And thou art gone, my poor dumb friend! thy troubles all are past;A faithful friend thou wert indeed, e'en to the very last!And thou wert the prop of my house, my children's pride and pet,--Who now will help to free me from this weary load of debt?
Here, single-handed, in the bush I battled on for years,My heart sometimes buoyed up with hope, sometimes bowed down with fears.I had misfortunes not a few, e'en from the very first!But take them altogether, "Bright," thy death's the very worst!
My great ambition's always been, to owe no man a cent;To compass that, by honest toil, my every nerve I've bent;Not for proud Independence! no, of which the poets sing,But for the very love of Right--the justice of the thing.
To clear accounts within the year, I saw my way so plain--But losing thee, it throws me back, God knows, how far again!Just when I thought within my grasp, I had success secure,Here comes Misfortune back again, resolved to keep me poor!
I've no one to depend upon, to do my teaming now!And there's ten acres to be logged! the fallow all to plough!How can I ever clear the land--how can I drag the wheat?How can I keep my credit clear--how can my children eat?
O, nothing in the shape of work, was e'er a scare to thee!Thou wert the hero of the field, at every logging bee!The drags, they might be double length, the maples monster thick,Then give thee but a "rolling hitch," and off they went so slick.
'Twas but a tug,--the monsters seem'd to thee as light's a pin;And how you wheeled them round about, and how you jerked them in;The very crookedest of all, would hardly make thee strain,And from the teamsters, every one, fresh laurels thou didst gain.
A gentleness, a beauty, too, within thine eye did dwell!It seemed to me as beautiful as eye of the gazelle!And, how thy hide of tawny-white lost every shade of dun,And its brown streaks to velvet changed, all in the summer's sun.
And through the Indian Summer too, transfigured thou didst seem,A great dumb giant looking through her hazy amber beam!And how you loved in Spring-time oft, to browse beside the creek--When all the air was laden with the odour of the leek.
How you would stand and ruminate, like sage in thoughtful mood;Or listen to the children's shout, far in the leafy wood,--While they were hunting flowery spots, where Spring had newly been,--Or gathering lilies, red and white, beneath the maples green;
Or, far beneath the tamarac's shade--where many a hemlock leansAbove the salt-licks, in the dell, fringed with the evergreens;--Or climbing the o'erhanging bank, or swinging from the tree;Or starting with their ringing shout, in search, old friend, of thee!
And laden with the spoils of Spring, they'd follow up thy track,And wreath thy horns superb with flowers, and mount upon thy back;And how you shook your tawny sides, in absolute delight;And I have stood, and looked unseen, in rapture on the sight.
It seemed a miracle to me--for thou wert never broke--How willingly you always came, and bowed beneath the yoke;And when Buck--as he sometimes did--would take a stubborn fit.Then, in some language of thine own, you coaxed him to submit.
It's clear to me, that thou hadst got some kind of moral sense,--For never didst thou sneak, and steal, nor ever break a fence,--And when Buck would leap over one, for he was ne'er reclaimed,How hurriedly you stole away, as perfectly ashamed!
And thou wert so sagacious too, so sensible and shrewd,And every word I said to thee, was fully understood.No whip was e'er laid on thy back, nor blue-beech, never never!While slaves and tyrants wrought and fought, we lived in peace together,
I've no doubt, but you learned some things, my poor old friend from me,And many a silent lesson too, I also got from thee;I ne'er could think thou wert a brute, but just a silent brother!And sure am I, to fill thy place I'll never get another!
