Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1847-03-05
POETRY.
OLD DOBBIN.
BIT ELIZA COOK.

Are too ARE TO be spurned on the score OF his
birth.
He's a creature Of trust, and what more
should we heed I
lis deeds and not blood make the man and
the steed.
He was bred in the forest, and turned on the
plain,
Where the ihistle-burs chung to his fotlocks
and name.
All ugly and rough, not a soul could espy
The spark Of good humor that dwelt in his
eye.
The summer had waned, and the autumn
months rolled
Into those Of stern winter, all dreary and cold |;
But the north wind might whistle, the snow
fake might dance,
Tit colt of the common was left to his chance.
Half starved and half frozen, the haiI-storm
would pelt,
Till his shivering limbs told the pangs that
he felt;
Bot we pitied the brute, and, though laughed
at by all,
We filled him a manger and gave him a stall.
He was fond as a spaniel, and soon he became
The pride of the herd-boy, the pet of The dame.
You may Judge of his fame, when his price
was a crown;
But we christened him Dobbin, and called
him our own.
He grew out Of colthood, and 10! what a
change!
The knowing ones said it was MORALLY
strange
For the foal of the forest, the colt of the waste,
Attracted the notice of jockeys of taste.
The line Of his symmetry was not exact;
But his PAGES were clever, his mould was
compact;
And his shaggy thick coat now appeared with
a gloss,
Shining out like the gold that's been purged
Of its dross.
We broke him for service, and tamely he
wore
Gir,h and rein, seeming proud of the ihral-
dom he bore;
Every farm has a steed for all work and all
hours,
And Dobbin, the sturdy bay pony, was ours.
He carried the master to barter his grain,
And over returned with him safely again:
There was merit in that, for, deny it who may,
When the master could not, Dobbin, could
find his way.
The dairy-maid ventured her eggs on his
back:
Twas him, and him only, she'd trust with
the pack.
The team horses jol,ed, the roadster played
pranks, {
So Dobbin alone had her faith and her thanks.
We fun-lovlng urchins would group by his
side;
We might fearlessly mount him, and daring
ly ride;
We might creep through his legs, we might
plat his long tail;
But his temper and patience were ne'er
known to fail.
We would brush his bright hide till twas
free from a speck;
We kissed his brown muzzle, and Rugged
his thick neck
Oh we priced him like life, and a heart
breaking sob
Ever burst when they threatened to sell our
dear Dob.
He stood to the collar, and tugged up the hill,
With the pigs to the market, the grist to the
mill;
With saddle or halter, in shaft or in trace,
lie was staunch to his work, and content
with his place.
When the hot sun was browning the toll Of
the year,
He was sent 10 the reapers with ale and good
cheer;
And none in the corn-feld more welcome
was seen
Than Dob with his well-laden panniers, /
ween.
Oh! those days Of pure bliss shall I ever
forget.
When we decked out his head with the
azure rosette;
All frantic with Joy to be of to the fair,
With Dobbin, good Dobbin, to carry US there.
He was dear 10 US all, ay, for many long years !;
But. mercy how's thisl my eyes filling
with tears.
Oh ! how cruelty sweet are the echoes that
start
When Memory plays an old tuns on The heart!
There are drops on my cheek, there's a throb
in my breast,
But my song shall not cease, nor my pen
take its rest,
Till l tel. that old Dobbin still lives to be seen,
With his oats in the stable, his tares on the
green.
His best years have gone by, and the master
who gave
The stern yoke to his youth has enfranchised
tie slave.
So browse on, my old Dobbin, nor dream Of
the knife,
For the wealth Of a king should no. purchase
thy life.
The following lines are found upon a board
over a public watering trough, BY the road
eide, in the town Of West Boylsyon;
Temperance fountain. good as can be-,
Better far than Rum or Brandy.
If this truth excites your fury,
Let your Horse be judge and jury.