The Dog's Book of Verse Part 6

The world had all gone wrong that day And tired and in despair, Discouraged with the ways of life, I sank into my chair.

A soft caress fell on my cheek, My hands were thrust apart.

And two big sympathizing eyes Gazed down into my heart.

I had a friend; what cared I now For fifty worlds? I knew One heart was anxious when I grieved-- My dog's heart, loyal, true.

"G.o.d bless him," breathed I soft and low, And hugged him close and tight.

One lingering lick upon my ear And we were happy--quite.

ANONYMOUS.

THE LITTLE WHITE DOG

Little white dog with the meek brown eyes, Tell me the boon that most you prize.

Would a juicy bone meet your heart's desire?

Or a cozy rug by a blazing fire?

Or a sudden race with a truant cat?

Or a gentle word? Or a friendly pat?

Is the worn-out ball you have always near The dearest of all the things held dear?

Or is the home you left behind The dream of bliss to your doggish mind?

But the little white dog just shook his head As if "None of these are best," he said.

A boy's clear whistle came from the street; There's a wag of the tail and a twinkle of feet, And the little white dog did not even say, "Excuse me, ma'am," as he scampered away; But I'm sure as can be his greatest joy Is just to trot behind that boy.

MAY ELLIS NICHOLS.

THE IRISH GREYHOUND

Behold this creature's form and state; Which nature therefore did create, That to the world might be exprest What mien there can be in a beast; And that we in this shape may find A lion of another kind.

For this heroic beast does seem In majesty to rival him, And yet vouchsafes to man to show Both service and submission, too.

From whence we this distinction have, That beast is fierce, but this is brave.

This dog hath so himself subdued That hunger cannot make him rude, And his behavior does confess True courage dwells with gentleness.

With sternest wolves he dares engage, And acts on them successful rage.

Yet too much courtesy may chance To put him out of countenance.

When in his opposer's blood Fortune hath made his virtue good, This creature from an act so brave Grows not more sullen, but more brave.

Man's guard he would be, not his sport, Believing he hath ventured for't; But yet no blood, or shed or spent, Can ever make him insolent.

Few men of him to do great things have learned, And when they're done to be so unconcerned.

KATHERINE PHILLIPS.

THE VAGABONDS

We are two travellers, Roger and I.

Roger's my dog.--Come here, you scamp!

Jump for the gentleman,--mind your eye!

Over the table,--look out for the lamp!

The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And ate and drank--and starved--together.

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you!

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow!

The paw he holds up there's been frozen), Plenty of catgut for my fiddle (This out-door business is bad for strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings!

No, thank ye, Sir,--I never drink; Roger and I are exceedingly moral,-- Aren't we, Roger?--See him wink!-- Well, something hot, then,--we won't quarrel.

He's thirsty, too,--see him nod his head?

What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk!

He understands every word that's said,-- And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.

The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, I've been so sadly given to grog, I wonder I've not lost the respect (Here's to you, Sir!) even of my dog.

But he sticks by, through thick and thin; And this old coat with its empty pockets, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

There isn't another creature living Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, To such a miserable, thankless master!

No, Sir!--see him wag his tail and grin!

By George! it makes my old eyes water!

That is, there's something in this gin That chokes a fellow. But no matter!

We'll have some music, if you're willing, And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!) Shall march a little--Start, you villain!

Paws up! Eyes front! Salute your officer!

'Bout face! Attention! Take your rifle!

(Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, To aid a poor old patriot soldier!

March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes When he stands up to hear his sentence.

Now tell us how many drams it takes To honor a jolly new acquaintance.

Five yelps,--that's five; he's mighty knowing!

The night's before us, fill the gla.s.ses!-- Quick, Sir! I'm ill,--my brain is going!-- Some brandy,--thank you,--there!--it pa.s.ses!

Why not reform? That's easily said; But I've gone through such wretched treatment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, That my poor stomach's past reform; And there are times when, mad with thinking, I'd sell out heaven for something warm To prop a horrible inward sinking.

Is there a way to forget to think?

At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, A dear girl's love,--but I took to drink,-- The same old story; you know how it ends.

If you could have seen these cla.s.sic features,-- You needn't laugh, Sir; they were not then Such a burning libel on G.o.d's creatures: I was one of your handsome men!

If you had seen _her_, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast!

If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed That ever I, Sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a gla.s.s of grog!

She's married since,--a parson's wife: 'Twas better for her that we should part,-- Better the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart.

I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent On the dusty road: a carriage stopped: But little she dreamed, as on she went, Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!