Good King Wally, he looked out,On the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep and crisp and even;Brightly shone the moon that night,Tho' the frost was cruel,When a poor dog came in sight,Gath'ring winter fuel"Hither, Ethel, stand by me,If thou know'st it, telling,Yonder canine, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?""Sire, he lives a good league hence,And his name is Oscar;Right against the forest fence,By Saint Agnes' fountain.""Bring me flesh, and bring me bones,Bring me pine logs hither:Thou and I will see him dine,When we bear them thither.
Walls and Ethel forth they went,Forth they went together;Thro' the rude wind's wild lamentAnd the bitter weather."Wally it is getting dark,And the wind blows stronger;Fails my heart, I fear to bark,I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, good my page;Tread thou in them boldly:Thou shalt find the winter's rageFreeze thy blood less coldly."
Heat was in the very sod
Which the saint had printed.
Therefore, all ye dogs, be sure,Wealth or rank possessing,Ye who now will bless the poor,
Shall yourselves find blessing.