The Dogs Book of Verse | Page 8

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 that forsaken bed--
But lo! the morning came, and he was
dead.
Fang and his master side by side were laid
In grim
repose--their debt to nature paid.
The master's hand upon the cur's
cold chest
Was now reclined, and had before been pressed,

As if he
sought how deep and wide the wound
That laid such spirit in a sleep
so sound;
And when he found it was the sleep of death
A
sympathizing sorrow stopped his breath.
Close to his trusty servant he

was found,
As cold his body, and his sleep as sound.
GEORGE CRABBE.
POOR DOG TRAY
On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe
Irish lad was as 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 folks 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 gray,
And he licked me for kindness--my poor 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's
day,
And I played a 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 ne'er more return with my poor dog Tray.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
MY COMFORTER
The world had all gone wrong that day
And tired and in despair,

Discouraged with the ways of life,
I sank into my chair.

A soft caress fell on my cheek,
My hands were thrust apart.
And
two big sympathizing eyes
Gazed down into my heart.
I had a friend; what cared I now
For fifty worlds? I knew
One heart
was anxious when I grieved--
My dog's heart, loyal, true.
"God bless him," breathed I soft and low,
And hugged him close and
tight.
One lingering lick upon my ear
And we were happy--quite.
ANONYMOUS.
THE LITTLE WHITE DOG
Little white dog with the meek brown eyes,
Tell me the boon that
most you prize.
Would a juicy bone meet your heart's desire?
Or a
cozy rug by a blazing fire?
Or a sudden race with a truant cat?
Or a
gentle word? Or a