Was seen thy bushy tail, thy well-known face;
Through cañon dark, and by the snow-clad hill,
Thou kept unchanged thy old familiar pace.
Why tell it all? through fifty scenes we went,
Where Shasta’s peak its lonely shadows cast;
Till now for Afric’s shore my steps are bent,
And thou and I, old friend, must part at last.
Thou wilt not miss me, home and care are thine,
And peace and rest will lull thee to the end;
But still, perchance with low and wistful whine,