To Your Dog and to My Dog

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Houghton Mifflin, 1915 - 147 páginas
I have brought together in my library a few of the many proofs that show how true is the affection which many of your masters have for you, and some-time when I can read them to you privately, you will understand more fully the place you hold in our lives. I use the word MASTER only because our language is too poor to express in one word the real relationship which exists between us, we the master, and you the devoted slave and trusted servant, the most joyful of playfellows, and the best of companions, the bravest defender, and the truest friend. I wish I knew the word in your language which expresses all that you are to us. I also wish I knew how much you know, and could learn the many things you would gladly teach us.
 

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Página 109 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.
Página 21 - Stern law of every mortal lot ! Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear, And builds himself I know not what Of second life I know not where.
Página 109 - But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone...
Página 19 - Call'd us to pet thee or to praise, Dear little friend ! at every turn ? That loving heart, that patient soul, Had they indeed no longer span, To run their course, and reach their goal, And read their homily to man ? That liquid, melancholy eye, From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs Seem'd surging the Virgilian cry,* The sense of tears in mortal things...
Página 23 - Yet, fondly zealous for thy fame, Even to a date beyond our own, We strive to carry down thy name By mounded turf and graven stone. We lay thee, close within our reach, Here, where the grass is smooth and warm, Between the holly and the beech, Where oft we watch'd thy couchant form, Asleep, yet lending half an ear To travellers on the Portsmouth road ; — There...
Página 19 - GRAVE FOUR years ! — and didst thou stay above The ground, which hides thee now, but four ? And all that life, and all that love, Were crowded, Geist ! into no more ? Only four years those winning ways, Which make me for thy presence yearn, Call'd us to pet thee or to praise, Dear little friend ! at every turn ? That loving heart, that patient soul, Had they indeed no longer span, To run their course, and reach their goal, And read their homily to man ? That liquid, melancholy eye, From whose pathetic,...
Página 28 - We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long — So why in — Heaven (before we are there) Should we give our hearts to a...
Página 22 - We greet thee by the window-pane, We hear thy scuffle on the stair. We see the flaps of thy large ears Quick raised to ask which way we go; Crossing the frozen lake, appears Thy small black figure on the snow ! Nor to us only art thou dear Who mourn thee in thine English home; Thou hast thine absent master's tear, Dropt by the far Australian foam.
Página 22 - We stroke thy broad brown paws again, We bid thee to thy vacant chair, We greet thee by the window-pane, We hear thy scuffle on the stair — We see the flaps of thy large ears Quick raised to ask which way we go; Crossing the frozen lake, appears Thy small black figure on the snow...
Página 75 - LADDIE LOWLY the soul that waits At the white, celestial gates, A threshold soul to greet Beloved feet. Down the streets that are beams of sun Cherubim children run; They welcome it from the wall; Their voices call. But the Warder saith: "Nay, this Is the City of Holy Bliss. What claim canst thou make good To angelhood?" "Joy," answereth it from eyes That are amber ecctasies, Listening, alert, elate, Before the gate.

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