Her head lay pillow’d on his noble breast;
O, that she e’er should lose her place of rest!
Her prattling boy was standing at her knee;
Clear rang his silver voice in tones of glee,
As, shouting to his faithful dog, he cried,
“Come, Ralph, get up! I’ll take a little ride!”
Then would he strive to mount in mirthful mood,
But fractious oft he found his charger rude,
Now up, now down, the boy or dog would be,
Over and over tumbling playfully.