THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG.

My dog and I are both grown old;

On these wild downs we watch all day;

He looks in my face when the wind blows cold,

And thus methinks I hear him say:

The gray stone circlet is below,

The village smoke is at our feet;

We nothing hear but the sailing crow,

And wandering flocks, that roam and bleat.

Far off, the early horseman hies,

In shower or sunshine rushing on;

Yonder the dusty whirlwind flies;

The distant coach is seen and gone.

Though solitude around is spread,

Master, alone thou shalt not be;

And when the turf is on thy head,

I only shall remember thee!

I marked his look of faithful care,

I placed my hand on his shaggy side;

There is a sun that shines above,

A sun that shines on both, I cried.