 | Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin |  |
29
AN ESSAY ON DOG.
Part First.
ARGUMENT.
Invocation addressed to Pompey—Of Dog in the Abstract—The Mastiff—The Shepherd's Dog—The Town Dog—The Pointer.
“Awake my St. John, leave all meaner things
“To low ambition, and the pride of Kings.”
Pope's Essay on Man.
“To low ambition, and the pride of Kings.”
Pope's Essay on Man.
Awake, my Pompey, shake thy pliant ears,
And listen to my song, a song of thee,
And of Dogkind. Enough has now been sung
By man, that egotist, himself the theme.
An humbler subject for my strains I chuse,
Strains unadorn'd with harmony of rhyme:
I sing the poor man's never-changing friend,
The friend still true when all have turn'd their back;
If prosperous his lot, submissive still,
Or if adverse, not knowing to repine;
Content whether he eat the rich man's bread,
Or the blind beggar lead from door to door.
Mistaken man, thou call'st thy foe a dog,—
This his suppos'd reproach, his greatest praise.
If dogs in language could their thoughts impart,
Mayhap they'd call a vicious cur—a man.
Nor think the difference great 'twixt thee and him:
Like man, “he reasons not contemptibly;”
He loves, he hates, he robs, he steals,
And, had he gift of speech, perhaps he'd lie.
Yea, too, full oft he pisseth 'gainst the wall,
Ancient criterion of the human kind .
And as in characters of men is seen
Diversity of shades, so 'tis in Dogs,
From the huge house-dog to the lap-dog small.
And listen to my song, a song of thee,
And of Dogkind. Enough has now been sung
By man, that egotist, himself the theme.
An humbler subject for my strains I chuse,
Strains unadorn'd with harmony of rhyme:
I sing the poor man's never-changing friend,
30
If prosperous his lot, submissive still,
Or if adverse, not knowing to repine;
Content whether he eat the rich man's bread,
Or the blind beggar lead from door to door.
Mistaken man, thou call'st thy foe a dog,—
This his suppos'd reproach, his greatest praise.
If dogs in language could their thoughts impart,
Mayhap they'd call a vicious cur—a man.
Nor think the difference great 'twixt thee and him:
Like man, “he reasons not contemptibly;”
He loves, he hates, he robs, he steals,
And, had he gift of speech, perhaps he'd lie.
Yea, too, full oft he pisseth 'gainst the wall,
Ancient criterion of the human kind .
And as in characters of men is seen
Diversity of shades, so 'tis in Dogs,
From the huge house-dog to the lap-dog small.
Close by his box the sent'nel mastiff lies:
His head couch'd 'twixt his paws he scarcely deigns
To turn, but rolls his scowling eyes askance;
The quaking passenger, assuming looks
Of careless boldness, fearful moves along,
But sudden at the smallest growl he starts;
The monster strives to break his rattling chain;
Poor slave! by slav'ry render'd still more fierce.
31
To turn, but rolls his scowling eyes askance;
The quaking passenger, assuming looks
Of careless boldness, fearful moves along,
But sudden at the smallest growl he starts;
The monster strives to break his rattling chain;
Poor slave! by slav'ry render'd still more fierce.
Fam'd for a race of dogs are Tweed's blythe braes
And hills green to the summit. Sweetly there
The shepherd tunes his reed to Scotia's lays,
Until the downward sun has left the glens
Tinging the mountain tops; then at a word
His faithful dog, cautious, with circuit wide,
Wears in the straying flock. They to the fold
Wend leisurely along, where safe shut in,
With gate that erst had harrow'd fruitful fields,
Old now and of its teeth disarm'd, peaceful they rest.
O happy you, the happiest of your kind,
Ye shepherds dogs! if ye but knew your bliss
.
What, Luath, tho' thy fare be scant and poor,
Tho' at the good-wife's churn thou'rt fain to watch,
And lick the frothy drops that fall around:
Yet peace secure, and sleep in sun or shade,
And hill and dale, and wood, and stream are thine.
