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 patted the poor dog's head,

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,
Might never fade away.

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,
Returning from the dead.

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 autumn nights grew bleak,

Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay
And he pined, and pined, and wasted away,
A skeleton gaunt and weak.

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,
Till close where the broken tomb-stone lay,
He fell, to rise no more.

And when he struggled with mortal pain,
And Death was by his side,

With one loud cry that shook the plain,

He called for his master;-but called in vain,
Then stretched himself and died.

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
Glancing from that covert green.

Fidelity.

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 any one 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 reccss,

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;

69

* "Tarn" is a small mere or lake, mostly high up in the mountains.

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 those 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

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
He knows, who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.

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,
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 folk 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 grey,
And he licked me for kindness-my old 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 day,
And I played a sad 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 never more return with my poor dog Tray.
T. CAMPBELL.