Pauperis hic Iri requiesco Lyciscus, herilis, Dum vixi, tutela vigil columenque senectæ, Dux cæco fidus; nec, me ducente, solebat, Prætenso hinc atque hinc baculo, per iniqua locorum Incertam explorare viam; sed fila secutus, Quæ dubios regerent passus, vestigia tuta Fixit inoffenso gressu; gelidumque sedile In nudo nactus saxo, qua prætereuntium Unda frequens confluxit, ibi miserisque tenebras Lamentis, noctemque oculis ploravit obortam. Ploravit nec frustra; obolum dedit alter et alter, Queis corda et mentem indiderat natura benignam. Ad latus interea jacui sopitus herile, Vel mediis vigil in somnis; ad herilia jussa Auresque atque animum arrectus, seu frustuia amice Porrexit sociasque dapes, seu longa diei Tædia perpessus, reditum sub nocte parabat. Hi mores, hæc vita fuit, dum fata sinebant, Dum neque languebam morbis, nec inerte senecta, Quæ tandem obrepsit, veterique satellite cæcum Orbavit dominum: prisci sed gratia facti Ne tota intereat, longos deleta per annos, Exiguum hunc Irus tumulum de cespite fecit, Et si inopis, non ingratæ munuscula dextræ; Carmine signavitque brevi, dominumque canemque Quod memoret, fidumque canem dominumque benignum. * * * Poor Irus' faithful wolf-dog here I lie, That wont to tend my old blind master's steps, His guide and guard; nor, while my service lasted, Had he occasion for that staff, with which He now goes picking out his path in fear Over the highways and crossings, but would plant, Safe in the conduct of my friendly string, A firm foot forward still, till he had reach'd His poor seat on some stone, nigh where the tide Of passers-by in thickest confluence flow'd: To whom with loud and passionate laments From morn to eve his dark estate he wail'd. Nor wail'd to all in vain: some here and there, The well-disposed and good, their pennies gave; I meantime at his feet obsequious slept; Not all-asleep in sleep, but heart and ear Prick'd up at his least motion: to receive At his kind hand my customary crumbs, And common portion in his feast of scraps; Or when night warned us homeward, tired and spent With our long day and tedious beggary. These were my manners, this my way of life, Till age and slow disease me overtook, And sever'd from my sightless master's side. But, lest the grace of so good deeds should die, Through tract of years in mute oblivion lost, This slender tomb of turf hath Irus rear'd, Cheap monument of no ungrudging hand, And with short verse inscribed it, to attest, In long and lasting union to attest, The virtues of the Beggar and the Dog.