It glads me more to see my master's face,
And linger on the spot where I was bred.

For oh! to think of what we have enjoyed,
In my life's prime, ere I was old and poor;
Then, from the jocund morn to eve employed,
My gracious master on my back I bore.

Thrice told ten happy years have danced along,
Since first to thee these wayworn limbs I gave;
Sweet smiling years, when both of us were young--
The kindest master, and the happiest slave!

Ah, years sweet smiling, now forever flown!
Ten years thrice told, alas! are as a day;
Yet, as together we are aged grown,
Together let us wear that age away.

For still the olden times are dear to thought,
And rapture marked each minute as it flew;
Light were our hearts, and every season brought
Pains that were soft, and pleasures that were new.

And hast thou fixed my doom, sweet master, say?
And wilt thou kill thy servant, old and poor?
A little longer let me live, I pray--
A little longer hobble round thy door.

But oh! kind Nature, take thy victim's life!
End thou a servant, feeble, old, and poor!