Ay, let them laugh who understand 

 No utterance save of human speech — 



We have a language at command » 



They cannot feel, we cannot teach. 



Yes, thy dark eye informeth mine 



With sense than words more eloquent : 



Thy very ears, so long and fine, 

 Are flexibly intelligent. 



Come hither, then, my Dog ! and rest 

 Thy poor old head upon my knee, 



And tell me why, with looks distrest, 

 Thou eyest me so reproachfully. 



Donna ? the cat ? Old fool ! is she 

 The object of thy jealous fears ? 



Fie, Ranger ! ill becometh thee 

 Such fancies at thy sober years. 



Think'st thou that I remember not 



Thy dearer claims of days " lang syne " ? 



Can " auld acquaintance be forgot," 



And love, and worth, and faith like thine ? 



What though I smooth her velvet fur, 

 Whose mottled hues so finely blend ? 



What though I coax and fondle her ? 

 She's but a favourite — thou my friend. 

 146 



