Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/42



was ice on the river, and snow on the ground,
 * The wind whistled bitterly cold,

When a worn-out, half-famished, and footsore old hound
 * Crept cautiously into the fold.

The shepherd perceived him, as coiled up he lay.
 * And rated poor Monarch right well,

Who rose uncomplaining and went on his way,
 * Where to, and what for, I shall tell.

Time was when old Monarch, a fine leading hound,
 * Was petted by rich and by poor,

Not then, I presume, could a shepherd be found
 * To turn the brave hound from his door.

Howe'er, let that pass, as all things must do,
 * Poor Monarch no longer was young.

No longer was first subtle Charley to view, No longer the first to give tongue.

Just heed the poor fellow, as onward he goes,
 * Nor hunger nor cold does he mind,

With the blood oozing out from between his poor toes,
 * The grave of the huntsman to find.

With love unabated, and instinct all true,
 * He crawls, where at last he is found,

To the grave of his master, 'twas all he could do,
 * But it proved him a faithful old hound.