So with calm step he moved along,
And calmly faced the murderous crew,
But close and closer for the throng,
Poor Nina to her master drew.
And she has found a resting place
Between his knees—her old safe home—
And she looks round in every face
As if to read his written doom.
'Twas but a step in those dread days
From trial to the guillotine;
A moment, and Valrive surveys
With steadfast eye the fell machine.
He mounts the platform, takes his stand
Before the fatal block, and kneels
In preparation—but his hand
A soft warm touch that moment feels.
His eyes glance downward, and a tear—
The last tear they shall ever shed—
Falls as he utters, "Thou still here!"
Upon his faithful servant's head.
Yes, she is there; that hellish shout,
That deadly stroke, she hears them plain,
And from the headless trunk starts out
Even over her the bloody rain.
Old faithful Nina! There lies she,
Her cold head on the cold earth pressed,
As it was wont so lovingly
To lie upon her master's breast.
And there she stayed the livelong day,
Mute, motionless, her sad watch keeping;
A stranger who had passed that way
Would have believed her dead or sleeping.
But if a step approached the grave
Her eye looked up with jealous care,
Imploringly, as if to crave
That no rude foot should trample there.
That night she came not, as of late,
To her old, charitable home;
The next day's sun arose and set,
Night fell—and still she failed to come.