I lay. Like links of heavy chain
The minutes sounded, measuring day,
And slipping lifelessly away.
Sudden across my silent room
A shadow darker than its gloom
Swept swift; a shadow slim and small,
Which poised and darted on the wall,
And vanished quickly as it came.
A shadow, yet it lit like flame;
A shadow, yet I heard it sing,
And heard the rustle of its wing,
Till every pulse with joy was stirred;
It was the shadow of a bird!
Only the shadow! Yet it made
Full summer everywhere it strayed;
And every bird I ever knew
Back and forth in the summer flew,
And breezes wafted over me
The scent of every flower and tree;
Till I forgot the pain and gloom
And silence of my darkened room.
Now, in the glorious open air
I watch the birds fly here and there;
And wonder, as each swift wing cleaves
The sky, if some poor soul that grieves
In lonely, darkened, silent walls,
Will catch the shadow as it falls!
H. H.
* * * * *
THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.
"The rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.
"The clouds are passing far and high,
We little birds in them play;
And everything, that can sing and fly,
Goes with us, and far away.
"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither or whence,
With thy fluttering golden band?"
"I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea,
I haste from the narrow land.
"Full and swollen is every sail;
I see no longer a hill,
I have trusted all to the sounding gale,
And it will not let me stand still.
"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
For full to sinking is my house
With merry companions all."
"I need not and seek not company,
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
"High over the sails, high over the mast,
Who shall gainsay these joys?
When thy merry companions are still, at last,
Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice.
"Who neither may rest, nor listen may,
God bless them every one!
I dart away, in the bright blue day,
And the golden fields of the sun.
"Thus do I sing my weary song,
Wherever the four winds blow;
And this same song, my whole life long,
Neither Poet nor Printer may know."
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
* * * * *
A MYTH.
Afloating, afloating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmast tree.
"Oh, came you from the isles of Greece,
Or from the banks of Seine?
Or off some tree in forests free
That fringe the western main?"
"I came not off the old world,
Nor yet from off the new;
But I am one of the birds of God
Which sing the whole night through."
"Oh, sing and wake the dawning!
Oh, whistle for the wind!
The night is long, the current strong,
My boat it lags behind."
"The current sweeps the old world,
The current sweeps the new;
The wind will blow, the dawn will glow,
Ere thou hast sailed them through."
C. KINGSLEY.
* * * * *
THE DOG.
* * * * *
CUVIER ON THE DOG.
"The domestic dog," says Cuvier, "is the most complete, the most singular,
and the most useful conquest that man has gained in the animal world. The
whole species has become our property; each individual belongs entirely to
his master, acquires his disposition, knows and defends his property, and
remains attached to him until death; and all this, not through constraint
or necessity, but purely by the influences of gratitude and real
attachment. The swiftness, the strength, the sharp scent of the dog, have
rendered him a powerful ally to man against the lower tribes; and were,
perhaps, necessary for the establishment of the dominion of mankind over
the whole animal creation. The dog is the only animal which has followed
man over the whole earth."
* * * * *
A HINDOO LEGEND.
In the Mahabhàrata, one of the two great Hindoo poems, and of unknown
antiquity, there is a recognition of the obligation of man to a dependent
creature not surpassed in pathos in all literature.
We copy only such portions of the legend as bear upon this point.
The hero, Yudhistthira, leaves his home to go to Mount Meru, among the
Himalayas, to find Indra's heaven and the rest he so much desired; and with
him,
"The five brothers set forth, and Draupadi, and the seventh was a
dog that followed them."
On the way the Princess Draupadi perished, and, after her, one brother
after another, until all had died, and the hero reached his journey's end
accompanied only by his dog.
Lo! suddenly, with a sound which rang through heaven and earth,
Indra came riding on his chariot, and he cried to the king, "Ascend!"
_Then_, indeed, did the lord of justice look back to his fallen
brothers,
And thus unto Indra he spoke, with a sorrowful heart:
"Let my brothers, who yonder lie fallen, go with me;
Not even unto thy heaven would I enter, if they were not there.
And yon fair-faced daughter of a king, Draupadi the all-deserving,
Let _her_ too enter with us! O Indra, approve my prayer!"
