# Rover (Kendall)

No classic warrior tempts my pen  To fill with verse these pages – No lordly-hearted man of men  My Muse's 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, Don't wonder, friend; I've 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 doggish shifts  To rivet my attention.
Just let me name his name, and up  You'll see him start and patter Towards me, like a six-months' pup  In point of speed, but fatter.
He pokes his head upon my lap,  Nor heeds the whip above him; Because he knows, the dear old chap,  His human friends all love him.
Our younger dogs cut off from hence  At sight of lash uplifted; But Rove, with grand indifference,  Remains, and can't be shifted.
And, ah! the set upon his phiz  At meals defies expression; For I confess that Rover is  A cadger by profession.
The lesser favourites of the place  At dinner keep their distance; But by my chair one grizzled face  Begs on with brave persistence.
His jaws present a toothless sight,  But still my hearty hero Can satisfy an appetite  Which brings a bone to zero.
And while Spot barks and pussy mews,  To move the cook's compassion, He takes his after-dinner snooze  In genuine biped fashion.
In fact, in this, our ancient pet  So hits off human nature, That I at times almost forget  He's but a dog in feature.
Between his tail and bright old eye  The swift communications Outstrip the messages which fly  From telegraphic stations.
And, ah! that tail's rich eloquence  Conveys too clear a moral, For men who have a grain of sense  About its drift to quarrel.
At night, his voice is only heard  When it is wanted badly; For Rover is too cute a bird  To follow shadows madly.
The pup and Carlo in the dark  Will start at crickets chirring; But when we hear the old dog bark  We know there's something stirring.
He knows a gun, does Rover here;  And if I cock a trigger, He makes himself from tail to ear  An admirable figure.
For, once the fowling piece is out,  And game is on the tapis, The set upon my hero's snout  Would make a cockle happy.
And as for horses, why, betwixt  Our chestnut mare and Rover The mutual friendship is as fixed  As any love of lover.
And when his master's hand resigns  The bridle for the paddle, His dogship on the grass reclines,  And stays and minds the saddle.
Of other friends he has no lack;  Grey pussy is his crony, And kittens mount upon his back,  As youngsters mount a pony.
They talk of man's superior sense,  And charge the few with treason Who think a dog's intelligence  Is very like our reason.
But though Philosophy has tried  A score of definitions, 'Twixt man and dog it can't decide  The relative positions.
And I believe upon the whole  (Though you my creed deny, sir), That Rove's entitled to a soul  As much as you or I, sir!
Indeed, I fail to see the force  Of your derisive laughter Because I will not say my horse  Has not some horse-hereafter.
A fig for dogmas – let them pass!  There's much in life to grieve us; And what most grieves is this, alas!  That all our best friends leave us.
And when I sip my nightly grog,  And watch old Rover blinking, This royal ruin of a dog  Calls forth some serious thinking.
For, though he's lightly touched by Fate,  I cannot help remarking The step of age is in his gait,  Its hoarseness in his barking.
He still goes on his rounds at night  To keep off forest prowlers; But, ah! he has no teeth to bite  The cunning-hearted howlers.
Not like the Rover that, erewhile,  Gave droves of dingoes battle, And dashed through flood and fierce defile –  The friend, but dread, of cattle.
Not like to him that, in past years,  Won fight by fight, and scattered Whole tribes of dogs with rags of ears  And tail-ends torn and tattered.
But while time tells upon our pet,  And makes him greyer daily, He is a noble fellow yet,  And wears his old age gaily.
Still, dogs must die; and in the end,  When he is past caressing, We'll mourn him like some human friend  Whose presence was a blessing.
Till then, be bread and peace his lot –  A life of calm and clover! The pup may sleep outside with Spot –  We'll keep the nook for Rover.
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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