The Dying Hunter to his Dog - Susanna Moodie

Lie down — lie down! — my noble hound,
      That joyful bark give o'er;
It wakes the lonely echoes round,
      But rouses me no more —
Thy lifted ears, thy swelling chest,
      Thy eyes so keenly bright,
No longer kindle in my breast
      The thrill of fierce delight;
When following thee on foaming steed
My eager soul outstripped thy speed —

Lie down — lie down — my faithful hound!
      And watch this night by me,
For thee again the horn shall sound
      By mountain, stream, and tree;
And thou along the forest glade,
      Shall track the flying deer
When cold and silent, I am laid
      In chill oblivion here.
Another voice shall cheer thee on,
And glory when the chase is won.

Lie down — lie down! — my gallant hound!
      Thy master's life is sped;
Go — couch thee on the dewy ground —
      'Tis thine to watch the dead.
But when the blush of early day
      Is kindling up the sky,
Then speed thee, faithful friend, away,
      And to thy mistress hie;
And guide her to this lonely spot,
Though my closed eyes behold her not —

Lie down — lie down! — my trusty hound!
      Death comes, and we must part —
In my dull ear strange murmurs sound —
      More faintly throbs my heart;
The many twinkling lights of heaven
      Scarce glimmer in the blue —
Chill round me falls the breath of even,
      Cold on my brow the dew;
Earth, stars, and heavens, are lost to sight —
The chase is o'er! — brave friend, good night! —

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Susanna Moodie (1803 - 1885) Canada (born England)