Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, 

 With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 

 In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 



Walter Scott. 



On the Death of a favourite old Spaniel ^> 



AND they have drown'd thee then at last ! 

 ^ poor Phillis ! 

 The burden of old age was heavy on thee, 

 And yet thou should'st have lived ! What though 



thine eye 

 Was dim, and watch'd no more with eager joy 

 The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk 

 With fruitless repetition, the warm Sun 

 Might still have cheer' d thy slumbers ; thou 



didst love 

 To lick the hand that fed thee, and though past 

 Youth's active season, even life itself 

 Was comfort. Poor old friend, how earnestly 

 Would I have pleaded for thee ! thou hadst been 

 Still the companion of my boyish sports ; 

 And as I roam'd o'er Avon's woody cliffs, 

 From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark 

 RecalFd my wandering soul. I have beguiled 

 Often the melancholy hours at school, 

 Sour'd by some little tyrant, with the thought 

 Of distant home, and I remcmber'd then 



133 



