THE SHEPHERD DOG OF THE PYRENEES
Traveler. Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your dog.
Shepherd. Be not affrighted, madame. Poor Pierrot
Will do no harm. I know his voice is gruff,
But then, his heart is good.
Traveler. Well, call him, then.
I do not like his looks. He's growling now.
Shepherd. Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot,
He is as good a Christian as myself
And does not like a stick.
Traveler. Such a fierce look!
And such great teeth!
Shepherd. Ah, bless poor Pierrot's teeth!
Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth.
Come here, my Pierrot. Would you like to hear,
Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me?
Traveler. Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant.
Shepherd. Do you see
On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands
Against the sky?
Traveler. Just where the cliff goes down
A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock
To where the river foams along its bed?
I've often wondered who was brave to plant
A cross on such an edge.
Shepherd. Myself, madame,
That the good God might know I gave him thanks.
One night, it was November, black and thick,
The fog came down, when as I reached my house
Marie came running out; our little one,
Our four year Louis, so she cried, was lost.
I called Pierrot: "Go, seek him, find my boy,"
And off he went. Marie ran crying loud
To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched
All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain;
Whistled and called, and listened for his voice;
He always came or barked at my first word,
But now, he answered not. When day at last
Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw
On that high ledge, against the dawning light.
My little one asleep, sitting so near
That edge that as I looked his red barette
Fell from his nodding head down the abyss.
And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth,
His good, strong teeth, clenching the jacket brown,
Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds
Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep,
And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail,
And looked at me, so utterly distressed,
With eyes that said: "Forgive, I could not speak,"
But never loosed his hold till my dear rogue
Was safe within my arms.
Ah, ha, Pierrot,
Madame forgives your barking and your teeth;
I knew she would.
Traveler. Come here, Pierrot, good dog,
Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true,
Come, come, be friends with me.
Ellen Murray.