To Master Bernard Wilson's Dog


This morning so kindly without any call
You met me, and shewed me the way to the Fall,
That I feel drawn towards you, and now am inclined
In confidence strict to unburden my mind.
I know I may trust you, for e'en if you bark,
As well you may, startled, and seem to cry, “Hark!”
At such bad behaviour as I must confess,
Folks know not your language, and hardly will guess.
 Oh, Fussy! a well-bred young creature like you,
Who have lived with the courteous all your life through,
Cannot tell how a conscience at morning will ache
If with thought of kind letters unanswered it wake.

(Here suppose a lengthy confession)


Then tell Mr. Bernard, dear dog, if you please,
That the man whom he knows of his error now sees,
And is quite fain to promise in prose or in rhyme,
That he never will do so again till next time.
Mr. Bernard will say, “I forgive like a king,
He's free to lie loitering by the cool spring;
And hear the gay Percie-bird whistle and sing
From morning to eve, in his conscience no sting.”
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.