church-yard, + With limbs outspread + On the dismal bed + Of his liege, he still keeps guard. + + Oft in the night, + With main and might, + He strives to raise the stone; + Short respite takes: + "If master wakes, + He'll call me," then sleeps on. + + Of bayonet blades, + Of barricades, + And guns he dreams the most; + Starts from his dream, + And then would seem + To eye a pleading ghost. + + He'll linger there + In sad despair + And die on his master's grave. + His home?--'tis known + To the dead alone,-- + He's the dog of the nameless brave! + + Give a tear to the dead, + And give some bread + To the dog of the Louvre gate! + Where buried lie the men of July, + And flowers are hung by the passers-by, + And the dog howls desolate. + + RALPH CECIL. + + + + + THE CHASE + + + Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career. + Yon crowding flock, that at a distance gaze, + Have haply foil'd the turf. See that old hound! + How busily he works, but dares not trust + His doubtful sense; draws yet a wider ring. + Hark! Now again the chorus fills. As bells, + Sally'd awhile, at once their paean renew, + And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls, + See how they toss, with animated rage + Recovering all they lost! That eager haste + Some doubling wile foreshows. Ah! Yet once more + + They're checked, hold back with speed--on either hand + They flourish round--e'en yet persist--'tis right. + Away they spring. The rustling stubbles bend + Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase + Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced. + From brake to brake she flies, and visits all + Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure, + With love and plenty blest. See! There she goes, + She reels along, and by her gait betrays + Her inward weakness. See how black she looks! + The sweat, that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves + A languid scent. And now in open view + See! See! She flies! Each eager hound exerts + His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve; + How quick she turns! Their gaping jaws eludes, + And yet a moment lives--till, round enclosed + By all the greedy pack, with infant screams + She yields her breath, and there, reluctant, dies. + + LORD SOMERVILLE. + + + + + THE UNDER DOG + + + I know that the world, the great big world, + Will never a moment stop + To see which dog may be in the fault, + But will shout for the dog on top. + But for me, I shall never pause to ask + Which dog may be in the right, + For my heart will beat, while it beats at all, + For the under dog in the fight. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG + + + My dog and I are both grown old; + On these wild downs we watch all day; + He looks in my face when the wind blows cold, + And thus methinks I hear him say: + + The gray stone circlet is below, + The village smoke is at our feet; + We nothing hear but the sailing crow, + And wandering flocks that roam and bleat. + + Far off, the early horseman hies, + In shower or sunshine rushing on; + Yonder the dusty whirlwind flies; + The distant coach is seen and gone. + + Though solitude around is spread, + Master, alone thou shalt not be; + And when the turf is on thy head, + I only shall remember thee. + + I marked his look of faithful care, + I placed my hand on his shaggy side; + "There is a sun that shines above, + A sun that shines on both," I cried. + + WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. + + + + + BETH GELERT + + + The spearman heard the bugle sound, + And cheerily smiled the morn; + And many a brach, and many a hound, + Attend Llewellyn's horn: + + And still he blew a louder blast, + And gave a louder cheer: + "Come, Gelert! Why art thou the last + Llewellyn's horn to hear? + + "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? + The flower of all his race! + So true, so brave, a lamb at home, + A lion in the chase!" + + In sooth, he was a peerless hound, + The gift of royal John, + But now no Gelert could be found, + And all the chase rode on. + + And now, as over rocks and dells, + The gallant chidings rise, + All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells + With many mingled cries. + + That day Llewellyn little loved + The chase of hart or hare, + And small and scant the booty proved, + For Gelert was not there. + + Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, + When near the portal-seat, + His truant Gelert he espied, + Bounding his lord to meet. + + But when he gained the castle door, + Aghast the chieftain stood; + The hound was smeared with gouts of gore, + His lips and fangs ran blood. + + Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, + Unused such looks to meet; + His favorite checked his joyful guise, + And crouched and licked his feet. + + Onward in haste Llewellyn passed, + And on went Gelert, too, + And still, where'er his eyes were cast, + Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view. + + O'erturned his infant's bed he found, + The blood-stained covert rent; + And all around, the walls and ground, + With recent blood besprent. + + He called the child--no voice replied; + He searched, with terror wild; + Blood! Blood! He found on every side, + But nowhere found the child! + + "Hell-hound! By thee my child's devoured!" + The frantic father cried; + And to the hilt his vengeful sword + He plunged in Gelert's side. + + His suppliant, as to earth he fell, + No pity could impart, + But still his Gelert's dying yell + Passed heavy o'er his heart. + + Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, + Some slumberer wakened nigh; + What words the parent's joy can tell + To hear his infant cry! + + Concealed beneath a mangled heap + His hurried search had missed, + All glowing from his rosy sleep, + His cherub-boy he kissed. + + Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, + But, the same couch