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ROY'S PLAINT.
IT is so cold in all the world, with mother lying dead ;
I only want to go to sleep, but we must rouse, they said.
I wonder why they harass us, and will not let us lie;
The door is wide, and we will hide, my little Fan and I.
Yes, just a dog, and nothing more ; but I have naught beside,
And mother's hand was laid on her the moment that she died;
And they loved one another so — where's mother, little Fan ?
Ay, raise your head and whine, my dog, and call her if you can.
