Thy faithful fondness ; for not mean the joy, 



Returning at the happy holydays, 



I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively 



Sometimes have I remark'd thy slow decay, 



Feeling myself changed too, and musing much 



On many a sad vicissitude of Life. 



Ah, poor companion ! when thou follow'st last 



Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate 



Which closed for ever on him, thou didst lose 



Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead 



For the old age of brute fidelity. 



But fare thee well ! Mine is no narrow creed ; 



And HE who gave thee being did not frame 



The mystery of life to be the sport 



Of merciless man. There is another world 



For all that live and move ... a better one ! 



Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine 



Infinite goodness to the little bounds 



Of their own charity, may envy thee. 



Robert Southey. 

 Bristol, 1796. 



Recognition • < ^> <^> o <^> *o 

 (From Roderick, the Last of the Goths) 



\ \ /"MILE thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay 



' ' Pcfore Rusilla's feet, eyeing him long 

 And wistfully, had recognised at length, 



'39 