Far happier thou, I ween, than city cur.
No knavish boys delude thee with a crust,
Whilst to thy tail they fix the rattling pan:
And when old age shall cripple all thy joints,
Thou'lt not be set adrift to steal for food,
Like the poor negro-slave outcast and helpless;
Nor from the bridge, with stone hung round thy neck,
Wilt thou by unrelenting hand be thrown.
And hills green to the summit. Sweetly there
The shepherd tunes his reed to Scotia's lays,
Until the downward sun has left the glens
Tinging the mountain tops; then at a word
His faithful dog, cautious, with circuit wide,
Wears in the straying flock. They to the fold
Wend leisurely along, where safe shut in,
With gate that erst had harrow'd fruitful fields,
Old now and of its teeth disarm'd, peaceful they rest.
O happy you, the happiest of your kind,
32
What, Luath, tho' thy fare be scant and poor,
Tho' at the good-wife's churn thou'rt fain to watch,
And lick the frothy drops that fall around:
Yet peace secure, and sleep in sun or shade,
And hill and dale, and wood, and stream are thine.
Far happier thou, I ween, than city cur.
No knavish boys delude thee with a crust,
Whilst to thy tail they fix the rattling pan:
And when old age shall cripple all thy joints,
Thou'lt not be set adrift to steal for food,
Like the poor negro-slave outcast and helpless;
Nor from the bridge, with stone hung round thy neck,
Wilt thou by unrelenting hand be thrown.
33
Of dog and man the depth of misery
In cities still is found. Oft have I seen,
On wintry morn, in tatter'd weeds a wretch
Picking the cinders from the dunghill heaps,
And shivering at the self-same spot her dog
Scraping for bones; when happy if he find
The wish'd for prize, fearful he skulks away
And in some hidden nook enjoys the feast,
Unless perchance, growling with tusks display'd
Some stronger pirate meet him by the way,
And seize the morsel from his trembling jaw.
In cities still is found. Oft have I seen,
On wintry morn, in tatter'd weeds a wretch
Picking the cinders from the dunghill heaps,
And shivering at the self-same spot her dog
Scraping for bones; when happy if he find
The wish'd for prize, fearful he skulks away
And in some hidden nook enjoys the feast,
Unless perchance, growling with tusks display'd
Some stronger pirate meet him by the way,
And seize the morsel from his trembling jaw.
What tho' with blinding snows the shepherd's dog
Must struggle oft, driving the famish'd flock
Round from the fatal shelter of the hill,
Where wreaths on wreaths smooth up the treacherous glen:
At night his toils are o'er; and basking warm
Before the blazing fire he dries his jetty coat.
Must struggle oft, driving the famish'd flock
Round from the fatal shelter of the hill,
Where wreaths on wreaths smooth up the treacherous glen:
At night his toils are o'er; and basking warm
Before the blazing fire he dries his jetty coat.
34
See o'er the stubble ridge the Pointer range:
This way and that he traverses the field.
Sudden with eager look and cautious step
Couring he creeps, till stiffen'd all at once,
With lifted foot quite motionless he stands.
The sportsman onward moves with throbbing heart.
Down comes the whirring pinion to the ground.
But barbarous joys delight me now no more;
Fly rather, Pompey, to my Delia's bowers;
Say, does she smiling take thy proffer'd paw,
Nor chide thee, tho' thou soil her snow-white stole,
Stroaking with gentle hand thy spotted head? [OMITTED]
This way and that he traverses the field.
Sudden with eager look and cautious step
Couring he creeps, till stiffen'd all at once,
With lifted foot quite motionless he stands.
The sportsman onward moves with throbbing heart.
Down comes the whirring pinion to the ground.
But barbarous joys delight me now no more;
Fly rather, Pompey, to my Delia's bowers;
Say, does she smiling take thy proffer'd paw,
Nor chide thee, tho' thou soil her snow-white stole,
Stroaking with gentle hand thy spotted head? [OMITTED]
| Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin | |