The Dog at his Master's Grave. So he heeded not his aching wound, But crawled to the traveller's side, Marked with a look the way he came, Then shuddered, groaned, and died! MISS FRY. 67 THE DOG AT HIS MASTER'S GRAVE. E will not come," said the gentle child, And she pleasantly called him and fondly smiled, But he heeded her not, in his anguish wild, Nor arose from his lowly bed. 'Twas his master's grave where he chose to rest, He guarded it night and day, The love that glowed in his grateful breast, For the friend who had fed, controlled, carest, And when the long grass rustled near, Beneath some hasting tread, He started up with a quivering ear, For he thought 'twas the step of his master dear, But sometimes when a storm drew nigh, And the clouds were dark and fleet, He tore the turf with a mournful cry, As if he would force his way, or die, To his much-loved master's feet. So there through the summer's heat he lay Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay And oft the pitying children brought Their offerings of meat and bread, And to coax him away to their homes they sought, But his buried master he ne'er forgot, Nor strayed from his lonely bed. Cold winter came with an angry sway, And the snow lay deep and sore, Then his moaning grew fainter day by day, And when he struggled with mortal pain, With one loud cry that shook the plain, He called for his master;-but called in vain, MRS. SIGOURney. FIDELITY. 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 Fidelity. The dog is not of mountain breed; With something, as the shepherd thinks, Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;- It was a cove, a huge reccss, That keeps till June, December's snow; A silent tarn* below! Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, From trace of human foot or hand. There sometimes doth a leaping fish Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud- Not free from boding thoughts, a while 69 * "Tarn" is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains. Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came ; On which the traveller passed this way. But hear a wonder, for whose sake 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 On which the traveller thus had died The dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time WORDSWORTH. Poor Dog Tray. 71 券 POOR DOG TRAY. N the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so 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, Poor dog! he was faithful and kind to be sure, When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, Though my wallet was scant I remembered his case, Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? |