The Message

(From Heine)

Up, dear laddie, saddle quick,
And spring upon the leather!
Away post haste o'er fell and waste
With whip and spur together!

And when you win to Duncan's kin
Draw one of them aside
And shortly say, "Which daughter may
We welcome as the bride?"

And if he says, "It is the dark,"
Then quickly bring the mare,
But if he says, "It is the blonde,"
Then you have time to spare;

But buy from off the saddler man
The stoutest cord you see,
Ride at your ease and say no word,
But bring it back to me.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a British writer and physician, famous for creating the detective Sherlock Holmes. He was born on May 22, 1859, in Edinburgh, Scotland, and died on July 7, 1930. Although best known for his Holmes series, Doyle was a versatile author who wrote in various genres, including science fiction, historical novels, and plays. Doyle was also involved in politics and was an advocate for spiritualism. His works greatly influenced different literary genres, making him one of the most significant literary figures of his time.

Arthur Conan Doyle

Empire Builders

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

Sexagenarius Loquitur

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

The Frontier Line

Arthur Conan Doyle, Simple Poetry

The Storming Party

Arthur Conan Doyle, 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.

The Echo

(After Heine)

Through the lonely mountain land
There rode a cavalier.
"Oh ride I to my darling's arms,
Or to the grave so drear?"
The Echo answered clear,
"The grave so drear."

So onward rode the cavalier
And clouded was his brow.
"If now my hour be truly come,
Ah well, it must be now!"
The Echo answered low,
"It must be now."

Arthur Conan Doyle

The Bay Horse

Squire wants the bay horse,
For it is the best.
Squire holds the mortgage;
Where's the interest?
Haven't got the interest,
Can't raise a sou;
Shan't sell the bay horse,
Whatever he may do.

Did you see the bay horse?
Such a one to go!
He took a bit of ridin',
When I showed him at the Show.
First prize the broad jump,
First prize the high;
Gold medal, Class A,
You'll see it by-and-by.

I bred the bay horse
On the Withy Farm.
I broke the bay horse,
He broke my arm.
Don't blame the bay horse,
Blame the brittle bone,
I bred him and I've fed him,
And he's all my very own.

Just watch the bay horse
Chock full of sense!
Ain't he just beautiful,
Risin' to a fence!
Just hear the bay horse
W...

Arthur Conan Doyle

A Rover Chanty

A trader sailed from Stepney town -
Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail!
A trader sailed from Stepney town
With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown:
Ho, the bully rover Jack,
Waiting with his yard aback
Out upon the Lowland sea!

The trader he had a daughter fair -
Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the foresail
The trader he had a daughter fair,
She had gold in her ears, and gold in her hair:
All for bully rover Jack,
Waiting with his yard aback,
Out upon the Lowland sea!

'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!' -
Shake her up! Wake her up! Try her with the topsail!
'Alas the day, oh daughter mine!
Yon red, red flag is a fearsome sign!'
Ho, the bully rover Jack,
Reaching on the weather tack,
Out upon the Lowland ...

Arthur Conan Doyle

The Wanderer

With acknowledgment to my friend Sir A. Quiller-Couch.

'Twas in the shadowy gloaming
Of a cold and wet March day,
That a wanderer came roaming
From countries far away.

Scant raiment had he round him,
Nor purse, nor worldly gear,
Hungry and faint we found him,
And bade him welcome here.

His weary frame bent double,
His eyes were old and dim,
His face was writhed with trouble
Which none might share with him.

His speech was strange and broken,
And none could understand,
Such words as might be spoken
In some far distant land.

We guessed not whence he hailed from,
Nor knew what far-off quay
His roving bark had sailed from
Before he came to me.

But there he was, so slender,
So helpless and so pale,

Arthur Conan Doyle

Master

Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.

Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.

Arthur Conan Doyle

The Storming Party

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,
'Though the breach is steep and narrow,
If we only gain the summit
Then it's odds we hold the fort.
I have ten and you have twenty,
And the thirty should be plenty,
With Henderson and Henty
And McDermott in support.'

Said Barrow to Leroy,
'It's a solid job, my boy,
For they've flanked it, and they've banked it,
And they've bored it with a mine.
But it's only fifty paces
Ere we look them in the faces;
And the men are in their places,
With their toes upon the line.'

Said Paul Leroy to Barrow,
'See that first ray, like an arrow,
How it tinges all the fringes
Of the sullen drifting skies.
They told me to begin it
At five-thirty to the minute,
And at thirty-one I'm in it,
Or my sub will get h...

Arthur Conan Doyle