ON A GOOD HOUSE-DOG CALLED "WATCH."
Poor faithful Watch! thy watch of life is o’er,
And mute and senseless near the kitchen door
Thou lay’st, a breathless corpse,
Where thou stood to guard before;
Thy pliant temper, known and praised by all,
Thy prompt obedience to thy master’s call;
Whether to climb the hill, or scour the plain,
Or drive encroaching hogs from out the lane;
Thy quick return, on motion of his hand,
To guard the door, or wait a fresh command;
Thy joy to meet at eve, with fawning play,
Domestic faces, absent but a day;
Thy bark, that might the boldest thief affright,
And patient watch through many a dreary night—
All speak thy worth, but none could save thy breath,
For what is merit ’gainst the shafts of Death?
Sleep, then, my dog! thy tour of duty o’er,
Where thief and trav’ler can disturb no more;
Content t’ have gained all that thou now canst have—
Thy master’s plaudit and a peaceful grave!