beneath, + Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-- + Tremendous still in death. + + Ah! What was then Llewellyn's pain! + For now the truth was clear: + The gallant hound the wolf had slain + To save Llewellyn's heir. + + Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; + "Best of thy kind, adieu! + The frantic deed which laid thee low + This heart shall ever rue!" + + And now a gallant tomb they raise, + With costly sculpture decked, + And marbles, storied with his praise, + Poor Gelert's bones protect. + + Here never could the spearman pass, + Or forester, unmoved! + Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass + Llewellyn's sorrow proved. + + And here he hung his horn and spear, + And oft, as evening fell, + In fancy's piercing sounds would hear + Poor Gelert's dying yell. + + WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER. + + + + + THE FLAG AND THE + FAITHFUL + + (A Washington woman has made a loud outcry to the Secretary of + War to reprimand the soldiers at the Government Aviation Station + for burying their faithful dog, Muggsie, wrapped in the Stars + and Stripes.) + + + Ah, Muggsie, good and faithful dog, + Gone to your rest! + You served your country and your flag + The very best + That lay within your humble power, + And in that far + Have been much better than some men + And women are. + As you had lived, good dog, you died, + And it is meet + The flag you served your best should be + Your winding sheet. + + WILLIAM J. LAMPTON. + + + + + A GUARDIAN AT THE GATE + + + The dog beside the threshold lies, + Mocking sleep with half-shut eyes-- + With head crouched down upon his feet, + Till strangers pass his sunny seat-- + Then quick he pricks his ears to hark + And bustles up to growl and bark; + While boys in fear stop short their song, + And sneak in startled speed along; + And beggar, creeping like a snail, + To make his hungry hopes prevail + O'er the warm heart of charity, + Leaves his lame halt and hastens by. + + JOHN CLARE. + + + + + A TALE OF THE REIGN + OF TERROR + + + 'Twas in a neighboring land what time + The Reign of Terror triumphed there, + And every horrid shape of crime + Stalked out from murder's bloody lair. + + 'Twas in those dreadful times there dwelt + In Lyons, the defiled with blood, + A loyal family that felt + The earliest fury of the flood. + + Wife, children, friends, it swept away + From wretched Valrive, one by one, + Himself severely doomed to stay + Till everything he loved was gone. + + A man proscribed, whom not to shun + Was danger, almost fate, to brave, + So all forsook him, all save one-- + One faithful, humble, powerless slave. + + His dog, old Nina. She had been, + When they were boys, his children's mate, + His gallant Claude, his mild Eugene, + Both gone before him to their fate. + + They spurned her off--but evermore, + Surmounting e'en her timid nature, + Love brought her to the prison door, + And there she crouched, fond, faithful creature! + + Watching so long, so piteously, + That e'en the jailor--man of guilt, + Of rugged heart--was moved to cry, + "Poor wretch, there enter if thou wilt." + + And who than Nina more content + When she had gained that dreary cell + Where lay in helpless dreariment + The master loved so long and well? + + And when into his arms she leapt + In her old fond, familiar way, + And close into his bosom crept, + And licked his face--a feeble ray + + Of something--not yet comfort--stole + Upon his heart's stern misery, + And his lips moved, "Poor loving fool! + Then all have not abandoned me." + + The hour by grudging kindness spared + Expired too soon--the friends must part-- + And Nina from the prison gazed, + With lingering pace and heavy heart. + + Shelter, and rest, and food she found + With one who, for the master's sake, + Though grim suspicion stalked around, + Dared his old servant home to take. + + Beneath that friendly roof, each night + She stayed, but still returning day-- + Ay, the first beam of dawning light + Beheld her on her anxious way. + + Towards the prison, there to await + The hour when through that dismal door + The keeper, half compassionate, + Should bid her enter as before. + + And well she seemed to comprehend + The time appointed for her stay, + The little hour that with her friend + She tarried there was all her day. + + At last the captive's summons came; + They led him forth his doom to hear; + No tremor shook his thrice-nerved frame + Whose heart was dead to hope and fear. + + So with calm step he moved along, + And calmly faced the murderous crew, + But close and closer for the throng, + Poor Nina to her master drew. + + And she has found a resting place + Between his knees--her old safe home-- + And she looks round in every face + As if to read his written doom. + + 'Twas but a step in those dread days + From trial to the guillotine; + A moment, and Valrive surveys + With steadfast eye the fell machine. + + He mounts the platform, takes his stand + Before the fatal block, and kneels + In preparation--but his hand + A soft warm touch that moment feels. + + His eyes glance downward, and a tear-- + The last tear they shall ever shed-- + Falls as he utters, "Thou still here!" + Upon his faithful servant's head. + + Yes, she is there; that hellish shout, + That deadly stroke, she hears them plain, + And from the headless trunk starts out + Even over her the bloody rain. + + Old faithful Nina! There lies she, + Her cold head on the cold earth pressed, + As it was wont so lovingly + To lie upon her master's breast. + + And there she stayed the livelong day, + Mute, motionless, her sad watch keeping; + A stranger who had passed that way + Would have believed her dead or sleeping. + + But if a step approached the grave + Her eye looked up with jealous care, + Imploringly, as if to crave + That no rude foot should trample there. + + That night she came not, as of