A Wintry Day with Burns and Crabbe

Tuesday, 11th February 2020

It has begun to snow - so, the desk wins over the dog walk. I feel mildly exonerated in that I have to hand Christopher Hawtree's fascinating The Literary Companion to Dogs (Sinclair-Stevenson, 1994 pbk.). I am gratified that I  am mentioned in the Acknowledgements along with not only far greater literary names but also the late Miss Pepper (the compiler's own lamented canine companion).

I copy, off the cuff (or ruff), two pleasing extracts:
First, from Robert Burns The Twa Dogs (1785)

The tither was a ploughman’s collie—
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie,
Wha for his friend an’ comrade had him,         
And in freak had Luath ca’d him,
After some dog in Highland Sang,
Was made lang syne,—Lord knows how lang.
He was a gash an’ faithfu’ tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.         
His honest, sonsie, baws’nt face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi’ coat o’ glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi’ upward curl,        
Hung owre his hurdie’s wi’ a swirl.

Robert Burns  (1759-1796)

Then, from Horace Walpole to Lady Ossory (4 September 1783)

The Library [by George Crabbe] I have read. 
There are some pretty lines, and easy verses; but it is too long   
One thought is charming, that a dog though a flatterer, is still a friend.
It made me give Tonton a warm kiss, and swear it was true.

I gave my Border Collie, Amber, a hug (no substitute for that walk, she tells me).

George Crabbe (1754-1832)

Whilst searching for that line in Crabbe's poem (yes, it is too long), I read these:

BOOKS... give
New views to life, and teach us how to live;
They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise,
Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise:
Their aid they yield to all: they never shun
The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone:
Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud,
They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd;
Nor tell to various people various things,
But show to subjects what they show to kings.
Come, Child of Care! to make thy soul serene,
Approach the treasures of this tranquil scene;
Survey the dome, and, as the doors unfold,
The soul's best cure, in all her cares, behold!

Spot on.