He was lost!—not a shade of doubt of that;
For he never barked at a slinking cat,
But stood in the square where the wind blew raw,
With drooping ear and a trembling paw,
And a mournful look in his pleading eye,
And a plaintive sniff at the passerby,
That begged as plain as tongue could sue,
“Oh, mister, please may I follow you?”
A lorn wee waif of tawny brown
Adrift in the roar of a heedless town.
Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in.
Well, he won my heart (for I set great store
On my own red Brute—who is here no more),
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,
[63]And who so glad as that small p............