late, + To her old, charitable home; + The next day's sun arose and set, + Night fell--and still she failed to come. + + Then the third day her pitying host + Went kindly forth to seek his guest, + And found her at her mournful post, + Stretched quietly as if at rest. + + Yet she was not asleep nor dead, + And when her master's friend she saw, + The poor old creature raised her head, + And moaned, and moved one feeble paw. + + But stirred not thence--and all in vain + He called, caressed her, would have led-- + Tried threats--then coaxing words again-- + Brought food--she turned away her head. + + So with kind violence at last + He bore her home with gentle care; + In her old shelter tied her fast, + Placed food beside and left her there. + + But ere the hour of rest, again + He visited the captive's shed, + And there the cord lay, gnawed in twain-- + The food untasted--she was fled. + + And, vexed, he cried, "Perverse old creature! + Well, let her go. I've done my best." + But there was something in his nature, + A feeling that would not let him rest. + + So with the early light once more + Toward the burial ground went he; + And there he found her as before, + But not, as then, stretched quietly. + + For she had worked the long night through, + In the strong impulse of despair, + Down, down into the grave--and now, + Panting and weak, still laboured there. + + But death's cold, stiffening frost benumbs + Her limbs, and clouds her heavy eye-- + And hark! her feeble moan becomes + A shriek of human agony. + + As if before her task was over + She feared to die in her despair. + But see! those last faint strokes uncover + A straggling lock of thin grey hair. + + One struggle, one convulsive start, + And there the face beloved lies-- + Now be at peace, thou faithful heart! + She licks the livid lips, and dies. + + CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. + + + + + AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH + OF A MAD DOG + + + Good people all, of every sort, + Give ear unto my song, + And if you find it wond'rous short, + It cannot hold you long. + + In Islington there was a man + Of whom the world might say + That still a godly race he ran + Whene'er he went to pray. + + A kind and gentle heart he had, + To comfort friends and foes; + The naked every day he clad + When he put on his clothes. + + And in that town a dog was found, + As many dogs there be, + Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, + And curs of low degree. + + The dog and man at first were friends, + But when a pique began, + The dog, to gain some private ends, + Went mad, and bit the man. + + Around from all the neighboring streets + The wondering neighbors ran, + And swore the dog had lost his wits, + To bite so good a man. + + The wound it seem'd both sore and sad + To every Christian eye; + And while they swore the dog was mad, + They swore the man would die. + + But soon a wonder came to light, + That showed the rogues they lied; + The man recover'd of the bite, + The dog it was that died. + + OLIVER GOLDSMITH. + + + + + THE FUSILIERS' DOG + + + Go lift him gently from the wheels, + And soothe his dying pain, + For love and care e'en yet he feels + Though love and care be vain; + 'Tis sad that, after all these years, + Our comrade and our friend, + The brave dog of the Fusiliers, + Should meet with such an end. + + Up Alma's hill, among the vines, + We laughed to see him trot, + Then frisk along the silent lines + To chase the rolling shot; + And, when the work waxed hard by day, + And hard and cold by night, + When that November morning lay + Upon us, like a blight; + + And eyes were strained, and ears were bent, + Against the muttering north, + Till the gray mist took shape and sent + Gray scores of Russians forth-- + Beneath that slaughter wild and grim + Nor man nor dog would run; + He stood by us, and we by him, + Till the great fight was done. + + And right throughout the snow and frost + He faced both shot and shell; + Though unrelieved, he kept his post, + And did his duty well. + By death on death the time was stained, + By want, disease, despair; + Like autumn leaves our army waned, + But still the dog was there. + + He cheered us through those hours of gloom; + We fed him in our dearth; + Through him the trench's living tomb + Rang loud with reckless mirth; + And thus, when peace returned once more, + After the city's fall, + That veteran home in pride we bore, + And loved him, one and all. + + With ranks re-filled, our hearts were sick, + And to old memories clung; + The grim ravines we left glared thick + With death-stones of the young. + Hands which had patted him lay chill, + Voices which called were dumb, + And footsteps that he watched for still + Never again could come. + + Never again; this world of woe + Still hurries on so fast; + They come not back; 'tis he must go + To join them in the past. + There, with brave names and deeds entwined, + Which Time may not forget, + Young Fusiliers unborn shall find + The legend of our pet. + + Whilst o'er fresh years and other life + Yet in God's mystic urn + The picture of the mighty strife + Arises sad and stern-- + Blood all in front, behind far shrines + With women weeping low, + For whom each lost one's fane but shines, + As shines the moon on snow-- + + Marked by the medal, his of right, + And by his kind, keen face, + Under that visionary light + Poor Bob shall keep his place; + And never may our honored Queen + For love and service pay + Less brave, less patient, or more mean + Than his we mourn today! + + FRANCIS DOYLE. + + + + + FIDELITY + + + A barking sound the shepherd hears, + A cry as of a dog or fox; + He halts, and searches with his eyes + Among the scattered rocks; + And now at distance can discern + A stirring in a brake of fern, + And instantly a dog is seen, + Glancing through that covert green. + + The dog is not of mountain