THE OLD SHEPHERD'S DOG.[_]
I do not love a cat—his disposition is mean and
suspicious. A friendship of years is cancelled
in a moment by an accidental tread on his tail or
foot. He instantly spits, raises his rump, twirls his
tail of malignity, and shuns you; turning back, as
he goes off, a staring vindictive face, full of horrid
oaths and unforgiveness; seeming to say, ‘Perdition
catch you! I hate you for ever.’ But the dog is my
delight:—tread on his tail or foot, he expresses, for
a moment, the uneasiness of his feelings; but in a
moment the complaint is ended. He runs around
you; jumps up against you; seems to declare his
sorrow for complaining, as it was not intentionally
done; nay, to make himself the aggressor; and begs,
by whinings and lickings, that master will think of
it no more. Many a time, when Ranger, wishing
for a little sport, has run to the gun, smelt to it,
then wriggling his tail, and, with eyes full of the
most expressive fire, leaped up against me, whining
and begging, have I, against my inclination, indulged
him with a scamper through the woods or in
the field: for many a time he has left a warm nest,
among the snows of winter, to start pleasure for
me. Thus is there a moral obligation between a
man and a dog.
The old shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey,
His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue:
Yet where'er Corin went, he was follow'd by Tray;
Thus happy through life did they hobble along.
When, fatigu'd, on the grass the shepherd would lie,
For a nap in the sun—'midst his slumbers so sweet,
His faithful companion crawl'd constantly nigh,
Plac'd his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet.
When Winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
And torrents descended, and cold was the wind,
If Corin went forth 'mid the tempests and rain,
Tray scorn'd to be left in the chimney behind.
At length in the straw Tray made his last bed;
For vain, against Death, is the stoutest endeavour—
To lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his weak head,
Then fell back, clos'd his eyes, and, ah! clos'd them for ever.
Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,
Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend;
And, when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor swain,
‘O bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend!’
