TO FLUSH, MY DOG. Loving friend, the gift of one Through thy lower nature,* Gentle fellow-creature! Like a lady's ringlets brown, Either side demurely Of thy body purely. III. Alchemise its dulness, With a burnished fulness. * This dog was the gift of my dear and admired friend, Miss Mitford, and belongs to the beautiful race she has rendered celebrated among English and American readers. The Flushes bave their laurels as well as the Cæsars,--the chief difference (at least the very head and front of it) consisting, perhups, in the bald head of the latter under the crown. 1844. IV. Underneath my stroking hand, Kindling, growing larger, Leaping like a charger. Leap! thy broad tail waves a light, Leap! thy slender feet are bright, Canopied in fringes. Leap—those tasselled ears of thine Flicker strangely, fair and fine, Down their golden inches. VI. That I praise thy rareness ! And this glossy fairness. VII. But of thee it shall be said, Day and night unweary, -Watched within a curtained room, Where no sunbeam brake the gloom Round the sick and dreary. VIII. Roses gathered for a vase, Beam and breeze resigning. Love remains for shining. 18. Other dogs in thymy dew Sunny moor or meadow. Sharing in the shadow. Other dogs of loyal cheer Up the woodside hieing. Or a louder sighing. XI. And if one or two quick tears Or a sigh came double,- In a tender trouble. XII. And this dog was satisfied Down his dewlaps sloping, Which he pushed his nose within, After, platforming his chin On the palm left open. XIII. Than such chamber-keeping, Come out!' praying from the door, Presseth backward as before, Up against me leaping. XIV. Therefore to this dog will I, Render praise and favour: Therefore, and forever. XV. And because he loves me so, Often, man or woman, Leaning from my Human. XVI. Blessings on thee, dog of mine, Sugared milk make fat thee! Nevermore, to pat thee! XVII. Sunshine help thy sleeping ! Set for drinking deep in. XVIII. Whiskered cats arointed flee, Cologne distillations; Turn to daily rations! XIX. Thou art made so straightly, Blessing needs must straighten too, Little canst thou joy or do, Thou who lovest greatly. |