I AM only a dog, and I've had my day; Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog, Far away in the top of the hickory-tree, Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then; And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen, The hare on the common, the birds on the bough, Were afraid. They are safe enough now, For all we can harm them, old master and I. For time, cold, and hardship have stiffened his knee; Oh! it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky I am going-I hear the great wolf on my track; Oh come to me, master! the last hedge is passed; Our tramps in the wild wood are over at last; Stoop lower, and lay down my head on your knee. What! tears for a useless old hunter like me? You will see little Lottie again by-and-by. I sha'n't. They don't have any dogs in the sky. Tell her, loving and trusty beside you I died, For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I. As he flung himself down on the brute's shaggy coat, But long ere the snow over graves softly fell, While the cottage stood empty, yet back from the hill LARCOM. HANNAH BINDING SHOES. POOR lone Hannah, Sitting at the window, binding shoes. Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse. Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. Not a neighbour Passing nod or answer will refuse "Is there from the fishers any news?" Night and morning, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos; For a willing heart and hand he sues. And the waves are laughing so- Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. May is passing: 'Mid the apple boughs a pigeon coos: For the mild southwester mischief brews. IIannah's at the window, binding shoes. "Tis November. Now no tears her wasted cheek bedews. Not a sail returning will she lose, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. Twenty winters Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views; Twenty seasons— Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea: Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window, binding shoes. |