Poems for Children Sigourney/The Dog
The Dog.
"He will not come," said the gentle child,
And she patted the poor dog's head,
And pleasantly call'd him, and fondly smil'd,
But he heeded her not, in his anguish wild,
Nor arose from his lowly bed.
'Twas his master's grave, where he chose to rest,
He guarded it night and day;
The love that glow'd in his grateful breast,
For the friend that had fed, controll'd, caress'd,
Might never fade away.
And when the long grass rustled near,
Beneath some traveller's tread,
He started up with a quivering ear,
For he thought 'twas the step of that master dear,
Returning from the dead.
And sometimes, when a storm drew nigh,
And the clouds were dark and fleet,
He tore the turf with a mournful cry,
As if he would force his way, or die,
To his much lov'd master's feet.
So, there through the summer's heat he lay,
Till autumn nights were bleak;
Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay,
And he pin'd, and pin'd, and wasted away,
A skeleton gaunt and weak.
And pitying children often brought
Their offerings of meat and bread,
And to coax him away to their homes they sought,
But his buried friend he ne'er forgot,
Nor stray'd from his lonely bed.
Cold winter came with an angry sway,
And the snow lay deep and sore;
And his moaning grew fainter day by day,
Till there on the spot where his master lay,
He fell, to rise no more.
And when he struggled with mortal pain,
And death was by his side,
With one loud cry that shook the plain,
He call'd for his master, but all in vain,
Then stretch'd himself and died.