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59
THE SKYES.
"Hallo Dusty! Hallo Grizel!
Fetch the sheep" the master cries,
"Fetch them from the Island pasture
Quick, before the daylight dies!"
Hurling headlong down the meadow,
Almost swimming through the grass,
Dusty-foot and gray Grizelda
Like a hurricane they pass.
Neck and neck the water reaching,
In they plunge with shrieks of joy;
Every task a new-found pastime,
All the world their daily toy.
See them cleave the sunset ripples
Heading each a widening way,
Landing, shake their eager bodies
In a mist of diamond spray.
Silent now with great endeavour,
Working round their fleecy charge,
All the silly sheep collecting
To the gently shelving marge.
