Bog-land Studies By J. Barlow: 3rd ed |
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 | Bog-land Studies |  |
55
VI
The first thing that wint agin us, an' sure we were rale annoyed,Was when Smithson, he that's steward at the Big House, he tuk an' desthroyed
Rexy, our little white dog, that we'd rared from no more than a pup,
For a matther o' four or five year, an' had kep' him an' petted him up.
Huntin' the sheep? If ye'd seen him ye'd know they were tellin' a lie,
Him that wasn't the size of a rabbit, an' wouldn't ha' hurted a fly.
And the frinliest baste, morebetoken, ye'd find in a long day's walk,
An' knowin' an' sinsible, too, as many a wan that can talk.
56
He'd be off like a shot an' meet me a dozen perch down the boreen;
An' whiles ye'd be kilt wid laughin', that quare wor his ways an' his thricks—
But there he lay stone dead be the gate at the back o' Hourigan's ricks;
For it's creepin' home the crathur was in hopes to die near his frins,
On'y he couldn't creep no furdher wid the leg of him smashed into splins.
An' och, but the house was lonesome whin we'd buried him down be the dyke,
An' the childer bawled thimselves sick, for they thought that there wasn't his like;
An' just this night, comin' up to the door, I was thinkin' I'd give a dale
For the sound of his bark, an' the pat of his paws, an' the wag of his tail.
| Bog-land Studies | |