The Dog's Book of Verse Part 13

LORD SOMERVILLE.

THE UNDER DOG

I know that the world, the great big world, Will never a moment stop To see which dog may be in the fault, But will shout for the dog on top.

But for me, I shall never pause to ask Which dog may be in the right, For my heart will beat, while it beats at all, For the under dog in the fight.

ANONYMOUS.

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 suns.h.i.+ne rus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.a.ggy side; "There is a sun that s.h.i.+nes above, A sun that s.h.i.+nes on both," I cried.

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

BETH GELERT

The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn; And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn:

And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer: "Come, Gelert! Why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear?

"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam?

The flower of all his race!

So true, so brave, a lamb at home, A lion in the chase!"

In sooth, he was a peerless hound, The gift of royal John, But now no Gelert could be found, And all the chase rode on.

And now, as over rocks and dells, The gallant chidings rise, All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells With many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And small and scant the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When near the portal-seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to meet.

But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with gouts of gore, His lips and fangs ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, Unused such looks to meet; His favorite checked his joyful guise, And crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn pa.s.sed, And on went Gelert, too, And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The blood-stained covert rent; And all around, the walls and ground, With recent blood besprent.

He called the child--no voice replied; He searched, with terror wild; Blood! Blood! He found on every side, But nowhere found the child!

"h.e.l.l-hound! By thee my child's devoured!"

The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side.

His suppliant, as to earth he fell, No pity could impart, But still his Gelert's dying yell Pa.s.sed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell To hear his infant cry!

Concealed beneath a mangled heap His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub-boy he kissed.

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, But, the same couch beneath, Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-- Tremendous still in death.

Ah! What was then Llewellyn's pain!

For now the truth was clear: The gallant hound the wolf had slain To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; "Best of thy kind, adieu!

The frantic deed which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue!"

And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculpture decked, And marbles, storied with his praise, Poor Gelert's bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pa.s.s, Or forester, unmoved!

Here oft the tear-besprinkled gra.s.s Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear, And oft, as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell.

WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.

THE FLAG AND THE FAITHFUL

(A Was.h.i.+ngton woman has made a loud outcry to the Secretary of War to reprimand the soldiers at the Government Aviation Station for burying their faithful dog, Muggsie, wrapped in the Stars and Stripes.)

Ah, Muggsie, good and faithful dog, Gone to your rest!

You served your country and your flag The very best That lay within your humble power, And in that far Have been much better than some men And women are.