Not like to him that, in past years,
Won fight by fight, and scattered
Whole tribes of dogs with rags of ears
And tail-ends torn and tattered.
But while time tells upon our pet,
And makes him greyer daily,
He is a noble fellow yet,
And wears his old age gaily.
Still, dogs must die; and in the end,
When he is past caressing,
We'll mourn him like some human friend
Whose presence was a blessing.
Till then, be bread and peace his lot --
A life of calm and clover!
The pup may sleep outside with Spot --
We'll keep the nook for Rover.
The Melbourne International Exhibition
[~Written for Music.~]
I
Brothers from far-away lands,
Sons of the fathers of fame,
Here are our hearts and our hands --
This is our song of acclaim.
Lords from magnificent zones,
Shores of superlative sway,
Awful with lustre of thrones,
This is our greeting to-day.
Europe and Asia are here --
Shining they enter our ports!
She that is half of the sphere
Beams like a sun in our courts.
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