breed, + Its motions, too, are wild and shy, + With something, as the shepherd thinks, + Unusual in its cry. + Nor is there anyone in sight, + All round, in hollow or on height, + Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear. + What is the creature doing here? + + It was a cove, a huge recess + That keeps, till June, December's snow; + A lofty precipice in front, + A silent tarn below. + Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, + Remote from public road or dwelling, + Pathway, or cultivated land, + From trace of human foot or hand. + + There sometimes doth a leaping fish + Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; + The crags repeat the raven's croak + In symphony austere; + Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud, + And mists that spread the flying shroud, + And sunbeams, and the sounding blast, + That, if it could, would hurry past, + But that enormous barrier binds it fast. + + Not free from boding thoughts, a while + The shepherd stood; then makes his way + Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones, + As quickly as he may; + Nor far had gone before he found + A human skeleton on the ground; + The appalled discoverer, with a sigh, + Looks round, to learn the history + + From whose abrupt and perilous rocks + The man had fallen, that place of fear! + At length upon the shepherd's mind + It breaks, and all is clear: + He instantly recalled the name + And who he was, and whence he came; + Remembered, too, the very day + On which the traveller passed this way. + + But hear a wonder, for whose sake + This lamentable tale I tell! + A lasting monument of words + This wonder merits well. + The dog, which still was hovering nigh, + Repeating the same timid cry-- + This dog had been through three months' space + A dweller in that savage place. + + Yes, proof was plain that since the day + When this ill-fated traveller died, + The dog had watched about the spot + Or by his master's side; + How nourished here through such long time + He knows who gave that love sublime, + And gave that strength of feeling, great + Above all human estimate. + + WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD DOG OF + THE PYRENEES + + + _Traveler._ Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your dog. + _Shepherd._ Be not affrighted, madame. Poor Pierrot + Will do no harm. I know his voice is gruff, + But then, his heart is good. + _Traveler._ Well, call him, then. + I do not like his looks. He's growling now. + _Shepherd._ Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot, + He is as good a Christian as myself + And does not like a stick. + _Traveler._ Such a fierce look! + And such great teeth! + _Shepherd_. Ah, bless poor Pierrot's teeth! + Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth. + Come here, my Pierrot. Would you like to hear, + Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me? + _Traveler._ Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant. + _Shepherd._ Do you see + On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands + Against the sky? + _Traveler._ Just where the cliff goes down + A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock + To where the river foams along its bed? + I've often wondered who was brave to plant + A cross on such an edge. + _Shepherd._ Myself, madame, + That the good God might know I gave him thanks. + One night, it was November, black and thick, + The fog came down, when as I reached my house + Marie came running out; our little one, + Our four year Louis, so she cried, was lost. + I called Pierrot: "Go, seek him, find my boy," + And off he went. Marie ran crying loud + To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched + All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain; + Whistled and called, and listened for his voice; + He always came or barked at my first word, + But now, he answered not. When day at last + Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw + On that high ledge, against the dawning light. + My little one asleep, sitting so near + That edge that as I looked his red barette + Fell from his nodding head down the abyss. + And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth, + His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown, + Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds + Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep, + And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail, + And looked at me, so utterly distressed, + With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak," + But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue + Was safe within my arms. + Ah, ha, Pierrot, + Madame forgives your barking and your teeth; + I knew she would. + _Traveler._ Come here, Pierrot, good dog, + Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true, + Come, come, be friends with me. + + ELLEN MURRAY. + + + + + THE DOG UNDER THE WAGON + + + "Come, wife," said good old farmer Gray, + "Put on your things, 'tis market day, + And we'll be off to the nearest town, + There and back ere the sun goes down. + Spot? No, we'll leave old Spot behind," + But Spot he barked and Spot he whined, + And soon made up his doggish mind + To follow under the wagon. + + Away they went at a good round pace + And joy came into the farmer's face, + "Poor Spot," said he, "did want to come, + But I'm awful glad he's left at home-- + He'll guard the barn, and guard the cot, + And keep the cattle out of the lot." + "I'm not so sure of that," thought Spot, + The dog under the wagon. + + The farmer all his produce sold + And got his pay in yellow gold: + Home through the lonely forest. Hark! + A robber springs from behind a tree; + "Your money or else your life," says he; + The moon was up, but he didn't see + The dog under the wagon. + + Spot ne'er barked and Spot ne'er whined + But quickly caught the thief behind; + He dragged him down in the mire and dirt, + And tore his coat and tore his shirt, + Then held him fast on the miry ground; + The robber uttered not a sound, + While his hands and feet the farmer bound, + And tumbled him into the wagon. + + So Spot he saved the farmer's life, + The farmer's money, the farmer's wife, + And now a hero grand and gay, + A silver collar he wears today; + Among his friends, among his foes-- + And everywhere his master goes-- + He follows on his horny toes, + The dog under the wagon. