Gelert

Tested and staunch through many a changing year,
Gelert, his master's faithful hound, lies here.
Humble in friendship, but in service proud,
He gave to man whate'er his lot allowed;
And, rich in love, on each well-trusted friend
Spent all his wealth and still had more to spend.
Now, reft beyond the unfriendly Stygian tide,
For these he yearns and has no wish beside.

R. C. Lehmann

Rudolph Chambers Lehmann, known as R. C. Lehmann, was an English writer, poet, and Liberal Party politician. He was also a noted rowing coach and journalist. Lehmann was highly regarded in literary circles and known for his humorous verse. His career spanned various fields, including contributions to 'Punch' magazine and significant involvement in the sporting world. He was a Member of Parliament for Harborough from 1906 to 1910.

R. C. Lehmann

The Last Cock-Pheasant

R. C. Lehmann, Simple Poetry

Pansies

R. C. Lehmann, Simple Poetry

A Ramshackle Room

R. C. Lehmann, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Rover

No classic warrior tempts my pen
To fill with verse these pages
No lordly-hearted man of men
My Muses thought engages.

Let others choose the mighty dead,
And sing their battles over!
My champion, too, has fought and bled
My theme is one-eyed Rover.

A grave old dog, with tattered ears
Too sore to cock up, reader!
A four-legged hero, full of years,
But sturdy as a cedar.

Still, age is age; and if my rhyme
Is dashed with words pathetic,
Dont wonder, friend; Ive seen the time
When Rove was more athletic.

He lies coiled up before me now,
A comfortable crescent.
His night-black nose and grizzled brow
Fixed in a fashion pleasant.

But ever and anon he lifts
The one good eye I mention,
And tries a thousand ...

Henry Kendall

Killed In Action

RUPERT is dead, and RUPERT was my friend;
"Only surviving son of" - so it ran -
"Beloved husband" and the rest of it.
But six months back I saw him full of life,
Ardent for fighting; now he lies at ease
In some obscure but splendid field of France,
His strivings over and his conflicts done.
He was a fellow of most joyous moods
And quaint contrivings, ever on the point
Of shaking fame and fortune by the hand
But always baulked of meeting them at last.
He could not brook - and always so declared -
The weak pomposities of little men,
Scorned all the tin-gods of our petty world,
And plunged headlong into imprudences,
And smashed conventions with a reckless zeal,
Holding his luck and not himself to blame
For aught that might betide when reckoning came.
Bu...

R. C. Lehmann

Fidelity

A barking sound the Shepherd hears,
A cry as of a dog or fox;
He halts and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:
And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

The Dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something, as the Shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:
Nor is there any one in sight
All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,
That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,
A silent tarn below!
Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivat...

William Wordsworth

Ave, Caesar!

(MAY 20, 1910)

Full in the splendour of this morning hour,
    With tramp of men and roll of muffled drums,
In what a pomp and pageantry of power,
    Borne to his grave, our lord, King EDWARD, comes!

In flashing gold and high magnificence,
    Lo, the proud cavalcade of comrade Kings,
Met here to do the dead KING reverence,
    Its solemn tribute of affection brings.

Heralds and Pursuivants and Men-at-arms,
    Sultan and Paladin and Potentate,
Scarred Captains who have baffled war's alarms
    And Courtiers glittering in their robes of state,

All in their blazoned ranks, with eyes cast down,
    Slow pacing in their sorrow pass along
Where that which bore the sceptre and the crown
    Cleaves at their head the silence of the throng.

R. C. Lehmann

The Hermit's Dog.

Of dogs who sav'd a living friend,
    Most nobly, ye have read:
Now to a nobler still attend,
    A guardian of the dead.

As o'er wild Alpine scenes I stray'd,
    Not far from that retreat,
Where Bruno, with celestial aid,
    First plann'd his sacred seat.

An anchorite of noble mien,
    Attracted my regard;
Majestic as that savage scene,
    Or as a Cambrian bard.

He to no silent dome belongs,
    The rock is his domain;
It echoes to his nightly songs
    Devotion's lonely strain.

His mansion is a tranquil grot,
    Form'd in the living stone:
My view of the sequester'd spot,
    I owe to chance alone.

For happening near his cell to rove,
    Enamour'd of the wild;
I heard within a piny grove

William Hayley

Count Eberhard, The Groaner Of Wurtemberg. A War Song.

Now hearken, ye who take delight
In boasting of your worth!
To many a man, to many a knight,
Beloved in peace and brave in fight,
The Swabian land gives birth.

Of Charles and Edward, Louis, Guy,
And Frederick, ye may boast;
Charles, Edward, Louis, Frederick, Guy
None with Sir Eberhard can vie
Himself a mighty host!

And then young Ulerick, his son,
Ha! how he loved the fray!
Young Ulerick, the Count's bold son,
When once the battle had begun,
No foot's-breadth e'er gave way.

The Reutlingers, with gnashing teeth,
Saw our bright ranks revealed
And, panting for the victor's wreath,
They drew the sword from out the sheath,
And sought the battle-field.

He charged the foe, but fruitlessly,
Then, mail-clad, homeward spe...

Friedrich Schiller