For ah! the varying seasons had To every hardship form'd his frame; Tho' still his tender feeling heart, By nature nurs'd, remain'd the same. But whither shall the orphan fly To meet protection's fostering power? An orphan lad poor Lubin was, No friend, no relative had he! It chanc'd that o'er the boundless heath And hous'd at eve, his fleecy charge, With heavy heart he shap'd his way, Poor Lubin own'd his flocks had stray'd, And had he to their pinching wants, Then die!-th' unfeeling master said, And spurn'd him from his closing door; Which, till he found his favourite lamb, He vow'd shou'd ne'er admit him more. Dark was the night, and o'er the waste The small thick snow, that Eurus drives Yet thus he left his master's house, And shap'd his sad uncertain way; By man unnotic'd and forsook, And follow'd but by-trusty TRAY Poor trusty Tray! a faithful dog; Unlike to worldly friends were they, When Lubin's random step involv'd Thus, 'midst the horrors of the night, No little cheering star they saw, To light them on their dreary way; Nay e'en that most officious guide Of those who roam and those who mope; Retiring Will o' th' Wisp, refus'd To trim the lamp of treach rous hope, Nor parish bell was heard to strike, The hour of "tardy-gaited night;" No noise-but winds and screams of those Ill-omen'd birds that shun the light. Benumb'd at length his stiff"ning joints, His tongue to Tray cou'd scarcely speak; His tears congeal'd to icicles His hair hung clatt'ring 'gainst his cheek. As thus he felt his falt'ring limbs Rush'd forth, and staid his fleeting breath: And shew'd to his imperfect sight His heart's best chord was yet in tune, Touch'd was that chord-his dim eye beam'd, 'Tis just! he said, that where thou liest, • The careless shepherd boy shou'd lie; • Thou died'st, poor fool! for want of food! ' I fall, for suffering thee to die. But oh, my master!'-broken-shortWas every half-word now he spoke• Severe has been, thy constant will, • And galling sure thy heavy yoke. But yet, " in all my best," have I • Without a 'plaint my hardships bore; • Rufus!-may all thy pangs be past• Master!-my sufferings are no more! A warmer couch hast thou to press, • Secure from cramping frosts thy feet; • And could'st thou boast so free a breast, • Thou yet might'st die a death as sweet. • My trusty dog-that wistful look • Is all that makes my poor heart heave; • But hie thee home, -proclaim me dead, • Forget to think and cease to grieve." So saying, shrunk the hapless youth, Beneath the chilling grasp of death; And, clasping poor Tray's shaggy neck, Sigh'd gently forth his parting breath! His faithful, fond, sagacious dog, |