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My life had stood a loaded gunIn corners, till a dayThe owner passed—identified,And carried me away.
And now we roam the sov'reign woods,And now we hunt the doe—And every time I speak for himThe mountains straight reply.
And do I smile, such cordial lightUpon the valley glow—It is as a Vesuvian faceHad let its pleasure through.
And when at night, our good day done,I guard my master's head,'T'is better than the eider duck'sDeep pillow to have shared.
To foe of his I'm deadly foe,None stir the second timeOn whom I lay a yellow eyeOr an emphatic thumb.
Though I than he may longer live,He longer must than I,For I have but the art to kill—Without the power to die.
