The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dog's Book of Verse, collected by J. Earl Clauson.

Thou dogged Cineas, hated like a dog,
For still thou grumblest like a masty dog,
Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dog;
Thou say'st thou art as weary as a dog,
As angry, sick, and hungry as a dog,
As dull and melancholy as a dog,
As lazy, sleepy, idle as a dog.
But why dost thou compare thee to a dog
In that for which all men despise a dog?
I will compare thee better to a dog;
Thou art as fair and comely as a dog,
Thou art as true and honest as a dog,
Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog,
Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog,
But, Cineas, I have often heard thee tell
Thou art as like thy father as may be:
'Tis like enough; and, faith, I like it well;
But I am glad thou art not like to me.

OLD MATTHEW'S DOG

I am only a dog, and I've had my day;
So, idle and dreaming, stretched out I lay
In the welcome warmth of the summer sun,
A poor old hunter whose work is done.

Dream? Yes, indeed; though I am but a dog.
Don't I dream of the partridge I sprung by the log?
Of the quivering hare and her desperate flight,
Of the nimble gray squirrel secure in his height,

Far away in the top of the hickory tree,
Looking down safe and saucy at Matthew and me,
Till the hand, true and steady, a messenger shot,
And the creature upbounded, and fell, and was not?

Old Matthew was king of the wood-rangers then;
And the quails in the stubble, the ducks in the fen,
The hare on the common, the birds on the bough,
Were afraid. They are safe enough now,

For all we can harm them, old master and I.
We have had our last hunt, the game must go by,
While Matthew sits fashioning bows in the door,
For a living. We'll never hunt more.

For time, cold and hardship have stiffened his knee,
And since little Lottie died, often I see
His hands tremble sorely, and go to his eyes,
For the lost baby daughter, so pretty and wise.

Oh, it's sad to be old, and to see the blue sky
Look far away to the dim, fading eye;
To feel the fleet foot growing weary and sore
That in forest and hamlet shall lag evermore.

I am going—I hear the great wolf on my track;
Already around me his shadow falls black.
One hunting cry more! Oh, master, come nigh,
And lay the white paw in your own as I die!

Oh, come to me, master; the last hedge is passed—
Our tramps in the wildwood are over at last;
Stoop lower, and lay my head on your knee.
What! Tears for a useless old hunter like me?

You will see little Lottie again by and by.
I shan't. They don't have any dogs in the sky.
Tell her, loving and trusty, beside you I died,
And—bury me, master, not far from her side.

For we loved little Lottie so well, you and I.
Ha, master, the shadow! Fire low—it is nigh—
There was never a sound in the still morning heard,
But the heart of the hunter his old jacket stirred.

As he flung himself down on the brute's shaggy coat,
And watched the faint life in its quivering throat
Till it stopped quite at last. The black wolf had won,
And the death-hunted hound into cover had run.

But long ere the snow over graves softly fell,
Old Matthew was resting from labor as well;
While the cottage stood empty, yet back from the hill
The voice of the hound in the morn echoed still.

A DOG AND A MAN

He was a dog,
But he stayed at home
And guarded the family night and day.
He was a dog
That didn't roam.
He lay on the porch or chased the stray—
The tramps, the burglar, the hen, away;
For a dog's true heart for that household beat
At morning and evening, in cold and heat.
He was a dog.

He was a man,
And didn't stay
To cherish his wife and his children fair.
He was a man.
And every day
His heart grew callous, its love-beats rare,
He thought of himself at the close of day,
And, cigar in his fingers, hurried away
To the club, the lodge, the store, the show.
But—he had a right to go, you know.
He was a man.

ROVER-DOG

Old Rover-Dog, he toasts his toes
Right by th' chimney-fire wif me.
I turned his long ear wrong side out
An' he was s'rprised as he could be!
An' nen he reached right out an' took
An' int'rest in my lolly-pop—
That's w'y I shook my finger hard
At him, 'cause he jus' better stop.

