Poems and Lancashire Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

I wandered down by yonder park one quiet autumn day,
When many a humble traveller was going on the way;
And there I saw a company of neighbours great and small,
All gathered round an ancient gate that leads unto the hall.

II

The faded leaves that rustled in the mournful autumn wind
Awoke in me a train of thought that saddened all my mind;

And through the crowd of anxious folk there went a smothered wail,
So I sat me down upon a stone and hearkened to the tale.

III

The sturdy farmer from his fields had hurried to the place,
The cripple on his crutches, and the sick with pallid face;
The poor old dame had wandered with her blind man to the ground,
And the lonely widow, weeping, with her children gathered round.

IV

The well remembered beggar, too, was there—but not to beg;
And the stiff old Chelsea pensioner, upon a wooden leg:

From hamlet, fold, and lonely cot, the humble poor were there,
Each bringing in his moistened eye a tributary tear.

V

Up spake the sturdy farmer to the porter, and he said,
“What news is this that's going round? They say the Captain's dead!”
The quaint old porter laughed, “Aha! Thank God, it isn't true!
It's but the Captain's dog that's dead—they called it ‘Captain’ too!”

VI

Then sprang the cripple on his crutch, and nearly came to ground;
The blind man wandered to and fro, and shook their hands all round;

The dame took snuff, the sick man smiled, and blest the happy day;
And the widow kissed her young ones, as she wiped their tears away.

VII

Up rose the children's voices, mingling music with the gale,
And the beggar's dog romped with them, as he barked and wagged his tail;
The farmer snapt his thumbs, and cried, “Come on, I'll feast you all!”
And the stark old soldier with his stick kept charging at the wall.

VIII

So, now the Captain's dog is dead and sleeping in the ground,
A kind old master by the grave bemoans his gallant hound;

He says, “My hair is white and thin! I have not long to stay!
And, oh, my poor old dog, how I shall miss thee on the way!”

IX

Then here's to every noble heart that's gentle, just, and brave,
That cannot be a tyrant, and that grieves to see a slave.
God save that good old Captain long, and bring his soul to joy;—
The countryside will lose a friend the day he comes to die.