INDRA.
In heaven thou shalt find thy brothers,--they are already there
before thee;
There are they all, with Draupadi; weep not, then, O son of Bharata!
Thither have they entered, prince, having thrown away their mortal
weeds;
But thou alone shalt enter still wearing thy body of flesh.
YUDHISTTHIRA.
O Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through;
Let it go with me into heaven, for my soul is full of compassion.
INDRA.
Immortality and fellowship with me, and the height of joy and felicity,
All these hast thou reached to-day; leave, then, the dog behind thee.
YUDHISTTHIRA.
The good may oft act an evil part, but never a part like this;
Away, then, with that felicity whose price is to abandon the faithful!
INDRA.
My heaven hath no place for dogs; they steal away our offerings on
earth:
Leave, then, thy dog behind thee, nor think in thy heart that it is
cruel.
YUDHISTTHIRA.
To abandon the faithful and devoted is an endless crime, like the
murder of a Brahmin;
Never, therefore, come weal or woe, will I abandon yon faithful dog.
_Yon poor creature, in fear and distress, hath trusted in my power
to save it:
Not, therefore, for e'en life itself will I break my plighted word._
INDRA.
If a dog but beholds a sacrifice, men esteem it unholy and void;
Forsake, then, the dog, O hero, and heaven is thine own as a reward.
Already thou hast borne to forsake thy fondly loved brothers, and
Draupadi;
Why, then, forsakest thou not the dog? Wherefore now fails thy heart?
YUDHISTTHIRA.
Mortals, when they are dead, are dead to love or hate,--so runs the
world's belief;
I could not bring them back to life, but while they lived I never left
them.
To oppress the suppliant, to kill a wife, to rob a Brahmin, and to
betray one's friend,
These are the four great crimes; and _to forsake a dependent I count
equal to them_.
ALGER'S _Oriental Poetry_.
* * * * *
ULYSSES AND ARGUS.
This story, from the Odyssey, is also of an unknown antiquity. Ulysses,
after many years of absence, returns to his home to find himself
unrecognized by his family. With Eumæus Ulysses walked about the familiar
grounds:
Thus near the gates conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head;
Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board,
But, ah! not fated long to please his lord!
To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain;
The voice of glory called him o'er the main.
Till then, in every sylvan chase renowned,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around:
With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn,
Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn;
Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,
Unhoused, neglected in the public way.
He knew his lord: he knew, and strove to meet;
In vain he strove to crawl, and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes.
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unhidden stole,
Stole unperceived: he turned his head and dried
The drop humane: then thus impassioned cried:
"What noble beast in this abandoned state
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate?
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise:
If, as he seems, he was in better days,
Some care his age deserves; or was he prized
For worthless beauty? therefore now despised:
Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state,
And always cherished by their friends the great."
Not Argus so (Eumæus thus rejoined),
But served a master of a nobler kind,
Who never, never, shall behold him more!
Long, long since perished on a distant shore!
Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong:
Him no fell savage on the plain withstood,
None 'scaped him bosomed in the gloomy wood;
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,
To wind the vapor in the tainted dew!
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast:
Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost.
_Odyssey, Pope's translation._
* * * * *
TOM.
Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.
Just listen to this:--
When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,
And I with it, helpless there, full in my view
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see
The shining? He must have come there after me,
Toddled alone from the cottage without
Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout--
Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!" Again and again
They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
"Never mind, baby, sit still like a man!
We're coming to get you as fast as we can."
They could not see him, but I could. He sat
Still on a beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire up above must have kept
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name
From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came
Again and again. O God, what a cry!
The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly
Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat
That scorched them,--when, suddenly, there at their feet,
The great beams leaned in--they saw him--then, crash,
Down came the wall! The men made a dash,--
Jumped to get out of the way,--and I thought,
"All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide
The sight of the child there,--when swift, at my side,
Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame,
Straight as a dart--caught the child--and then came
Back with him, choking and crying, but--saved!
Saved safe and sound!
Oh, how the men raved,
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall
Where I was lying, away from the fire,
Should fall in and bury me.
Oh! you'd admire
To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime,
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time.
Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew?
There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log!
And there comes Tom, too--
Yes, Tom was our dog.
CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.