I ast him which his sweet toof was,
An' he jus' laffed an' showed me where
He keeps um, up an' down his mouf—
(I guess there's mos' a hundred there).
He's got a cunning little house,
But you can't climb right in, at all—
Ain't hardly big enough for him;
I guess it is a size too small.

'Cause when he is "at home" his head
Stays looking out of his front door;
His paws hang out convenient like,
So's folks they will shake hands some more.
Old Rover-Dog, w'en he likes folks,
He thumps th' floor hard wif his tail—
Where 'tis you've heard that sound before
Is w'en your pa, he drives a nail.

One time my Uncle Fred p'tend
He's "tramp-mans" an' will come right in;
I put my ear on Rover's back
So's I could hear th' growl begin.
An' oncet he thought he'd try his nap
Right in my grampa's big armchair.
My grampa, he sat down on him,
'Cause "he wa'n't 'spectin' dogs was there."

'N Rover walked off dignified
An' curled his back up 'gainst th' wall—
If grampas ain't got manners, w'y,
He isn't goin' to care at all.
That's w'y I went an' 'xplained to him
How grampas, they ain't imperlite,
A grampa has th' bestest chair
Because his hair is very white.

Nen Rover-Dog raise up one ear
An' lift his nose fum off his paw,
An' say his feelin's aren't all hurt
If that was candy that he saw!
'N w'en he'd et my choc'late cream
He went an' finished up his dream.

HORSE, DOG AND MAN

The horse and the dog had tamed a man and fastened him to a fence:
Said the horse to the dog: "For the life of me, I don't see a bit of sense
In letting him have the thumbs that grow at the sides of his hands. Do you?"
And the dog looked solemn and shook his head, and said: "I'm a goat if I do!"

The poor man groaned and tried to get loose, and sadly he begged them, "Stay!
You will rob me of things for which I have use by cutting my thumbs away!
You will spoil my looks, you will cause me pain; ah, why would you treat me so?
As I am, God made me, and He knows best! Oh, masters, pray let me go!"

The dog laughed out, and the horse replied, "Oh, the cutting won't hurt you, see?
We'll have a hot iron to clap right on, as you did in your docking of me!
God gave you your thumbs and all, but still, the Creator, you know, may fail
To do the artistic thing, as he did in the furnishing me with a tail."

So they bound the man and cut off his thumbs, and were deaf to his pitiful cries,
And they seared the stumps, and they viewed their work through happy and dazzled eyes.
"How trim he appears," the horse exclaimed, "since his awkward thumbs are gone!
For the life of me I cannot see why the Lord ever put them on!"

"Still it seems to me," the dog replied, "that there's something else to do;
His ears look rather too long for me, and how do they look to you?"
The man cried out: "Oh, spare my ears! God fashioned them as you see,
And if you apply your knife to them, you'll surely disfigure me."

"But you didn't disfigure me, you know," the dog decisively said,
"When you bound me fast and trimmed my ears down close to the top of my head!"
So they let him moan and they let him groan while they cropped his ears away,
And they praised his looks when they let him up, and proud indeed were they.

But that was years and years ago, in an unenlightened age!
Such things are ended, now, you know; we've reached a higher stage.
The ears and thumbs God gave to man are his to keep and wear,
And the cruel horse and dog look on, and never appear to care.

THE BEST DOG

Yes, I went to see the bow-wows, and I looked at every one,
Proud dogs of each breed and strain that's underneath the sun;
But not one could compare with—you may hear it with surprise—
A little yellow dog I know that never took a prize.

Not that they would have skipped him when they gave the ribbons out,
Had there been a class to fit him—though his lineage is in doubt.
No judge of dogs could e'er resist the honest, faithful eyes
Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.

Suppose he wasn't trained to hunt, and never killed a rat,
And isn't much on tricks or looks or birth—well, what of that?
That might be said of lots of folks whom men call great and wise,
As well as of that yellow dog that never took a prize.

It isn't what a dog can do, or what a dog may be,
That hits a man. It's simply this—does he believe in me?
And by that test I know there's not the compeer 'neath the skies
Of that plain little yellow dog that never took a prize.

