MY POOR DOG TRAY.
On the green banks of Shannon, when Shelah was nigh.
No blythe Irish lad was so happy as I,
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went, was my poor old dog Tray.
When at last I was forced from my Shelah to part,
She said-while the sorrow was big in her heart"Oh, remember your Shelah, when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to my poor dog Tray."
Poor dog, he was faithful and kind, to be sure;
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor,
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were gr >wn weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old cot of gray,
And he lick'd me for kindness-my poor dog Tray.
Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold Winters day,
And I play'd a lament for my poor dog Tray.
Where now shall I go-poor, forsaken, and blind?
Can I find one to guide me so faithful and kind?
To my sweet native village so far, far away,
I can ne'er more return with my poor dog Tray.