Ruby
Accidentally shot. November 23rd, 1829. —
Poor Ruby is dead! and before her no more
From the hearth and the furze-bush the rabbit shall rise, —
For her barking is hushed and her bounding is o'er,
And the birds will hop over the turf where she lies.
And the fire will shine down on the hearthrug at night,
But poor Ruby will never repose there again, —
For her last sleep has closed up her eyelids, and light
Will beam bright on her tomb to arouse her in vain.
To the churchyard no more when the service is done
She will hasten to welcome her master and friends, —
Nor again chase her tail round and round in her fun, —
For with life — Ruby's joy and her liberty ends. —
Poor dog! though the hand which so fondly she loved
Was the same which in death made her dark eye grow dim, —
Yet, had language been hers — she would e'en have approved
Of a deed e'er so fatal — if coming from him!
They'll miss thee — poor Animal! gentle and true,
In the field and the parlour, [in both thou didst shine!]
For 'mongst dogs thou wast good . . . and of mortals, how few,
Can boast of a life half so faultless as thine! —
Thou wilt never come back! — Yet in some future day
When the grass and the daisies have grown o'er thy head —
They will think of thee often at evening — and say
When they look at thy hearthrug — " Poor Ruby is dead!" —
Poor Ruby is dead! and before her no more
From the hearth and the furze-bush the rabbit shall rise, —
For her barking is hushed and her bounding is o'er,
And the birds will hop over the turf where she lies.
And the fire will shine down on the hearthrug at night,
But poor Ruby will never repose there again, —
For her last sleep has closed up her eyelids, and light
Will beam bright on her tomb to arouse her in vain.
To the churchyard no more when the service is done
She will hasten to welcome her master and friends, —
Nor again chase her tail round and round in her fun, —
For with life — Ruby's joy and her liberty ends. —
Poor dog! though the hand which so fondly she loved
Was the same which in death made her dark eye grow dim, —
Yet, had language been hers — she would e'en have approved
Of a deed e'er so fatal — if coming from him!
They'll miss thee — poor Animal! gentle and true,
In the field and the parlour, [in both thou didst shine!]
For 'mongst dogs thou wast good . . . and of mortals, how few,
Can boast of a life half so faultless as thine! —
Thou wilt never come back! — Yet in some future day
When the grass and the daisies have grown o'er thy head —
They will think of thee often at evening — and say
When they look at thy hearthrug — " Poor Ruby is dead!" —
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