The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1878-11-14
THE DYING SETTER.


Bronco was the faithful, remarkably intel
ligent pet, and ever faithful. constant COM
panion OF that original, eccentric. remarkable
man, Col. James Patterson, dec d, the father
Of Mr. j Mel, Barney. James, Jr and Al
ired tfoody), whose memory is fondly cher
lshed oy all who knew him. Bronco was
not only faithful to his master, but his mas
Ter was true Co him as he to ell the noble
instincts of humanity, to his country and TO
his friends. Bronco was old and almost help
less before his death, but his master never
deserted him IL was under these circum-
stances that the following poem was written.
Its author was then the gay, witty, brilliant
young friend and companion of Nell" He
Is now the mature, the gallant, the able
citizen and his name is Col. John G. Ballen-
tine. We copy from the original manuscript:
THE DYING SETTER.
Old Bronco, how feebly thou crawl'st to the
Thou who vert all beauty and vigor of yore:
How slow Is thy stagger the sunshine to find
ana my straw-sPIinkled Pallet-how Grip
pied and bllndl
Yet thy heart is still hving-thou nearest
my voice
And thy faintwagging tail says thou yet
can rejoice;
But how different art thou from the Bronco
of old,
The sleek and the gamesome, the swift and
the boldis
At sunrise l wakened to heaI thy proud bark,
with the coo Ct the house-dove, the lay of
the lark:
And out to tbs green fields twas ours to repair
When sunrise with glory empurpled the air;
And the streamlet flowed down in its gold TO
the sea,
And the night-dew like diamond sparks
CLEANED from the tree,
And the sky DER the earth in such purity
glowed
AS if angels, not men, on its surface abodel
How then thou would'st gambol and start
from my feet.
Go scare the wild birds from their sylvan
Or plunge in the smooth stream and bring to
my hand
The twig or the wild flower threw from the
land.
On the moss-sprinkled stone, if l sat for a
space
Thou would'st crouch on the greensward and
gaze IN my face,
Then in wontonness pluck up the blooms
in thy teeth,
And toss them about thee, or tread them
beneath.
Then | was schoolboy all thoughtless and
And thou vert whelp full of gambols and
glee,
Now dim is thine eye ball, and grizzled. thy
hair,
And am man, and of grief have nv share.
Yesl thou bring'st to mind all the pleasures
of youth.
When hope was the mistress not handmade
of truth;
When earth looked an Eden when joys
sunny hours
Were cloudless, and every path sprinkled
with flowers
Now winter is waning; soon summers sweet
showers
shan deck the gay earth with it's beautiful
And thou, all too old it's beauty to see,
Shalt die whilst the green leaf still hangs on
Then thy grave shall be dug meath the old
apple tree,
Which in spring-time viii shed down it's bios
SONS on thee;
And when tow iast-feeting seasons are Ger,
Thy faith and thy form shall be thought of
no more!
Then all who caressed thee and loved shall
be laid,
LIES pilgrimage DER, in the tomb's dreary
= shade,
Other stops shall be heard on these floors
and the past
Be like Yesterdays clouds from the memory
Improvements will follow, old walls will be
thrown down,
Old landmarks removed, when old masters
are gone:
And the gardiner when delving shall mar
vel to see
White bones where once blossomed the old
apple tIeel
Frail thingsi could we read but the objects
around,
In the meanest some deep-lurking truth
might be found,
Some types of our frailty, some warning TO
show
dow shifting the sands that we build on
belowl
Our fathers have passed and have mixed with
the mould;
Year presses On year, till the young become
odd
Time, though stern teacher, is partial to
some,
And the friend and the foe pass away, enc