* * * * *
WILLIAM OF ORANGE SAVED BY HIS DOG.
On the night of the 11th and 12th of September, 1572, a chosen band of six
hundred Spaniards made an attack within the lines of the Dutch army. The
sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised and for a moment
powerless. The Prince of Orange and his guards were in profound sleep; "but
a small spaniel dog," says Mr. Motley, "who always passed the night upon
his bed, was a most faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking
furiously at the sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's
face with his paws. There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse
which was ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness,
before his enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his
master of the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a
moment later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's
watchfulness, William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of
his country's fortune depended, would have been led within a week to an
ignominious death. To his death, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel
of the same race in his bed-chamber."
MOTLEY'S _Rise of the Dutch Republic_.
* * * * *
The mausoleum of William the Silent is at Delft. It is a sort of small
temple in black and white marble, loaded with ornaments and sustained by
columns between which are four statues representing Liberty, Providence,
Justice, and Religion. Upon the sarcophagus lies the figure of the Prince
in white marble, and _at his feet the effigy of the little dog that saved
his life at the siege of Malines_.
DE AMICIS' _Holland_.
* * * * *
THE BLOODHOUND.
Come, Herod, my hound, from the stranger's floor!
Old friend--we must wander the world once more!
For no one now liveth to welcome us back;
So, come!--let us speed on our fated track.
What matter the region,--what matter the weather,
So you and I travel, till death, together?
And in death?--why, e'en _there_ I may still be found
By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound.
We've traversed the desert, we've traversed the sea,
And we've trod on the heights where the eagles be;
Seen Tartar, and Arab, and swart Hindoo;
(How thou pull'dst down the deer in those skies of blue;)
No joy did divide us; no peril could part
The man from his friend of the noble heart;
Aye, his _friend_; for where, where shall there ever be found
A friend like his resolute, fond bloodhound?
What, Herod, old hound! dost remember the day
When I fronted the wolves like a stag at bay?
When downward they galloped to where we stood,
Whilst I staggered with fear in the dark pine wood?
Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed?
God, God! how I prayed for a friend in need!
And--he came! Ah, 'twas then, my dear Herod, I found
That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound.
Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound
Must forever be lost in the worthless ground:
Yet "Courage," "Fidelity," "Love" (they say),
Bear _Man_, as on wings, to his skies away.
Well, Herod--go tell them whatever may be,
I'll hope I may ever be found by thee.
If in sleep,--in sleep; if with skies around,
Mayst thou follow e'en thither, my dear bloodhound!
BARRY CORNWALL.
* * * * *
HELVELLYN.
This fine poem was suggested by the affection of a dog, which kept watch
over the dead body of its master until found by friends three months
afterwards. The young man had lost his way on Helvellyn. Time, 1805.
I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather,
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that--no requiem read o'er him--
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him--
Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?
When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;
In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming,
Far adown the long isle the sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
When, 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.
WALTER SCOTT.
* * * * *
LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerily smiled the morn,
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Attend Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a louder cheer;
"Come, Gelert! why art thou the last,
Llewellyn's horn to hear?
"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam?
The flower of all his race!
So true, so brave--a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!"
That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare;
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
When near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gained the castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood:
The hound was smeared with drops of gore;
His lips and fangs ran blood.
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet;
His favorite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn passed,
(And on went Gelert too;)
And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood-drops shocked his view.
O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
The blood-stained cover rent
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He called his child--no voice replied;
He searched--with terror wild;
Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found the child!
"Monster, by thee my child's devoured!"
The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert's side.
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;
But still his Gelert's dying yell,
Passed heavy o'er his heart.
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
Some slumberer wakened nigh:
What words the parent's joy can tell
To hear his infant cry!
Concealed beneath a mangled heap
His hurried search had missed:
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
His cherub boy he kissed.
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread;
But the same couch beneath
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead--
Tremendous still in death.
Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear;
The gallant hound the wolf had slain
To save Llewellyn's heir.
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe--
"Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low
This heart shall ever rue."
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles, storied with his praise,
Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass,
Or forester unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear;
And oft, as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
Poor Gelert's dying yell.
SPENSER.
* * * * *
LOOKING FOR PEARLS.
