Poems (Southey)/Volume 1/On the death of a favourite old Spaniel
On the DEATH
Of a favourite Old SPANIEL.
And they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis!The burthen of old age was heavy on thee,And yet thou should'st have lived! what tho' thine eyeWas dim, and watch'd no more with eager joyThe wonted call that on thy dull sense sunkWith fruitless repetition, the warm SunWould still have cheer'd thy slumber, thou didst loveTo lick the hand that fed thee, and tho' pastYouth's active season, even Life itselfWas comfort. Poor old friend! most earnestlyWould I have pleaded for thee: thou hadst beenStill the companion of my childish sports!And as I roam'd o'er Avon's woody clifts,From many a day-dream has thy short quick barkRecall'd my wandering soul. I have beguil'dOften the melancholy hours at school,Sour'd by some little tyrant, with the thought Of distant home, and I remember'd thenThy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy,Returning at the pleasant holydays,I felt from thy dumb welcome. PensivelySometimes have I remark'd thy slow decay,Feeling myself changed too, and musing muchOn many a sad vicissitude of Life!Ah poor companion! when thou followedst lastThy master's parting footsteps to the gateThat clos'd for ever on him, thou didst loseThy truest friend, and none was left to pleadFor the old age of brute fidelity!But fare thee well! mine is no narrow creed;And He who gave thee being did not frameThe mystery of life to be the sportOf merciless man! There is another worldFor all that live and move—a better one!Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confineInfinite Goodness to the little boundsOf their own charity, may envy thee!1796.