The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 7

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