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + SAL'S TOWSER AND MY + TROUSER + + A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER + + + But yestere'en I loved thee whole, + Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser! + And now I loathe and hate the hole + In thee, I do, I trow, sir. + + I sallied out to see my Sal, + Across yon round hill's brow, sir; + I didn't know she, charming gal, + Had a dog,--a trouser-browser. + + I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce, + When on a sudden, oh, my trouser, + I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,-- + I tarried there with Towser. + + I on the fence, he down below, + And thou the copula, my trouser, + I thought he never would let go,-- + This gentle Towser. + + They say that fashion cuts thee loose, + But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser; + Thou gavest away at last, no use + To tarry, teared trouser. + + Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet, + And I'd have once loved to espouse her, + But my calling trouser has no seat,-- + I left it there with Towser. + + So all unseated is my suit; + I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir; + He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit + Me to meet Towser. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + ROVER IN CHURCH + + + 'Twas a Sunday morning in early May, + A beautiful, sunny, quiet day, + And all the village, old and young, + Had trooped to church when the church bell rung. + The windows were open, and breezes sweet + Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat. + Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch + Sang as softly as if in church! + + Right in the midst of the minister's prayer + There came a knock at the door. "Who's there, + I wonder?" the gray-haired sexton thought, + As his careful ear the tapping caught. + Rap-rap, rap-rap--a louder sound, + The boys on the back seats turned around. + What could it mean? for never before + Had any one knocked at the old church door. + + Again the tapping, and now so loud, + The minister paused (though his head was bowed). + Rappety-rap! This will never do, + The girls are peeping, and laughing too! + So the sexton tripped o'er the creaking floor, + Lifted the latch and opened the door. + + In there trotted a big black dog, + As big as a bear! With a solemn jog + Right up the centre aisle he pattered; + People might stare, it little mattered. + Straight he went to a little maid, + Who blushed and hid, as though afraid, + And there sat down, as if to say, + "I'm sorry that I was late today, + But better late than never, you know; + Beside, I waited an hour or so, + And couldn't get them to open the door + Till I wagged my tail and bumped the floor. + Now little mistress, I'm going to stay, + And hear what the minister has to say." + + The poor little girl hid her face and cried! + But the big dog nestled close to her side, + And kissed her, dog fashion, tenderly, + Wondering what the matter could be! + The dog being large (and the sexton small), + He sat through the sermon, and heard it all, + As solemn and wise as any one there, + With a very dignified, scholarly air! + And instead of scolding, the minister said, + As he laid his hand on the sweet child's head, + After the service, "I never knew + Two better list'ners than Rover and you!" + + JAMES BUCKHAM. + + + + + PART IV + + THE DOG'S HEREAFTER + + + _Oh, Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through; + Let it go with me into Heaven, for my soul is full of compassion._ + + + + + BILLY + + + Dear Billy, of imperious bark + When stranger's step fell on thy ear; + Who oft inspired with wholesome fear + A prowling boy in shadows dark: + + But oftener hailed with joyous cry + Some friendly face returning home, + Or, wild with glee, the fields to roam-- + Now still and cold thou here dost lie! + + Frail vines that from the garden wall + Crept blooming o'er thy lowly bed, + Elm branches drooping overhead, + And dying leaves that wavering fall, + + In other forms of life enrolled + Shall live in ages yet to be; + And shall a mind from body free + Lie buried dark beneath the mold? + + He loved us all, and none forgot, + He guessed whate'er was done or told, + Dreamed of adventures free and bold-- + For him is there no future lot? + + If love is life and thought is mind, + And all shall last beyond the years, + And memory live in other spheres, + My steadfast friend may I not find? + + LORENZO SEARS. + + + + + THE BOND + + + When I call my terrier by his name, + Or join him at evening play; + His eyes will flash with a human flame + And he looks what he cannot say; + For the bond between us two + Is that between me and you! + + Should a seraph sing in my ear tonight, + Or a sweet voiced angel come. + Would poor speech prove my soul's delight, + Or ecstasy drive me dumb? + For the link 'twixt them and me + Is long as Eternity. + + Wide leagues our sentient forms divide + The loftier from the mean; + But soul to soul all planes are tied + When sympathy lies between; + And who shall say that the brute + Is soulless, though mean and mute? + + GEORGE H. NETTLE. + + + + + TO A DOG + + + On every side I see your trace; + Your water-trough's scarce dry; + Your empty collar in its place + Provokes the heavy sigh. + + And you were here two days ago. + There's little changed, I