Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди))
The Mongrel
In Havenpool Harbour the ebb was strong, And a man with a dog drew near and hung, And taxpaying day was coming along, So the mongrel had to be drowned. The man threw a stick from the paved wharf-side Into the midst of the ebbing tide, And the dog jumped after with ardent pride To bring the stick aground. But no: the steady suck of the flood To seaward needed, to be withstood, More than the strength of mongrelhood To fight its treacherous trend. So, swimming for life with desperate will, The struggler with all his natant skill Kept buoyant in front of his master, still There standing to wait the end. The loving eyes of the dog inclined To the man he held as a god enshrined, With no suspicion in his mind That this had all been meant. Till the effort not to drift from shore Of his little legs grew slower and slower, And, the tide still outing with brookless power, Outward the dog, too, went. Just ere his sinking what does one see Break on the face of that devotee? A wakening to the treachery He had loved with love so blind? The faith that had shone in that mongrel’s eye That his owner would save him by and by Turned to much like a curse as he sank to die, And a loathing of mankind.
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