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Charm'd with the sight, 'The world,' I cried,
‘Shall hear of this thy deed ; My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed ;
Awake at duty's call,
To Flush, my Dog
Loving friend, the gift of one,
Through thy lower nature ;
Gentle fellow-creature !
Either side demurely,
Of thy body purely.
Alchemise its dulness,-
With a burnished fulness.
Kindling, growing larger,-
Leaping like a charger.
Canopied in fringes.
Leap-those tasselled ears of thine
Down their golden inches.
That I praise thy rareness !
And this glossy fairness.
Day and night unweary,
Round the sick and dreary.
Beam and breeze resigning-
Love remains for shining. Other dogs in thymy dew Tracked the hares and followed through
Sunny moor or meadowThis dog only, crept and crept Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.
Up the woodside hieing-
Or a louder sighing.
Or a sigh came double,
In a tender trouble.
And this dog was satisfied,
Down his dewlaps sloping, -
On the palm left open.
Than such chamber-keeping, Come out !' praying from the door, Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping. Therefore to this dog will I, Tenderly not scornfully,
Render praise and favour ! With my hand upon his head, Is my benediction said
Therefore, and for ever.
Often, man or woman,
Leaning from my Human.
Sugared milk make fat thee! Pleasures wag on in thy tailHands of gentle motions fail
Nevermore, to pat thee ! Downy pillow take thy head, Silken coverlid bestead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping ! No fly's buzzing wake thee upNo man break thy purple cup,
Set for drinking deep in. Whiskered cats arointed flee, Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations !
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
Turn to daily rations !
Thou art made so straitly,
Thou who lovest greatly.
Yet be blessed to the height
Pervious to thy nature,
MERRY it is in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
'O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you ;
As outlaws wont to do !
'O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
Thy brother bold I slew.
The hand that held the glaive,
And stakes to fence our cave.
‘And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer,
To keep the cold away.'-
- O Richard ! if my brother died,
'Twas but a fatal chance : For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.
If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
And he his Alice Brand.'
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.
Who wonn'd within the hill,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
Our moonlight circle's screen ?
Beloved of our Elfin Queen ?
The fairies' fatal green ?
Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christen'd man : For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For mutter'd word or ban,