412 LINES FROM LAMARTINE. 



Infinite Goodness to the little bounds 

 Of their own charity, may envy thee." 1 



And thus, in. substance, though in words which do but sorry 

 justice to the beautiful lines of the original " Episode," does no 

 meaner man than Alphonse de Lamartine address his real or 

 imaginary favourite : 



" My dog ! the difference between thee and me 

 Knows only our Creator ; only He 

 Can number the degrees in being's scale 

 Between thy instinctive lamp, ne'er known to fail, 

 And that less steady light of brighter ray, 

 The soul which animates thy master's clay ; 

 And he alone can tell by what fond tie, 

 My look thy life my death, thy sign to die. 

 Howe'er this be, the human heart bereaved, 

 In thy affection owns a boon received, 

 Nor e'er, fond creature, prostrate on the ground, 

 Could my foot spurn thee or my accents wound ! 

 No, never, never, my poor humble friend, 

 Could I by act or word thy love offend ! 

 Too much in thee I reverence that Power 

 Which formed us both for our appointed hour ; 

 That hand which links, by a fraternal tie, 

 The meanest of His creatures with the high. 

 Oh, my poor Fido ! when thy speaking face, 

 Upturned to mine, of words supplies the place ; 

 When, sentry by my bed, the slightest moan 

 That breaks my troubled sleep disturbs thy own ; 

 When noting in my heavy eye the care 

 That clouds my brow, thou seek'st its meaning there, 

 And then, as if to chase that care away, 

 My pendant hand dost gently gnaw in play ; 

 When, as in some clear mirror, I descry 

 My joys and griefs reflected in thine eye, 

 When tokens such as these thy reason speak 

 (Reason, which with thy love compared, is weak), 

 I cannot, will not, deem thee a deceiving 

 Illusive mockery of human feeling, 



Southey, 1796. 



