The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 6

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,