Not free from boding thoughts, awhile
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
O'er rocks and stones, following the dog
As quickly as he may;
Nor far had gone before he found
A human skeleton on the ground:
The appalled discoverer with a sigh
Looks round to learn the history.
From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:
He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came;
Remembered too the very day
On which the traveller passed that way.
But hear a wonder for whose sake
This lamentable tale I tell!
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well.
The dog, which still was hovering nigh,
Repeating the same timid cry,
This dog had been through three months' space
A dweller in that savage place.
Yes, proof was plain that since the day
When this ill-fated traveller died,
The dog had watch'd about the spot,
Or by his master's side:
How nourished there through that long time,
He knows who gave that love sublime;
And gave that strength of feeling great,
Above all human estimate.
W. Wordsworth
CXXVI
THE FOX AND THE CAT
The fox and the cat, as they travell'd one day,
With moral discourses cut shorter the way:
''Tis great,' says the Fox, 'to make justice our guide!'
'How god-like is mercy!' Grimalkin replied.
Whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from the wood,
Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,
Rush'd forth—as he saw the dull shepherd asleep—
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent sheep.
'In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat,
When mutton's at hand,' says the wolf, 'I must eat.'
Grimalkin's astonish'd!—the fox stood aghast,
To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.
'What a wretch,' says the cat, ''tis the vilest of brutes;
Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots?'
Cries the fox, 'While our oaks give us acorns so good,
What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!'
Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still,
Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill.
Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes,
And made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize.
A mouse, too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray,
The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey.
A spider that sat in her web on the wall,
Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pitied their fall;
She cried, 'Of such murders, how guiltless am I!'
So ran to regale on a new-taken fly.
J. Cunningham