On The Death Of A Favourite Old Spaniel.

And they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis!     The burthen of old age was heavy on thee.     And yet thou should'st have lived! what tho' thine eye     Was dim, and watch'd no more with eager joy     The wonted call that on thy dull sense sunk     With fruitless repetition, the warm Sun     Would still have cheer'd thy slumber, thou didst love     To lick the hand that fed thee, and tho' past     Youth's active season, even Life itself     Was comfort. Poor old friend! most earnestly     Would I have pleaded for thee: thou hadst been     Still the companion of my childish sports,     And, as I roam'd o'er Avon's woody clifts,     From many a day-dream has thy short quick bark     Recall'd my wandering soul. I have beguil'd     Often the melancholy hours at school,     Sour'd by some little tyrant, with the thought     Of distant home, and I remember'd then     Thy faithful fondness: for not mean the joy,     Returning at the pleasant holydays,     I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively     Sometimes have I remark'd thy slow decay,     Feeling myself changed too, and musing much     On many a sad vicissitude of Life!     Ah poor companion! when thou followedst last     Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate     That clos'd for ever on him, thou didst lose     Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead     For the old age of brute fidelity!     But fare thee well! mine is no narrow creed,     And HE who gave thee being did not frame     The mystery of life to be the sport     Of merciless man! there is another world     For all that live and move--a better one!     Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine     INFINITE GOODNESS to the little bounds     Of their own charity, may envy thee!