Praise of the Dog...

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E.P. Dutton & Company, 1902 - Dogs - 232 pages

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Page 69 - Lo, the poor Indian! Whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind; His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk, or milky way...
Page 114 - The appalled discoverer, with a sigh, Looks round to learn the history. From those abrupt and perilous rocks The man had fallen — that place of fear ! At length upon the shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear ; He instantly recalled the name, And who he was and whence he came; Remembered, too, the very day On which the traveller passed this way.
Page 156 - Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man Without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.
Page 113 - With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry : Nor is there any one in sight All round, in Hollow or on Height ; Nor Shout, nor whistle strikes his ear ; What is the Creature doing here ? It was a Cove, a huge Recess, That keeps till June December's snow A lofty Precipice in front, A silent Tarn* below...
Page 70 - Yet simple Nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven; Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, Some happier island in the watery waste, Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To Be, contents his natural desire, He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Page 80 - The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, From morn to eve his solitary task.
Page 103 - Oh ! where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race ; So true, so brave, — a lamb at home, A lion in the chase...
Page 15 - My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; Crook-knee'd, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls ; Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, Each under each.
Page 132 - Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Redtarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, "When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Page 16 - Lear. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.

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