Plac’d his head on his lap or lay down at his feet.
When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
And torrents descended and cold was the wind,
If Corin 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 Corin’s hand, he rear’d up his weak head,
Then fell back, closed his eyes, and, ah! clos’d them for ever.
Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,