Page:Poems Cook.djvu/23

With panting breath and wasting frame,
 The languid boy lives on;
With just enough of life to show
 That life will soon be gone.

Pallid and weak, he is slowly led,
Like an infant, from his downy bed;
He turns his dimm'd and sunken eye.
To look once more upon the sky:
But, ah! he cannot bear the rays
Of a glowing sun to meet his gaze.
He breathes a sigh, and once again
Looks out upon the grassy plain;
He sees his milk-white palfrey there;
His own pet steed, so sleek and fair:
But there's no silken rein to deck
The beauty of its glossy neck;
No saddle-cloth is seen to shine
 Upon its sides-the steed doth lack
A coaxing hand, and seems to pine;
 Missing the one that graced its back.

Young Tracy stands,—his azure eye
 Dwells fondly on the petted brute;
The struggling tear-drop gathers fast;
 But still his lip is mute.

He looks once more in the castle court;
The scene of many a festive sport:
He sees his spaniel dull and lone;
He hears its plaintive, whining tone;
He looks beyond the castle wall,
Where he used to play by the waterfall;
He thinks on the days of health and joy,
When he roved abroad with the mountain boy;
And the gushing tears start down his cheek;
His eyelids fall—he cannot speak—

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