AN ORIENTAL LEGEND.
The Master came one evening to the gate
Of a far city; it was growing late,
And sending his disciples to buy food,
He wandered forth intent on doing good,
As was his wont. And in the market-place
He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space,
Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground.
Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found
A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck,--
A dead dog with a halter round his neck.
And those who stood by mocked the object there,
And one said scoffing, "It pollutes the air!"
Another, jeering, asked, "How long to-night
Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?"
"Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jewish wit,--
"You could not cut even a shoe from it,"
And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed,"
A fourth chimed in; "an unclean wretch indeed!"
"He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried,
And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side.
Then Jesus, standing by them in the street,
Looked on the poor spent creature at his feet,
And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men,
"_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._" And then
The people at each other gazed, asking,
"Who is this stranger pitying the vile thing?"
Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath,
"This surely is the Man of Nazareth;
This must be Jesus, for none else but he
Something to praise in a dead dog could see!"
And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head,
And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled.
ALGER'S _Eastern Poetry_.
* * * * *
ROVER.
"Kind traveller, do not pass me by,
And thus a poor old dog forsake;
But stop a moment on your way,
And hear my woe for pity's sake!
"My name is Rover; yonder house
Was once my home for many a year;
My master loved me; every hand
Caressed young Rover, far and near.
"The children rode upon my back,
And I could hear my praises sung;
With joy I licked their pretty feet,
As round my shaggy sides they clung.
"I watched them while they played or slept;
I gave them all I had to give:
My strength was theirs from morn till night;
For them I only cared to live.
"Now I am old, and blind, and lame,
They've turned me out to die alone,
Without a shelter for my head,
Without a scrap of bread or bone.
"This morning I can hardly crawl,
While shivering in the snow and hail;
My teeth are dropping, one by one;
I scarce have strength to wag my tail.
"I'm palsied grown with mortal pains,
My withered limbs are useless now;
My voice is almost gone you see,
And I can hardly make my bow.
"Perhaps you'll lead me to a shed
Where I may find some friendly straw
On which to lay my aching limbs,
And rest my helpless, broken paw.
"Stranger, excuse this story long,
And pardon, pray, my last appeal;
You've owned a dog yourself, perhaps,
And learned that dogs, like men, can feel."
Yes, poor old Rover, come with me;
Food, with warm shelter, I'll supply;
And Heaven forgive the cruel souls
Who drove you forth to starve and die!
J. T. FIELDS.
* * * * *
TO MY DOG "BLANCO."
My dear dumb friend, low lying there,
A willing vassal at my feet,
Glad partner of my home and fare,
My shadow in the street.
I look into your great brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine!
For all of good that I have found
Within myself or humankind,
Hath royalty informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.
I scan the whole broad earth around
For that one heart which, leal and true,
Bears friendship without end or bound,
And find the prize in you.
I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff of pride,
Nor beggary, nor dungeon-bars,
Can move you from my side!
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old,
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold;
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel,
By day and night your constant joy,
To guard and please me well:
I clasp your head upon my breast--
And while you whine and lick my hand--
And thus our friendship is confessed
And thus we understand!
Ah, Blanco! did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my master trod
With your humility;
Did I sit fondly at His feet,
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch him with a love as sweet,
My life would grow divine!
J. G. HOLLAND.
* * * * *
THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG.
"Pay down three dollars for my hound!
May lightning strike me to the ground!
What mean the Messieurs of police?
And when and where shall this mockery cease?
"I am a poor, old, sickly man,
And earn a penny I no wise can;
I have no money, I have no bread,
And live upon hunger and want, instead.
"Who pitied me, when I grew sick and poor,
And neighbors turned me from their door?
And who, when I was left alone
In God's wide world, made my fortunes his own?
"Who loved me, when I was weak and old?
And warmed me, when I was numb with cold?
And who, when I in poverty pined,
Has shared my hunger and never whined?
"Here is the noose, and here the stone,
And there the water--it must be done!
Come hither, poor Pomp, and look not on me,
One kick--it is over--and thou art free!"
As over his head he lifted the band,
The fawning dog licked his master's hand;
Back in an instant the noose he drew,
And round his own neck in a twinkling threw.