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.