The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 41

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every christian eye: And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied, The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.

_O. Goldsmith_

CXX

_NONGTONGPAW_

John Bull for pastime took a prance, Some time ago, to peep at France; To talk of sciences and arts, And knowledge gain'd in foreign parts.

Monsieur, obsequious, heard him speak, And answer'd John in heathen Greek: To all he ask'd, 'bout all he saw, 'Twas, 'Monsieur, je vous n'entends pas.'

John, to the Palais-Royal come, Its splendour almost struck him dumb.

'I say, whose house is that there here?'

'House! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'

'What, Nongtongpaw again!' cries John; 'This fellow is some mighty Don: No doubt he's plenty for the maw, I'll breakfast with this Nongtongpaw.'

John saw Versailles from Marli's height, And cried, astonish'd at the sight, 'Whose fine estate is that there here?'

'State! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'

'His? what, the land and houses too?

The fellow's richer than a Jew: On everything he lays his claw!

I should like to dine with Nongtongpaw.'

Next tripping came a courtly fair, John cried, enchanted with her air, 'What lovely wench is that there here?'

'Ventch! Je vous n'entends pas, Monsieur.'

'What, he again? Upon my life!

A palace, lands, and then a wife Sir Joshua might delight to draw: I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw.

'But hold! whose funeral's that?' cries John.

'Je vous n'entends pas.'--'What, is he gone?

Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save Poor Nongtongpaw then from the grave!

His race is run, his game is up,-- I'd with him breakfast, dine and sup; But since he chooses to withdraw, Good night t' ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw!'

_C. Dibdin_

CXXI

_POOR DOG TRAY_

On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) Oh! remember your Sheelah when far, far away: And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind to be sure, And he constantly loved me although I was poor; When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey, And he lick'd me for kindness--my old dog Tray.

Though my wallet was scant I remember'd his case, Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind?

Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind?

To my sweet native village, so far, far away, I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.

_T. Campbell_

CXXII

_THE FAITHFUL BIRD_

The greenhouse is my summer seat; My shrubs, displaced from that retreat, Enjoy'd the open air; Two goldfinches whose sprightly song Had been their mutual solace long, Lived happy prisoners there.

They sang as blithe as finches sing That flutter loose on golden wing, And frolic where they list; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew, And therefore never miss'd.

But nature works in every breast, With force not easily suppress'd; And d.i.c.k felt some desires, That, after many an effort vain, Instructed him at length to gain A pa.s.s between the wires.

The open windows seem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight; But Tom was still confin'd; And d.i.c.k, although his way was clear, Was much too generous and sincere To leave his friend behind.

So, settling on his cage, by play, And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say, You must not live alone-- Nor would he quit that chosen stand, Till I, with slow and cautious hand, Return'd him to his own.

_W. Cowper_

CXXIII

_LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER_

A chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries, 'Boatman, do not tarry!