ever an epitaph on spaniel composed in my present position? Lat. 11°, 12' Here goes:—
Aye! give the body to the deep,
That universal grave;
There let it sleep the dreamless sleep,—
Its mound–an ocean wave.
In losing thee, I've lost a friend,
Whose instinct worth, well tried,
Could service with affection blend,
Though reason was denied.
If thou hadst reach'd the looked for land,
I hoped to see thee bound
With frolic gambols on the strand,
And hail the adopted ground.
I pictured oft thy mute surprise,
When (instinct still the same)
New climes had shown thy wond'ring eyes
Some unaccustomed game.
I thought to see thee at my side,
Watch the uplifted gun–
Or view thee in thy race of pride–
But now thy race is run.
Wakeful guard 'gainst nightly spoil,
Companion of the day;
Cheerful partner of my toil,
Thou'rt call'd, and must obey.
What meant that last, that wistful gaze,
When at thy masters' tread,
Thy little strength was meant to raise
The drooping, dying head?
Was it in hope his essayed skill
E'en yet might bring relief ?
His power accords not with his will,
He could but vent his grief.
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