see. + The sun is just as bright, but oh! + The difference to me! + + The very print of your small pad + Is on the whitened stone. + Where, by what ways, or sad or glad, + Do you fare on alone? + + Oh, little face, so merry-wise, + Brisk feet and eager bark! + The house is lonesome for your eyes, + My spirit somewhat dark. + + Now, small, invinc'ble friend, your love + Is done, your fighting o'er, + No more your wandering feet will rove + Beyond your own house-door. + + The cats that feared, their hearts are high, + The dogs that loved will gaze + Long, long ere you come passing by + With all your jovial ways. + + Th' accursed archer who has sent + His arrow all too true, + Would that his evil days were spent + Ere he took aim at you! + + Your honest face, your winsome ways + Haunt me, dear little ghost, + And everywhere I see your trace, + Oh, well-beloved and lost! + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + CANINE IMMORTALITY + + + And they have drowned thee then at last! poor Phillis! + The burden of old age was heavy on thee, + And yet thou shouldst have lived! What though thine eye + Was dim, and watched no more with eager joy + The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk + With fruitless repetition, the warm sun + Might still have cheered thy slumber; thou didst love + To lick the hand that fed thee, and though past + Youth's active season, even life itself + Was comfort. Poor old friend! How earnestly + Would I have pleaded for thee! thou hadst been + Still the companion of my childish sports: + And as I roamed o'er Avon's woody cliffs, + From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark + Recalled my wandering soul. I have beguiled + Often the melancholy hours at school, + Soured by some little tyrant, with the thought + Of distant home, and I remembered then + Thy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy, + Returning at the pleasant holidays, + I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively + Sometimes have I remarked the slow decay, + Feeling myself changed, too, and musing much, + On many a sad vicissitude of life! + Ah, poor companion! when thou followedst last + Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate + Which closed forever on him, thou didst lose + Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead + For the old age of brute fidelity! + But fare thee well! Mine is no narrow creed; + And He who gave thee being did not frame + The mystery of life to be the sport + Of merciless man! There is another world + For all that live and move--a better one! + Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine + Infinite goodness to the little bounds + Of their own charity, may envy thee! + + ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + + + + A FRIENDLY WELCOME + + + 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark + Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; + 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark + Our coming, and look brighter when we come. + + LORD BYRON. + + + + + EXEMPLARY NICK + + + Here lies poor Nick, an honest creature, + Of faithful, gentle, courteous nature; + A parlor pet unspoiled by favor, + A pattern of good dog behavior, + Without a wish, without a dream, + Beyond his home and friends at Cheam. + Contentedly through life he trotted, + Along the path that faith allotted, + Till time, his aged body wearing, + Bereaved him of his sight and hearing, + Then laid him down without a pain + To sleep, and never wake again. + + SYDNEY SMITH. + + + + + THE DIFFERENCE + + + My dog! The difference between thee and me + Knows only our Creator--only he + Can number the degrees in being's scale + Between th' Instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail, + And that less steady light, of brighter ray, + The soul which animates thy master's clay; + And he alone can tell by what fond tie + My look thy life, my death thy sign to die. + + No, when that feeling quits thy glazing eye + 'Twill live in some blest world beyond the sky. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + LADDIE + + + Lowly the soul that waits + At the white, celestial gates, + A threshold soul to greet + Beloved feet. + + Down the streets that are beams of sun + Cherubim children run; + They welcome it from the wall; + Their voices call. + + But the Warder saith: "Nay, this + Is the City of Holy Bliss. + What claim canst thou make good + To angelhood?" + + "Joy," answereth it from eyes + That are amber ecstasies, + Listening, alert, elate, + Before the gate. + + Oh, how the frolic feet + On lonely memory beat! + What rapture in a run + 'Twixt snow and sun! + + "Nay, brother of the sod, + What part hast thou in God? + What spirit art thou of?" + It answers: "Love." + + Lifting its head, no less + Cajoling a caress, + Our winsome collie wraith, + Than in glad faith. + + The door will open wide, + Or kind voice bid: "Abide, + A threshold soul to greet + The longed-for feet." + + Ah, Keeper of the Portal, + If Love be not immortal, + If Joy be not divine, + What prayer is mine? + + KATHERINE LEE BATES. + + + + + A DOG'S EPITAPH + + + When some proud son of man returns to earth, + Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, + The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of wo, + And storied urns record who rests below; + When all is done, upon the tomb is seen + Not what he was, but what he should have been, + But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, + The first to welcome, foremost to defend, + Whose honest heart is still his master's own, + Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, + + Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, + Denied in Heaven the soul he held in earth; + While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, + And claims himself a sole, exclusive Heaven. + Oh, man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, + Debased