My near little, queer little, dear little dog,
So fearless of man, yet afraid of a frog!
The nearest and queerest and dearest of all
The race that is loving and winning and small;
The sweetest, most faithful, the truest and best
Dispenser of merriment, love and unrest!
COLETTA RYAN.
LAUTH
He was a gash and faithfu' tyke
As ever lapt a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sawnsie, bawsint face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his towsie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black.
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl.
ROBERT BURNS.
THE DROWNED SPANIEL
The day-long bluster of the storm was o'er,
The sands were bright; the winds had fallen asleep,
And, from the far horizon, o'er the deep
The sunset swam unshadowed to the shore.
High up, the rainbow had not passed away,
When, roving o'er the shingle beach, I found
A little waif, a spaniel newly drowned;
The shining waters kissed him as he lay.
In some kind heart thy gentle memory dwells,
I said, and, though thy latest aspect tells
Of drowning pains and mortal agony,
Thy master's self might weep and smile to see
His little dog stretched on these rosy shells,
Betwixt the rainbow and the rosy sea.
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