When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
And torrents descended, and cold was the wind,
If Colin went forth ’midst the tempests and rain,
Tray scorned to be left in the chimney behind.
At length in the straw Tray made his last bed;
For vain, against death, is the stoutest endeavour—
To lick Colin’s hand he rear’d up his weak head,
Then fell back, clos’d his eyes, and, ah! clos’d them for ever.
Not long after Tray did the Shepherd remain,
Who oft o’er his grave with true sorrow would bend;