Oh, he's the finest little pup that ever wagged a tail,
And followed man with equal joy to Congress or to jail.
I'm going to start a special show—'Twill beat the world for size—
For faithful little yellow dogs, and each shall have a prize.

CÆSAR, KING EDWARD'S DOG

No deeper, truer love could spring
Spontaneously from human breast
Than Cæsar's, who has loved the king
With all a dear dog's silent zest.

A dog's dumb way may not impart
The grief that mortals can express,
But who shall say that Cæsar's heart
Mourns his beloved king the less?

Since ours the faith, "Love lives in space,"
His love, whene'er his soul takes wing,
May be ordained, by Heaven's grace,
To reach the spirit of the king.

JUST OUR DOG

He was just a dog, mister—that's all;
And all of us boys called him Bub;
He was curly and not very tall
And he hadn't a tail—just a stub.
His tail froze one cold night, you see;
We just pulled the rest of him through.
No—he didn't have much pedigree—
Perhaps that was frozen off, too.

He always seemed quite well behaved,
And he never had many bad fights;
In summer he used to be shaved
And he slept in the woodshed o' nights.
Sometimes he would wake up too soon
And cry, if his tail got a chill;
Some nights he would bark at the moon,
But some nights he would sleep very still.

He knew how to play hide-and-seek
And he always would come when you'd call;
He would play dead, roll over and speak,
And learned it in no time at all.
Sometimes he would growl, just in play,
But he never would bite, and his worst
Was to bark at the postman one day,
But the postman, he barked at him first.

He used to chase cats up a tree,
But that was just only in fun;
And a cat was as safe as could be—
Unless it should start out to run;
Sometimes he'd chase children and throw
Them down, just while running along,
And then lick their faces to show
He didn't mean anything wrong.

He was chasing an automobile
When the wheel hit him right in the side,
So he just gave a queer little squeal
And curled up and stretched out and died.
His tail it was not very long,
He was curly and not very tall;
But he never did anything wrong—
He was just our dog, mister—that's all.

RAGGED ROVER

I have still a vision of him
Ragged Rover, as he lay
In the sunshine of the morning
On the door-stone worn and gray;
Where the honeysuckle trellis
Hung its tinted blossoms low,
And the well-sweep with its bucket
Swung its burden to and fro;
Where the maples were a-quiver
In the pleasant June-time breeze;
And where droned among the phloxes
Half a hundred golden bees.

Yes, I have a vision with me
Of a home upon a hill;
And my heart is sad with longing
And my eyes with tear-drops fill.
I would be the care-free urchin
That I was so long ago
When across the sun-lit meadows
Rover with me used to go
Yonder where the graceful lindens
Threw their shadows far and cool,
And the waters waited for me
In the brimming swimming pool.

I can see him drive the cattle
From the pasture through the lane
With their mellow bells a-tinkle,
Sending out a low refrain;
I can see him drive them homeward,
Speckle, Brindle, Bess and Belle;
All the herd from down the valley
As the shades of even fell.
Thus, I wander like a pilgrim—
Slow the steps that once were strong;
Back to greet him, Ragged Rover,
And my childhood's ceaseless song.

TO FLUSH, MY DOG

Loving friend, the gift of one
Who her own true faith has run
Through thy lower nature,
Be my benediction said
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!

Like a lady's ringlets brown,
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely
Of thy silver-suited breast,
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.

III

Darkly brown thy body is,
Till the sunshine striking this
Alchemize its dulness,
When the sleek curls manifold
Flash all over into gold
With a burnished fulness.

Underneath my stroking hand.
Startled eyes of hazel bland
Kindling, growing larger,
Up thou leanest with a spring,
Full of prank and curvetting,
Leaping like a charger.

Leap! thy broad tail waves a light,
Leap! thy slender feet are bright,
Canopied in fringes;
Leap! those tasselled ears of thine
Flicker strangely, fair and fine
Down their gold inches.

Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
Little is't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness:
Other dogs may be thy peers
Happy in these drooping ears
And this glossy fairness.

VII

But of thee it shall be said,
This dog watched beside a bed
Day and night unweary,—
Watched within a curtained room
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom,
Round the sick and dreary.

