For thou didst give to me, old friend,
Thy service while thy life did last;
Thy life and service have an end,
And here I thank thee for the past.
Trusted and faithful, tried and true,
Watchful and swift to do my will,
Grateful for care that was thy due,
To duty's call obedient still,
From ill thou knew'st thou didst refrain,
The good thou knew'st thou strove to do,
Nor dream of fame, nor greed of gain,
Man's keenest spurs, urged thee thereto.
Brute, with a heart of human love,
And speechless soul of instinct fine!
How few by reason's law who move
Deserve an epitaph like thine!
FANNY KEMBLE BUTLER.
A RETRIEVER'S EPITAPH
Beneath this turf, that formerly he pressed
With agile feet, a dog is laid to rest;
Him, as he sleeps, no well-known sound shall stir,
The rabbit's patter, or the pheasant's whir;
The keeper's "Over"--far, but well defined,
That speeds the startled partridge down the wind;
The whistled warning as the winged ones rise
Large and more large upon our straining eyes,
Till with a sweep, while every nerve is tense,
The chattering covey hurtles o'er the fence;
The double crack of every lifted gun,
The dinting thud of birds whose course is done--
These sounds, delightful to his listening ear,
He heeds no longer, for he cannot hear.
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