The Frolicsome Old Dog

The barking dogs, by lane and wood,
Drive sheep afield from foddering ground;
And Echo, in her summer mood,
Briskly mocks the cheering sound.

No more behind his master's heels
The dog creeps on his winter-pace;
But cocks his tail, and o'er the fields
Runs many a wild and random chase,

Following, in spite of chiding calls,
The startled cat with harmless glee,
Scaring her up the weed-green walls,
Or mossy-mottled apple tree.

As crows from morning perches fly,
He barks and follows them in vain;
Even larks will catch his nimble eye,
And off he starts and barks again,
With breathless haste and blinded guess,
Oft following where the hare hath gone;
Forgetting, in his joy's excess,
His frolic puppy-days are done!
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