| |
| WE are two travellers, Roger and I. | |
| Roger ’s my dog:—come here, you scamp! | |
| Jump for the gentlemen,—mind your eye! | |
| Over the table,—look out for the lamp!— | |
| The rogue is growing a little old; | 5 |
| Five years we ’ve tramped through wind and weather, | |
| And slept out-doors when nights were cold, | |
| And ate and drank—and starved together. | |
| |
| We ’ve learned what comfort is, I tell you! | |
| A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, | 10 |
| A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow! | |
| The paw he holds up there ’s been frozen), | |
| Plenty of catgut for my fiddle | |
| (This out-door business is bad for the strings), | |
| Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, | 15 |
| And Roger and I set up for kings! | |
| |
| No, thank ye, sir,—I never drink; | |
| Roger and I are exceedingly moral,— | |
| Aren’t we, Roger?—see him wink!— | |
| Well, something hot, then—we won’t quarrel. | 20 |
| He ’s thirsty too,—see him nod his head? | |
| What a pity, sir, that dogs can’t talk! | |
| He understands every word that ’s said,— | |
| And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. | |
| |
| The truth is, sir, now I reflect, | 25 |
| I ’ve been so sadly given to grog, | |
| I wonder I ’ve not lost the respect | |
| (Here ’s to you, sir!) even of my dog. | |
| But he sticks by through thick and thin; | |
| And this old coat, with its empty pockets, | 30 |
| And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, | |
| He ’ll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. | |
| |
| There isn’t another creature living | |
| Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, | |
| So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving | 35 |
| To such a miserable, thankless master! | |
| No, sir!—see him wag his tail and grin! | |
| By George! it makes my old eyes water!— | |
| That is, there ’s something in this gin | |
| That chokes a fellow. But no matter! | 40 |
| |
| We ’ll have some music, if you ’re willing, | |
| And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir!) | |
| Shall march a little. Start, you villain! | |
| Stand straight! ’Bout face! Salute your officer! | |
| Put up that paw! Dress! Take your rifle! | 45 |
| (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your | |
| Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, | |
| To aid a poor old patriot soldier! | |
| |
| March! Halt! Now show how the rebel shakes | |
| When he stands up to hear his sentence. | 50 |
| Now tell us how many drams it takes | |
| To honor a jolly new acquaintance. | |
| Five yelps,—that ’s five; he ’s mighty knowing! | |
| The night ’s before us, fill the glasses!— | |
| Quick, sir! I ’m ill,—my brain is going! | 55 |
| Some brandy,—thank you,—there!—it passes! | |
| |
| Why not reform? That ’s easily said, | |
| But I ’ve gone through such wretched treatment, | |
| Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, | |
| And scarce remembering what meat meant, | 60 |
| That my poor stomach’s past reform; | |
| And there are times when, mad with thinking, | |
| I ’d sell out heaven for something warm | |
| To prop a horrible inward sinking. | |
| |
| Is there a way to forget to think? | 65 |
| At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, | |
| A dear girl’s love,—but I took to drink,— | |
| The same old story; you know how it ends. | |
| If you could have seen these classic features,— | |
| You needn’t laugh, sir; they were not then | 70 |
| Such a burning libel on God’s creatures; | |
| I was one of your handsome men! | |
| |
| If you had seen her, so fair and young, | |
| Whose head was happy on this breast! | |
| If you could have heard the songs I sung | 75 |
| When the wine went round, you wouldn’t have guessed | |
| That ever I, sir, should be straying | |
| From door to door, with fiddle and dog, | |
| Ragged and penniless, and playing | |
| To you to-night for a glass of grog! | 80 |
| |
| She ’s married since,—a parson’s wife; | |
| ’T was better for her that we should part,— | |
| Better the soberest, prosiest life | |
| Than a blasted home and a broken heart. | |
| I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent | 85 |
| On the dusty road; a carriage stopped; | |
| But little she dreamed, as on she went, | |
| Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped! | |
| |
| You ’ve set me talking, sir; I ’m sorry; | |
| It makes me wild to think of the change! | 90 |
| What do you care for a beggar’s story? | |
| Is it amusing? you find it strange? | |
| I had a mother so proud of me! | |
| ’T was well she died before— Do you know | |
| If the happy spirits in heaven can see | 95 |
| The ruin and wretchedness here below? | |
| |
| Another glass, and strong, to deaden | |
| This pain; then Roger and I will start. | |
| I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, | |
| Aching thing in place of a heart? | 100 |
| He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, | |
| No doubt, remembering things that were,— | |
| A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, | |
| And himself a sober, respectable cur. | |
| |
| I ’m better now; that glass was warming. | 105 |
| You rascal! limber your lazy feet! | |
| We must be fiddling and performing | |
| For supper and bed, or starve in the street. | |
| Not a very gay life to lead, you think? | |
| But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, | 110 |
| And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink;— | |
| The sooner the better for Roger and me! | |
| |
