Thomas Campbell

[90]

POOR OLD HORSE

My clothing was once of the linsey woolsey fine,

My tail it grew at length, my coat did likewise shine;

But now I'm growing old; my beauty does decay,

My master frowns upon me; one day I heard him say,

Poor old horse: poor old horse.

Once I was kept in the stable snug and warm,

To keep my tender limbs from any cold or harm;