And now he pac’d the valley, free, And now he bounded o’er the dew, For well his master’s company Would recompence his toil he knew; And where a rippling rill was seen Flashing the woody brakes between, Fearless of danger, thro’ the lucid tide, The Shepherd’s eager dog, yelping with joy, would glide. X. Full many a year, the same was he His love still stronger every day, For, in his master’s company, He had grown old, and very grey; And now his sight grew dim: and slow Up the rough mountain he would go, And his loud bark, which all the village knew, With ev’ry wasting hour, more faint, and peevish grew. XI. One morn, to the low mead went he, Rous’d from his threshold-bed to meet A gay and lordly company! The Sun was bright, the air was sweet; Old TRIM was watchful of his care, His master’s flocks were feeding there, And, fearful of the hounds, he yelping stood Beneath a willow Tree, that wav’d across the flood. XII. Old TRIM was urg’d to wrath; for he Was guardian of the meadow bounds; And, heedless of the company, With angry snarl attack’d the hounds! Some felt his teeth, though they were old, For still his ire was fierce and bold, And ne’er did valiant chieftain feel more strong Than the Old Shepherd’s dog, when daring foes among. XIII. The Sun was setting o’er the Sea The breezes murmuring sad, and slow, When a gay lordly company, Came to the Shepherd’s hovel low; Their arm’d associates stood around The sheep-cote fence’s narrow bound, While its poor master heard, with fix’d despair, That TRIM, his friend, deem’d MAD, was doom’d to perish there! XIV. The kind old Shepherd wept, for he Had no such guide, to mark his way, And kneeling pray’d the company, To let him live, his little day! “For many a year my Dog has been “The only friend these eyes have seen, “We both are old and feeble, he and I— “Together we have liv’d, together let us die! XV. “Behold his dim, yet speaking eye! “Which ill befits his visage grim “He cannot from your anger fly, “For slow and feeble is old TRIM! “He looks, as though he fain would speak, “His beard is white—his voice is weak— “He IS NOT MAD! O! then, in pity spare “The only watchful friend, of my small fleecy care!” XVI.