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The love that glow'd in his grateful breast,
For the friend that had fed, controll'd, caress'd,
Might never fade away.
And when the long grass rustled near,
Beneath some traveller's tread,
He started up with a quivering ear,
For he thought 'twas the step of that master dear,
Returning from the dead.
And sometimes, when a storm drew nigh,
And the clouds were dark and fleet,
He tore the turf with a mournful cry,
As if he would force his way, or die,
To his much lov'd master's feet.
So, there through the summer's heat he lay,
Till autumn nights were bleak;
Till his eye grew dim with his hope's decay,
And he pin'd, and pin'd, and wasted away,
A skeleton gaunt and weak.
