For ah! the varying seasons had

To every hardship form'd his frame; Tho' still his tender feeling heart,

By nature nurs'd, remain'd the same.

But whither shall the orphan fly

To meet protection's fostering power?
Oppression waits the future day,
When misery marks the natal hour.

An orphan lad poor Lubin was,
No friend, no relative had he!
His happiest hour was dash'd with woe,
His mildest treatment-tyranny.

It chanc'd that o'er the boundless heath One winter's day his flocks had spread; By hunger urg'd to seek the blade,

That lurk'd beneath its snowy bed.

And hous'd at eve, his fleecy charge,
He, sorrowing, miss'd a favourite lamb,
That shunn'd the long persisting search,
Nor answer'd to its bleating dam.

With heavy heart he shap'd his way,
And told so true, so sad a tale,
That almost pierc'd the marble breast
Of ruthless RUFUS of the vale.

Poor Lubin own'd his flocks had stray'd,

Own'd he had suffer'd them to go; Yes! he had learn'd to pity them, For often he had hunger'd too :

And had he to their pinching wants,
The unnipp'd neighb'ring bounds deny'd;
They sure had dropp'd—as surely too,
The pitying shepherd boy had died.

Then die-th' unfeeling master said,

And spurn'd him from his closing door; Which, till he found his favourite lamb,

He vow'd shou'd ne'er admit him more.

Dark was the night, and o'er the waste

The whistling winds did fiercely blow, And 'gainst his poor unshelter'd head, With arrowy keenness came the snow :

The small thick snow, that EURUS drives
In freezing fury o'er the plain,
And with unsparing vengeance, scores
The callous face of hardiest swain.

Yet thus he left his master's house,

And shap'd his sad uncertain way;

By man unnotic'd and forsook,

And follow'd but by-trusty TRAY

Poor trusty Tray! a faithful dog;

Lubin and he were young together: Still wou'd they grace each other's side, Whate'er the time, whate'er the weather.

Unlike to worldly friends were they,
Who separate in fortune's blast-
They still were near when fair the sky,
But nearer still when overcast.

When Lubin's random step involv'd
His body 'neath the drifted snow,
Tray help'd him forth; and when Tray fell,
Poor Lubin dragg'd him from below.

Thus, 'midst the horrors of the night,

They enter'd on the houseless heath; Above their heads no comfort broke,

Nor round about, nor underneath.

No little cheering star they saw,
To light them on their dreary way
Nor yet the distant twinkling blaze
Of cottage industry saw they.

Nay e'en that most officious guide

Of those who roam and those who mope;

Retiring Will o' th' Wisp, refus'd

To trim the lamp of treachʼrous hope,

Nor parish bell was heard to strike,

The hour of " tardy-gaited night;" No noise-but winds and screams of those Ill-omen'd birds that shun the light.

Benumb'd at length his stiff'ning joints,
His tongue to Tray cou'd scarcely speak;
His tears congeal'd to icicles-

His hair hung clatt'ring 'gainst his cheek.

As thus he felt his falt'ring limbs

Give omen of approaching death, Aurora from her eastern hill

Rush'd forth, and staid his fleeting breath:

And shew'd to his imperfect sight

The harmless cause of all his wce!

His little lambkin, cold and stiff!

Stretch'd on its bed of glist'ning snow! *

His heart's best chord was yet in tune,

Unsnapp'd by cold severity;

Touch'd was that chord—his dim eye beamid, Suffused sensibility.

'Tis just he said, that where thou liest, The careless shepherd boy shou'd lie; Thou died'st, poor fool! for want of food! I fall, for suffering thee to die.

But oh, my master!'-broken-short-
Was every half-word now he spoke-
Severe has been, thy constant will,
And galling sure thy heavy yoke.

But yet, "in all my best," have I Without a 'plaint my hardships bore; Rufus !—may all thy pangs be pastMaster!-my sufferings are no more!

A-warmer couch hast thou to press, • Secure from cramping frosts thy feet; And could'st thou boast so free a breast,

Thou yet might'st die a death as sweet.

My trusty dog-that wistful look

Is all that makes my poor heart heave; • But hie thee home,-proclaim me dead, • Forget to think-and cease to grieve."

So saying, shrunk the hapless youth,

Beneath the chilling grasp of death; And, clasping poor Tray's shaggy neck, Sigh'd gently forth his parting breath!

His faithful, fond, sagacious dog,

Hung watchful o'er his master's clay; And many a moan the old fool made,

And many a thing he strove to say.