But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.
Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful, and kind;
To my sweet native village, so far, far away,
I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.
SONG
TO THE EVENING STAR.
Star that bringest home the bee,