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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

John E. Logan b. 1852

The Nor’-West Courier

UP, my dogs, merrily,

The morn sun is shining,

Our path is uncertain,

And night’s sombre curtain

May drop on us, verily,

Ere time for reclining;

So, up, without whining,

You rascals, instanter,

Come into your places

There, stretch out your traces,

And off, at a canter.

Up, my dogs, cheerily,

The noon sun is glowing;

Fast and still faster,

Come, follow your master;

Or to-night we may wearily,

Tired and drearily,

Travel, not knowing

What moment disaster

May sweep in the storm-blast,

And over each form cast

A shroud in its blowing.

On, my dogs, steadily,

Though keen winds are shifting

The snowflakes, and drifting

Them straight in your faces;

Come, answer me readily,

Not wildly nor headily,

Plunging and lifting

Your feet, keep your paces;

For yet we shall weather

The blizzard together,

Though evil our case is.

Sleep, my dogs, cosily,

Coiled near the fire,

That higher and higher

Sheds its light rosily

Out o’er the snow and sky;

Sleep in the ruddy glow,

Letting Keewaydin blow

Fierce in his ire.

Sleep, my dogs, soundly;

For to-morrow we roundly

Must buffet the foe.