VIII

Roses, gathered for a vase,
In that chamber died space,
Beam and breeze resigning:
This dog only waited on,
Knowing, that, when light is gone,
Love remains for shining.

Other dogs in thymy dew
Tracked the hares, and followed through
Sunny moor or meadow:
This dog only crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.

Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing:
This dog only watched in reach
Of a faintly uttered speech,
Or a louder sighing.

And if one or two quick tears
Dropped upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double,
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
In a tender trouble.

XII

And this dog was satisfied
If a pale, thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping,—
Which he pushed his nose within,
After,—platforming his chin
On the palm left open.

XIII

This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
"Come out!" praying from the door,
Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping.

XIV

Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly, not scornfully,
Render praise and favor:
With my hand upon his head,
Is my benediction said
Therefore and forever.

And because he loves me so,
Better than his kind will do
Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my human.

XVI

Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugared milk may fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of gentle motion fail
Nevermore to pat thee!

XVII

Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlet bestead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping!
No fly's buzzing wake thee up,
No man break thy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in!

XVIII

Whiskered cats aroynted flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!

XIX

Mock I thee, in wishing weal?
Tears are in my eyes to feel
Thou art made so straitly:
Blessings need must straiten too,—
Little canst thou joy or do
Thou who lovest greatly.

Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature;
Only loved beyond that line,
With a love that answers thine,
Loving fellow-creature!

FRANCES

You were a friend, Frances, a friend,
With feeling and regard and capable of woe.
Oh, yes, I know you were a dog, but I was just a man.
I did not buy you; no, you simply came,
Lost, and squatted on my doorstep.
The place was strange—you quivered, but stayed on,
And I had need of you.
No other fellow could make you follow him,
For you had chosen me to be your pal.
My whistle was your law,
You put your paw
Upon my palm,
And in your calm, deep eyes was writ
The promise of long comradeship.
When I came home from work,
Late and ill-tempered,
Always I heard the patter of your feet upon the oaken stairs;
Your nose was at the door-crack;
And whether I'd been bad or good that day
You fawned, and loved me just the same.
It was your way to understand.
And if I struck you, my harsh hand
Was met with your caresses.
You took my leavings, crumb and bone,
And stuck by me through thick and thin—
You were my kin.
And then one day you died
And were put deep.
But though you sleep, and ever sleep,
I sense you at my heels.

TO MY SETTER, SCOUT

You are a tried and loyal friend;
The end
Of life will find you leal, unweary
Of tested bonds that naught can rend,
And e'en if years be sad and dreary,
Our plighted friendship will extend.

A truer friend man never had;
'Tis sad
That 'mongst all earthly friends the fewest
Unfaithful ones should thus be clad
In canine lowliness; yet truest
They, be their treatment good or bad.

Within your eyes methinks I find
A kind
And thoughtful look of speechless feeling
That mem'ry's loosened cords unbind,
And let the dreamy past come stealing
Through your dumb, reflective mind.

Scout, my trusty friend, can it be
You see
Again, in retrospective dreaming,
The run, the woodland, and the lea,
With past autumnal sunshine streaming
O'er ev'ry frost-dyed field and tree?

Or do you see now once again
The glen
And fern, the highland, and the thistle?
And do you still remember when
We heard the bright-eyed woodcock whistle
Down by the rippling, shrub-edged fen?

I see you turn a listening ear
To hear
The quail upon the flower-pied heather;
But, doggie, wait till uplands sere,
And then the autumn's waning weather
Will bring the sport we hold so dear.

Then we will hunt the loamy swale
And trail
The snipe, their cunning wiles o'ercoming;
And oft will flush the bevied quail,
And hear the partridge slowly drumming
Dull echoes in the leaf-strewn dale.

When wooded hills with crimson light
Are bright,
We'll stroll where trees and vines are growing,
And see birds warp their southern flight
At sundown, when the Day King's throwing
Sly kisses to the Queen of Night.

WHY STRIK'ST THOU ME?

