Classic Poem

The old shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey;
His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue;
Yet where'er Corin went, he was followed by Tray;
Thus happy through life did they hobble along.

When fatigued, on the grass the shepherd would lie
For a nap in the sun—'midst his slumbers so sweet,
His faithful companion crawled constantly nigh,
Placed his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet.

When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
And torrents descended, and cold was the wind,
If Corin went forth 'midst the tempests and rain
Tray scorned to be left in the chimney behind.

At length in the straw Tray made his last bed;
For vain against death is the stoutest endeavour;
To lick Corin's hand he reared up his weak head,
Then fell back, closed his eyes, and, ah! closed them for ever.

Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,
Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend;
And when dying thus feebly was heard the poor swain:
‘O, bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend.’