The Dog's Book of Verse Part 16

Come here, my Pierrot. Would you like to hear, Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me?

_Traveler._ Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant.

_Shepherd._ Do you see On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands Against the sky?

_Traveler._ Just where the cliff goes down A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock To where the river foams along its bed?

I've often wondered who was brave to plant A cross on such an edge.

_Shepherd._ Myself, madame, That the good G.o.d might know I gave him thanks.

One night, it was November, black and thick, The fog came down, when as I reached my house Marie came running out; our little one, Our four year Louis, so she cried, was lost.

I called Pierrot: "Go, seek him, find my boy,"

And off he went. Marie ran crying loud To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain; Whistled and called, and listened for his voice; He always came or barked at my first word, But now, he answered not. When day at last Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw On that high ledge, against the dawning light.

My little one asleep, sitting so near That edge that as I looked his red barette Fell from his nodding head down the abyss.

And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth, His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown, Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep, And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail, And looked at me, so utterly distressed, With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak,"

But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue Was safe within my arms.

Ah, ha, Pierrot, Madame forgives your barking and your teeth; I knew she would.

_Traveler._ Come here, Pierrot, good dog, Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true, Come, come, be friends with me.

ELLEN MURRAY.

THE DOG UNDER THE WAGON

"Come, wife," said good old farmer Gray, "Put on your things, 'tis market day, And we'll be off to the nearest town, There and back ere the sun goes down.

Spot? No, we'll leave old Spot behind,"

But Spot he barked and Spot he whined, And soon made up his doggish mind To follow under the wagon.

Away they went at a good round pace And joy came into the farmer's face, "Poor Spot," said he, "did want to come, But I'm awful glad he's left at home-- He'll guard the barn, and guard the cot, And keep the cattle out of the lot."

"I'm not so sure of that," thought Spot, The dog under the wagon.

The farmer all his produce sold And got his pay in yellow gold: Home through the lonely forest. Hark!

A robber springs from behind a tree; "Your money or else your life," says he; The moon was up, but he didn't see The dog under the wagon.

Spot ne'er barked and Spot ne'er whined But quickly caught the thief behind; He dragged him down in the mire and dirt, And tore his coat and tore his shirt, Then held him fast on the miry ground; The robber uttered not a sound, While his hands and feet the farmer bound, And tumbled him into the wagon.

So Spot he saved the farmer's life, The farmer's money, the farmer's wife, And now a hero grand and gay, A silver collar he wears today; Among his friends, among his foes-- And everywhere his master goes-- He follows on his h.o.r.n.y toes, The dog under the wagon.

ANONYMOUS.

SAL'S TOWSER AND MY TROUSER

A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER

But yestere'en I loved thee whole, Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser!

And now I loathe and hate the hole In thee, I do, I trow, sir.

I sallied out to see my Sal, Across yon round hill's brow, sir; I didn't know she, charming gal, Had a dog,--a trouser-browser.

I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce, When on a sudden, oh, my trouser, I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,-- I tarried there with Towser.

I on the fence, he down below, And thou the copula, my trouser, I thought he never would let go,-- This gentle Towser.

They say that fashion cuts thee loose, But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser; Thou gavest away at last, no use To tarry, teared trouser.

Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet, And I'd have once loved to espouse her, But my calling trouser has no seat,-- I left it there with Towser.

So all unseated is my suit; I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir; He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit Me to meet Towser.

ANONYMOUS.

ROVER IN CHURCH

'Twas a Sunday morning in early May, A beautiful, sunny, quiet day, And all the village, old and young, Had trooped to church when the church bell rung.

The windows were open, and breezes sweet Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat.

Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch Sang as softly as if in church!

Right in the midst of the minister's prayer There came a knock at the door. "Who's there, I wonder?" the gray-haired s.e.xton thought, As his careful ear the tapping caught.

Rap-rap, rap-rap--a louder sound, The boys on the back seats turned around.

What could it mean? for never before Had any one knocked at the old church door.

Again the tapping, and now so loud, The minister paused (though his head was bowed).

Rappety-rap! This will never do, The girls are peeping, and laughing too!

So the s.e.xton tripped o'er the creaking floor, Lifted the latch and opened the door.

In there trotted a big black dog, As big as a bear! With a solemn jog Right up the centre aisle he pattered; People might stare, it little mattered.

Straight he went to a little maid, Who blushed and hid, as though afraid, And there sat down, as if to say, "I'm sorry that I was late today, But better late than never, you know; Beside, I waited an hour or so, And couldn't get them to open the door Till I wagged my tail and b.u.mped the floor.

Now little mistress, I'm going to stay, And hear what the minister has to say."

The poor little girl hid her face and cried!

But the big dog nestled close to her side, And kissed her, dog fashion, tenderly, Wondering what the matter could be!

The dog being large (and the s.e.xton small), He sat through the sermon, and heard it all, As solemn and wise as any one there, With a very dignified, scholarly air!

And instead of scolding, the minister said, As he laid his hand on the sweet child's head, After the service, "I never knew Two better list'ners than Rover and you!"

JAMES BUCKHAM.

PART IV

THE DOG'S HEREAFTER