Page:Shepherd Lubin and his dog Tray.pdf/7



“But yet ‘ in all my best’ have I “Without a ’plaint my hardships bore; “Rufus!——may all my pangs be past—— “Master!——my sufferings are no more!

“A warmer couch hast thou to press, “Secure from cramping frosts thy feet; “And cou’dst thou boast so free a breast, “Thou yet might’ft die a death as sweet.

“My trusty dog——that wistful look “Is all that makes my poor heart heave; “But hie thee home,——proclaim me dead, “Forget to think — and cease to grieve.”

So saying, shrunk the hapless youth, Beneath the chilling grasp of death; And, clasping poor Tray’s shaggy neck, Sigh’d gently forth his parting breath.

His faithful, fond, sagacious dog, Hung watchful o’er his master’s clay; And many a moan the old fool made, And many a thing he strove to say.

He paw’d him with his hard-worn foot, He lick’d him with his scarce warm tongue; His cold nose strove to catch his breath, As to his clos’d lips close it clung.