POETRY.
MY LAST TERRIER.
I MOURN 'Patroclus,' whilst I praise
Young 'Peter' sleek before the fire, A proper dog whose decent ways Renew the virtues of his sire ; Patroclus' rests in grassy tomb And 'Peter' grows into his room.
For tho', when Time or Fates consign The terrier to his latest earth, Vowing no wastrel of the line Shall dim the memory of his worth, I meditate the silkier breeds, Yet still an Amurath succeeds : Succeeds to bind the heart again To watchful eye and strenuous paw, To tail that gratulates amain Or deprecates offended Law ; To bind, and break, when failing eye And palsied paw must say good-bye.
Ah, had, the dog's appointed day But tallied with his master's span, Nor one swift decade turned to grey The busy muzzle's black and tan, To reprobate in idle men Their threescore empty years and ten Sure, somewhere o'er the Stygian strait 'Panurge ' and Bito," Tramp ' and Mike,' In col:reliant conclave watch the gate, Till comes the last successive tyke, Acknowledged with the countersign : "Your master was a friend of mine."
In dreams I see them spring to greet, With rapture more than tail can tell, Their master of the silent feet Who whistles o'er the asphodel, And thro' the dim Elysian bounds Leads all his cry of little hounds.
Jorm HALIDIAM.
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