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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519231" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fidele's Grassy Tomb</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,<br>His eyes were alive and clear of care,<br>But well he knew that the hour was come<br>To bid good-bye to his ancient home.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He looked on garden, wood, and hill,<br>He looked on the lake, sunny and still:<br>The last of earth that his eyes could see<br>Was the island church of Orchardleigh.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The last that his heart could understand<br>Was the touch of the tongue that licked his hand:<br>'Bury the dog at my feet,' he said,<br>And his voice dropped, and the Squire was dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the dog was a hound of the Danish breed,<br>Staunch to love and strong at need:<br>He had dragged his master safe to shore<br>When the tide was ebbing at Elsinore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From that day forth, as reason would,<br>He was named 'Fidele,' and made it good:<br>When the last of the mourners left the door<br>Fidele was dead on the chantry floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They buried him there at his master's feet,<br>And all that heard of it deemed it meet:<br>The story went the round for years,<br>Till it came at last to the Bishop's ears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bishop of Bath and Wells was he,<br>Lord of the lords of Orchardleigh;<br>And he wrote to the Parson the strongest screed<br>That Bishop may write or Parson read.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sum of it was that a soulless hound<br>Was known to be buried in hallowed ground:<br>From scandal sore the Church to save<br>They must take the dog from his masters grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The heir was far in a foreign land,<br>The Parson was wax to my Lord's command:<br>He sent for the Sexton and bade him make<br>A lonely grave by the shore of the lake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Sexton sat by the water's brink<br>Where he used to sit when he used to think:<br>He reasoned slow, but he reasoned it out,<br>And his argument left him free from doubt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A Bishop,' he said, 'is the top of his trade:<br>But there's others can give him a start with the spade:<br>Yon dog, he carried the Squire ashore,<br>And a Christian couldn't ha' done no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The grave was dug; the mason came<br>And carved on stone Fidele's name;<br>But the dog that the Sexton laid inside<br>Was a dog that never had lived or died.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So the Parson was praised,and the scandal stayed,<br>Till, a long time after, the church decayed,<br>And, laying the floor anew, they found<br>In the tomb of the Squire the bones of a hound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As for the Bishop of Bath and Wells<br>No more of him the story tells;<br>Doubtless he lived as a Prelate and Prince,<br>And died and was buried a century since.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And whether his view was right or wrong<br>Has little to do with this my song;<br>Something we owe him, you must allow;<br>And perhaps he has changed his mind by now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Squire in the family chantry sleeps,<br>The marble still his memory keeps:<br>Remember, when the name you spell,<br>There rest Fidele's bones as well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For the Sexton's grave you need not search,<br>'Tis a nameless mound by the island church:<br>An ignorant fellow, of humble lot---<br>But. he knew one thing that a Bishop did not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Henry+Newbolt">Sir Henry Newbolt</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519231" data-title="Fidele's Grassy Tomb de Sir Henry Newbolt" data-description="The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
His eyes were alive and clear of care,
But well he knew that the hour was come
To bid good-bye to his ancient home.

He looked on garden, wood, and hill,
He looked on the lake, sunny and still:
The last ..."></div>
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