Why dost thou strike me?—Ever faithful
In service to thee do I live;
And often when thou wert in peril
My very utmost would I give;
My life I would lay down for thee!
Why strik'st thou me?

In blustering storm and cruel Winter,
In murky night or through the day,
Obedient I have trotted by thee
And guarded thee along the way.
I've watched thee and protected thee:
Why strik'st thou me?

When flashed the robber's steel against thee,
When thou wert threatened by his arm,
And thou didst call for aid and rescue,
Who saved thee then from mortal harm?
My blood flowed on the sand for thee:
Why strik'st thou me?

When down the sheer walls of the chasm
That glooms the torrent thou didst slide,
Thou there had perished maimed and helpless
Had I not sought thee far and wide.
Myself forgetting, sought I thee:
Why strik'st thou me?

When on the furious billows drifting
Thou heldest up a beckoning hand,
And no man dared attempt to save thee,
I brought thee safely to the land.
From certain death I rescued thee:
Why strik'st thou me?

Oh doom me not to starve and perish;
The poor old Sultan do not slay!
For thee, too, will the days soon darken
In which thy strength will fade away.
Then thou wilt beg as I beg thee:—
Why strik'st thou me?

CONSOLATION

Full dismal blows the wind
Without my cabin, here,
And many times I find
Myself possessed of fear.

I often hear a sound
As if a stranger tried
To enter here, but found
The door made fast inside.

The nights are filled with dread,
And fancy even scrolls
Gray visions of the dead—
Ghosts of departed souls.

But never near me creeps
What fancy oft invites.
My dog a vigil keeps
Throughout the awful nights.

ARGUS

When wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost,
Arrived at last—poor, old, despised, alone,
To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown,
Changed as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrowed his rev'rend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forced to ask his bread,
Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew,
His faithful dog his rightful master knew!

Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay
Like an old servant, now cashiered, he lay;
And though ev'n then expiring on the plain,
Touched with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again,
Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet
('Twas all he could), and fawned, and kissed his feet,
Seized with dumb joy; then falling by his side,
Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died.

CHAINED IN THE YARD

'Twas only a dog in a kennel
And little noise he made,
But it seemed to me as I heard it
I knew what that old dog said.

"Another long month to get over;
Will nobody loosen my chain?
Just for a run 'round the meadow,
Then fasten me up again.

"Give me my old life of freedom,
Give me a plunge and a swim,
A dash and a dive in the river,
A shake and a splash on the brim."

I patted his head and spoke kindly,
I thought that his case was hard,
Oh, give him a run in the open,
Your dog chained up in the yard!

WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS COLD

"What makes the dog's nose always cold?"
I'll try to tell you, curls of gold,
If you will sit upon my knee
And very good and quiet be.

Well, years and years and years ago—
How many I don't really know—
There came a rain on sea and shore;
Its like was never seen before
Or since. It fell unceasing down
Till all the world began to drown.

But just before it down did pour,
An old, old man—his name was Noah—
Built him an ark, that he might save
His family from a watery grave;
And in it also he designed
To shelter two of every kind
Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done,
And heavy clouds obscured the sun,
The Noah folks to it quickly ran,
And then the animals began
To gravely march along in pairs.

The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears,
The deer, the hippopotamuses,
The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses,
The camels, goats, and cats, and donkeys,
The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys,
The rats, the big rhinoceroses,
The dromedaries and the horses,
The sheep, the mice, the kangaroos,
Hyenas, elephants, koodoos,
And many more—'twould take all day,
My dear, the very names to say—
And at the very, very end
Of the procession, by his friend
And master, faithful dog was seen.

The lifelong time he'd helping been
To drive the crowd of creatures in;
And now, with loud, exultant bark,
He gayly sprang aboard the bark.

Alas! So crowded was the space
He could not in it find a place;
So, patiently, he turned about,—
Stood half-way in, and half-way out,
And those extremely heavy showers
Descended through nine hundred hours
And more; and, darling, at their close
Most frozen was his honest nose;
And never could it lose again
The dampness of that dreadful rain.

And that is what, my curls of gold,
Made all the doggies' noses cold.