by slavery or corrupt by power, + Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, + Degraded mass of animated dust! + + Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, + Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! + By nature vile, ennobled but by name, + Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. + Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, + Pass on--it honors none you wish to mourn; + To mark a friend's remains these stones arise-- + I never knew but one, and here he lies. + + LORD BYRON. + + + + + THE PASSING OF A DOG + + + This kindly friend of mine who's passed + Beyond the realm of day, + Beyond the realm of darkling night, + To unknown bourne away + + Was one who deemed my humble home + A palace grand and fair; + Whose fullest joy it was to find + His comrade ever there. + + Ah! He has gone from out my life + Like some dear dream I knew. + A man may own a hundred dogs, + But one he loves, and true. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + MY DOG + + + The curate thinks you have no soul! + I know that he has none. But you, + Dear friend! whose solemn self-control + In our four-square, familiar pew, + + Was pattern to my youth--whose bark + Called me in summer dawns to rove-- + Have you gone down into the dark + Where none is welcome, none may love? + + I will not think those good brown eyes + Have spent their light of truth so soon; + But in some canine Paradise + Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon, + + And quarters every plain and hill + Seeking its master. As for me, + This prayer at least the gods fulfill-- + That when I pass the floor, and see + + Old Charon by the Stygian coast + Take toll of all the shades who land, + Your little, faithful, barking ghost + May leap to lick my phantom hand. + + ANONYMOUS. + + + + + JACK + + + Dog Jack has gone on the silent trail, + Wherever that may be; + But well I know, when I whistle the call, + He will joyfully answer me. + + That call will be when I, myself, + Have passed through the Gates of Gold; + He will come with a rush, and his soft brown eyes + Will glisten with love as of old. + + Oh, Warder of Gates, in the far-away land, + This little black dog should you see, + Throw wide your doors that this faithful friend + May enter, and wait for me. + + H.P.W. + + + + + IN MEMORY OF "DON" + + + Our Don--only a dog! + Yes, only a dog, you say; + With a large, warm heart, + And a bright, brown eye, + With an earnest bark + And a warm caress + + For you and me and + The friends he loved best. + Oh, how we shall + Miss him, you and I, + His noisy welcome, and + Rough good-bye! + + Some time, somewhere, + Some day, I trust, + We shall meet again; + Oh, yes, we must! + And the joy of that meeting + I dare not say. + + Ay, mock, ye skeptics, + And laugh to scorn + The faith I hold + Of all life that's born; + It cannot be wasted, + Nor can it be lost. + + And oh, for the faith, + And the Indian's trust, + That Don and his mistress + Will meet some day-- + Just over the river + Not far away! + + M.S.W. + + + + + RODERICK DHU + + + You are just a poor dumb brute, my Roderick Dhu, + And our scientific brethren scoff at you. + They "reason" and they "think," + Then they set it down in ink, + And clinch it with their learned "point of view." + + Even some divines deny you have a soul, + And reject you from Man's final heav'nly goal: + Your presence isn't wanted + You're not of the anointed. + You're not upon the mighty Judgment Roll. + + Yet the truth shines from your eyes, my faithful friend, + And your faithfulness doth that of men transcend; + You would lie right down and die, + Without even wond'ring why, + To save the man you loved--and meet your end. + + When my heart was almost breaking, Roderick Dhu, + Who was it gave me sympathy, but you! + You crept so close to me, + And you licked me tenderly, + And not a human friend was half so true. + + And would I, reasoning wisely, pronounce you just a beast? + Your actions "automatic," not "conscious" in the least? + Set myself so high above you, + As not to know and love you, + And toss you but a bone while I shall feast? + + My bonnie Collie, such wrong there shall not be, + Not for me to grasp at Heav'n and leave the Dark for thee, + You're nothing but a dog, + Not in Heaven's Catalogue-- + But whatsoe'er thy fate, the same for me. + + HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS. + + + + + QUESTIONS + + + Where are you now, little wandering + Life, that so faithfully dwelt with us, + Played with us, fed with us, felt with us, + Years we grew fonder and fonder in? + + You who but yesterday sprang to us, + Are we forever bereft of you? + And is this all that is left of you-- + One little grave, and a pang to us? + + WILLIAM HURRELL MALLOCK. + + + + + HIS EPITAPH + + + His friends he loves. His fellest earthly foes-- + Cats--I believe he did but feign to hate. + My hand will miss the insinuated nose, + Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate. + + WILLIAM WATSON. + + + + + IN MEMORIAM + + + I miss the little wagging tail; + I miss the plaintive, pleading wail; + I miss the wistful, loving glance; + I miss the circling welcome-dance. + + I miss the eyes that, watching, sued; + I miss her tongue of gratitude + That licked my hand, in loving mood, + When we divided cup or food. + + I miss the pertinacious scratch + (Continued till I raised the latch + Each morning), waiting at my door; + Alas, I ne'er shall hear it more. + + "What folly!" hints the cynic mind, + "Plenty of dogs are left behind + To snap and snarl, to bark and bite, + And wake us in the gloomy night. + + "You should have sought a human friend, + Whose life eternal ne'er could end-- + Whose gifts of intellect and grace + Bereavement never could efface." + + Plenty of snarling things are left, + But I am of a friend bereft; + I seek