The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 2

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