( 7 )
XXX.
“But yet ‘ in all my best’ have I
“Without a ’plaint my hardships bore;
“Rufus!——may all my pangs be past——
“Master!——my sufferings are no more!
XXXI.
“A warmer couch hast thou to press,
“Secure from cramping frosts thy feet;
“And cou’dst thou boast so free a breast,
“Thou yet might’ft die a death as sweet.
XXXII.
“My trusty dog——that wistful look
“Is all that makes my poor heart heave;
“But hie thee home,——proclaim me dead,
“Forget to think — and cease to grieve.”
XXXIII.
So saying, shrunk the hapless youth,
Beneath the chilling grasp of death;
And, clasping poor Tray’s shaggy neck,
Sigh’d gently forth his parting breath.
XXXIV.
His faithful, fond, sagacious dog,
Hung watchful o’er his master’s clay;
And many a moan the old fool made,
And many a thing he strove to say.
XXXV.
He paw’d him with his hard-worn foot,
He lick’d him with his scarce warm tongue;
His cold nose strove to catch his breath,
As to his clos’d lips close it clung.
