POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2379, 17 November 1881, Page 4

POETRY.

THE OLD SHEPHERD’S LAMENT ON HIS DOG’S DEATH. Ur W. T. K. We’ve travailed many a weary mile, We’ve worked together many a year ; You never looked on my rags with scorn. Your face has never expressed a sneer. We’ve suffered many a day from thirst, We’ve often longed for a hearty meal ; But what wo had, though ’twas only a crust, We shared alike, in woo or weal. I mind the old time, when i round you first, A wee puppy, drowning iu 'audy Creek ; Your grateful look, as you licked my hand. Spoke more eloquent thanks than I could ■ apeak, I mind the old time, when I broke you in, How proud you wero, as you learned your work; Ever willing and free, over blithe and gay. But my Rose was never tho dog to shirk, I mind the old time when, dazad from drink, Kicked away from a publican’s door. You never forsook me, but followed along, Neglected, hungry—but true ti the core. And many’s the time you’ve seemed _to soy, “ You stop by the fireside, old friend, tonight, . let me face tboiain, and tho cold south wind, And I'll see lhat-all round the yard is right.” W® would tackle the weaners, you and T, Bose was the girl that could steady them, too. Never a sheep would be short at the count, Splitting or rushing, you knew what to do. At lanJsing time, never a lamb was short. The mothers might miss them, but not old Bose-; You’d hunt up every tussock of grass, And woken them gently, with pushing nose. When fattening wethers, you seemed to know, Would work - so wide, and so quietly too ; Ton would close up a wing, or turn the Dead, Andmevor a rush or a useless slew. How the master’s children loved you, Bose, And you enjoyed their innocent glee ; But what you loved better than all, by far, To follow the tail of a flock with me. They tried so hard to get you, my Bose, Only nothing could part us two, old lass ; Nothing, indeed —but what’s come to ns now ? Nothing —but one of us under tho grass. Though I doubted at first to say them nay, Your master would then have hud richer store ; Bat they wanted, —a toy ; whilst I, —my friend; And I know which a dog would prize the more. There wero flecks in plenty then, old girl, Wire fences hadn’t turned us both adrift; Good shepherds were welcome everywhere, If a run didn’t suit wo had but to shift. Bat times have altered a deal since then, “Curtailing expenses, you’ve got to clear.” Boundary riders have taken our place. We’re too old for that, this many a year. Nothing was loft bnt the Wallaby track, And that wo’vo suffered for many a day. My poor old lass, you have earned your rest. With bub one regret you have passed away. You only mourned that you loft me, Rose, You only grieved that now I, alone, The old, old friend, that you loved so well, Solitary now must go tramping on. Since I kissed my mother long years ago, A boy, ’neath the rose-covered cottage door, My eyes have never once dropped a tear. Nor my heart been grieved so deep and sore. Those flowers I named you after, Bose, And, alas! like them, you too are gone. But I humbly pray that Almighty God Will not leave mo long hereto weep alone, I am feeble, and old and weary too. So weary—ah me! as no tongue can tell, I have nothing on earth to cheer me now, Good grant my dog’s death may ba also my knell.