A dog's life

Having just entered his 12th year, Casey's thoughts are naturally turning towards mortality (not).
Here he is musing on the memorial to Lucy, a canine predecessor at rest in the grounds of a country mansion called Glynamel in the valley above Lower Fishguard. Its late 19th century owner Squire Worthington was a keen huntin' shootin' fishin' type who buried several of his game dogs and his favourite horse on his property with suitably fervent epitaphs. Lucy's reads as follows.

WHAT BECK'NING FINGER IN GLYNAMEL'S SHADE
DIRECTS MY STEPS TO YONDER SILENT GLADE?
THERE WHERE THE WILLOW LAYS ITS DROOPING HEAD
A MODEST STONE PROCLAIMS IT LUCY'S BED.
OF ALL THE DOGS A SPORTSMAN E'RE POSSESST
LUCY, MY NOBLE SETTER, WAS THE BEST.
FAIN WOULD I WEEP AND ON THY MEM'RY DWELL
BUT ALL LIKE THESE MUST SLEEP SO FARE THEE WELL.

I must apologize for the current paucity of comments from me but our internet connection is having serious problems: it's either non-existent or very, very slow and takes an age to do anything. For large parts of the day it has been off altogether. At the moment I'm not sure when normal service will be resumed. Sorry folks!