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THE HARPER.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,

No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could so cheerily play,

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part,

5

She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart)

Oh! remember your
Sheelah when far far

away;

And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, And he constantly lov'd me, although I was poor;

10

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 grown weary and old,

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How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he lick'd me for kindness-my poor dog Tray.

Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case,

Nor refus'd

my

last crust to his pitiful face;

But he died at my feet on a cold winter day,
And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray.

25

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind?

Το my

sweet native village, so far far away,

I can never more return with my poor dog Tray.

THE END.

Printed by Mundell and Son, Edinburgh.

POEMS

BY

DR. GOLDSMITH.

B

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