Of tawny color, and of lion size, In muscle powerful, and by instinct wise, On his bold front, there lurks no treach'rous grin,
Candor without, and honesty within ; The trusty Guardian of the holy friar, Sleepless, he dozes, by the convent fire ; But roused to action, braves the frost and snow, To greet a friend, or face a daring loe. On barren peaks, abstemious monks grow fat, Feasting on strangers' charity at that; Without a friend, e'en to a saint't were hard, To brave the rigors of the bleak Bernard. From this huge mount, the Dog derives his name; Some doubt his pedigree, but none his fame : For strangers oft, when ice bedecks the ground, No friend to help in that drear region round ; With hunger perishing, and limbs congealed, To the chill grasp of death prepare to yield : When lo! he comes ! the gallant Bruno hies! With food and cordial, e'er the traveller dies. Some may exclaim, " Can there a man be found, Who'd dream of bartering such a priceless hound ?"
But then again, Lives there a monk so rash, To lose a customer, who hands the cash ?