not intellect, but heart-- + 'Tis not my head that feels the smart. + + While loving sympathy is cherished, + While gratitude is not quite perished; + While patient, hopeful, cheerful meeting + At our return is pleasant greeting; + + So long my heart will feel a void-- + Grieving, my mind will be employed-- + When I, returning to my door, + Shall miss what I shall find no more. + + When we, at last, shall pass away, + And see no more the light of day, + Will many hearts as vacant mourn-- + As truly wish for our return? + + Yet love that's true will ever know + The pain of parting. Better so! + "Better to love and lose" than cold, + And colder still, let hearts grow old. + + So let the cynic snarl or smile, + And his great intellect beguile; + My little dog, so true to me, + Will dear to heart and memory be. + + HENRY WILLETT. + + + + + QUESTIONS + + + Is there not something in the pleading eye + Of the poor brute that suffers, which arraigns + The law that bids it suffer? Has it not + A claim for some remembrance in the book + That fills its pages with the idle words + Spoken of man? Or is it only clay, + Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand, + Yet all his own to treat it as he will, + And when he will to cast it at his feet, + Shattered, dishonored, lost for evermore? + My dog loves me, but could he look beyond + His earthly master, would his love extend + To Him who--hush! I will not doubt that He + Is better than our fears, and will not wrong + The least, the meanest of created things. + + OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + + + + OUR DOG JOCK + + + A rollicksome, frolicsome, rare old cock + As ever did nothing was our dog Jock; + A gleesome, fleasome, affectionate beast, + As slow at a fight as swift at a feast; + A wit among dogs, when his life 'gan fail, + One couldn't but see the old wag in his tail, + When his years grew long and his eyes grew dim, + And his course of bark could not strengthen him. + Never more now shall our knees be pressed + By his dear old chops in their slobbery rest, + Nor our mirth be stirred at his solemn looks, + As wise, and as dull, as divinity books. + Our old friend's dead, but we all well know + He's gone to the Kennels where the good dogs go, + Where the cooks be not, but the beef-bones be, + And his old head never need turn for a flea. + + JAMES PAYN. + + + + + TORY, A PUPPY + + + He lies in the soft earth under the grass, + Where they who love him often pass, + And his grave is under a tall young lime, + In whose boughs the pale green hop-flowers climb; + But his spirit--where does his spirit rest? + It was God who made him--God knows best. + + MORTIMER COLLINS. + + + + + ON AN IRISH RETRIEVER + + + Ten years of loving loyalty + Unthanked should not go to earth, + And I, who had no less from thee, + Devote this tribute to thy worth. + + For thou didst give to me, old friend, + Thy service while thy life did last; + Thy life and service have an end, + And here I thank thee for the past. + + Trusted and faithful, tried and true, + Watchful and swift to do my will, + Grateful for care that was thy due, + To duty's call obedient still, + + From ill thou knew'st thou didst refrain, + The good thou knew'st thou strove to do, + Nor dream of fame, nor greed of gain, + Man's keenest spurs, urged thee thereto. + + Brute, with a heart of human love, + And speechless soul of instinct fine! + How few by reason's law who move + Deserve an epitaph like thine! + + FANNY KEMBLE BUTLER. + + + + + A RETRIEVER'S EPITAPH + + + Beneath this turf, that formerly he pressed + With agile feet, a dog is laid to rest; + Him, as he sleeps, no well-known sound shall stir, + The rabbit's patter, or the pheasant's whir; + The keeper's "Over"--far, but well defined, + That speeds the startled partridge down the wind; + The whistled warning as the winged ones rise + Large and more large upon our straining eyes, + Till with a sweep, while every nerve is tense, + The chattering covey hurtles o'er the fence; + The double crack of every lifted gun, + The dinting thud of birds whose course is done-- + These sounds, delightful to his listening ear, + He heeds no longer, for he cannot hear. + None stauncher, till the drive was done, defied + Temptation, rooted to his master's side; + None swifter, when his master gave the word, + Leapt on his course to track the running bird, + And bore it back--ah, many a time and oft-- + His nose as faultless as his mouth was soft. + How consciously, how proudly unconcerned, + Straight to his master's side he then returned, + Wagged a glad tail, and deemed himself repaid + As in that master's hand the bird he laid, + If, while a word of praise was duly said, + The hand should stroke his smooth and honest head. + Through spring and summer, in the sportless days, + Cheerful he lived a life of simpler ways; + Chose, since official dogs at times unbend, + The household cat for confidante and friend; + With children friendly, but untaught to fawn, + Romped through the walks and rollicked on the lawn, + Rejoiced, if one the frequent ball should throw, + To fetch it, scampering gaily to and fro, + Content through every change of sportive mood + If one dear voice, one only, called him good. + + Such was my dog, who now, without my aid, + Hunts through the shadowland, himself a shade, + Or crouched intent before some ghostly gate, + Waits for my step, as here he used to wait. + + ROBERT C. LEHMANN. + + + THE END + + Transcriber's note: + + My dog and I: Author is Alice J. Chester in the Table + of contents and Alice J. Cleator in the text. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 19226.txt or 19226.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/2/2/19226/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Christine D. and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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