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Today’s Poem: My Little Dog Bobb! An Elegy (for the Year Book) by Prometheus Percival Pipps. [1]
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Date: 2022-11-01
While searching through the internet recently for some interesting I came across a site called All Poetry (
https://allpoetry.com/famous-poems ) that pro-ports to provide a site on which aspiring poets can publish their work. The site also contains a section entitled, “Famous Poems” in which are included what the site considers the Top 500 Poems. In rummaging through this section I discovered many of the poems by famous poets that one would expect to find and a few one would not. One entry that read,“Famous poet / Prometheus Percival Pipps (1800-1850)” caught my attention in part because of the poet’s rather stunning and somewhat difficult to believe odd alliterative name and in part because of the sad subject matter of the poem, the loss of a pet dog. But what really stopped me and caused me to consider including his poem here was the bleak and lamentable description of the poet and his work:
“Unable to find any information. He wrote a poem for William Hone’s Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, 1831.”
At least we have his photograph — and of course his poem.
Enjoy:
My friends they are cutting me, one and all,
With a changed and a cloudy brow;
But my little dog always would come at my call —
And why has he not come now?
Oh! if he be living, he’d greet me, — but why
Do I hope with a doubtful “if?”
When I come, and there is not a joy in the eye —
When I come, and his tail lieth stiff?
Ah me! not a single friend may I keep! —
From the false I am gladly free,
And the true and the trusty have fallen asleep,
And sleep — without dreaming of me!
I have got my own soul fastened firmly and tight,
And my cold heart is safe in my bosom; —
But I would not now trust ’em out of my sight —
Or I’m positive I should lose ’em!
My one sole comrade is now no more!
And I needs must mumble and mutter,
That he, who had lived in a kennel before,
At last should die in a gutter!
He could fight any beast from a cow to a cat,
And catch any bird for his feast:
But, ah! he was killed by a big brick-bat —
And a bat’s nor a bird nor a beast!
He died of the blow! — ’twas a sad hard blow
Both to me and the poor receiver;
I wish that instead ’twere a fever, I know; —
For his bark might have cured a fever!
His spirit, escaped from its carnal rags,
Is a poodle all wan and pale;
It howls an inaudible howl, — and it wags
The ghost of a shadowy tail!
Old Charon will tout for his penny in vain,
If my Bobb but remembers his tricks;
For he, who so often sprang over my cane,
Will easily leap o’er the Styx!
If Cerberus snarls at the gentle dead,
He’ll act but a dogged part;
The fellow may, p’rhaps, have a treble head,
But he’ll have but a base bad heart!
Farewell my dear Bobb, I will keep your skin,
And your tail with its noble tuft;
I have kept it through life, rather skinny and thin,—
Now I will have it properly stuff’d.
[END]
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[1] Url:
https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2022/11/1/2132894/--Today-s-Poem-My-Little-Dog-Bobb-An-Elegy-for-the-Year-Book-by-Prometheus-Percival-Pipps
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