Come up, now, son, come up; you haven't seen him yet.
"We have done well," he added, "with the stock,
But this one, if he lives, will make a name."
The bull-calf gambolled with his tail acock,
Then shyly nosed towards them, scared but tame;
His troublous eyes were sulky with blue flame.
Softly he tip-toed, shying at a touch;
He nosed, his breath came sweet, his pale tongue curled to clutch.
They rubbed his head, and Mary went her way,
Counting the dreary time, the dreary beat