1 844-54. LINES TO A FAVOURITE DOG. 233 



It is recorded of him by his master that "he never 

 said an ill word in his life, except once when he cried 

 1 Bow, bow,' after a man with bowed legs." 



A note-book contains the following lines to his memory : 



TO THE SPIRIT OF A DECEASED TERRIER. 



My little dog ! I loved thee well, 



Better than I to all would tell ; 



When thou wert dead, a shadow o'er my spirit fell. 



The music of thy pattering feet 

 That came so gladly me to meet, 

 Will never more my senses greet. 



All are at rest ; thy wagging tail,. 

 Thy little limbs that did not fail 

 For many a mile o'er hill and dale. 



Where art thou now? myself I ask, 



In vain Philosophy I task ; 



She cannot here her blindness mask. 



Art thou within that Sirian star, 



That shines so bright, and seems so far 



From this dim world in which we are ? 



Where'er in the Universe thou art, 

 If still of it thou form'st a part, 

 Thou hast a place within my heart. 



What are thy thoughts, thy hopes, thy ways ? 

 What are thy duties ? what thy plays ? 

 How spendest thou the livelong days ? 



Thou didst not love on earth the Sunday, 



It was so grave : it was no fun-day ; 



Thou couldst have wished each day a Monday. 



Dost thou with soul of shadowy cat 

 Fight ? or with spectral spirit-rat ; 

 Or slumber on celestial mat ? 



