Classic Poem

My poor old Chloe! gentle playfellow,
Most patient, most enduring was thy love;
To restless childhood's teasing fondness proof
And its tormenting ingenuity.
Methinks I see thee in some corner stuck,
In most unnatural position, bolt upright,
With rueful looks and drooping ears forlorn,
Thy two fore-paws, to hold my father's cane —
Converted to a musket — cramped across.
Then wert thou posted like a sentinel.
Till numbers ten were slowly counted o'er —
That welcome tenth! the signal sound to thee
Of penance done and liberty regained!
Down went the cane and from thy corner forth
With uproar wild and madly frolic joy,
Bounding aloft, and wheeling round and round,
With mirth inviting antics, didst thou spring.