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 watched about the spot
Or by his master's side;
How nourished here through such long time
He knows who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
THE SHEPHERD DOG OF
THE PYRENEES
_Traveler._ Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your dog.
_Shepherd._ Be not affrighted, madame. Poor Pierrot
Will do no harm. I know his voice is gruff,
But then, his heart is good.
_Traveler._ Well, call him, then.
I do not like his looks. He's growling now.
_Shepherd._ Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot,
He is as good a Christian as myself
And does not like a stick.
_Traveler._ Such a fierce look!
And such great teeth!
_Shepherd_. Ah, bless poor Pierrot's teeth!
Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth.
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