Master

Master by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The narrative unfolds around a master who embarks on a hunting expedition, characterized by a vibrant atmosphere filled with the sounds of nature and the thrill of the chase. The initial verses depict the master in high spirits, calling out joyfully as he rides through the woods. However, a sense of foreboding emerges as a voice implores him to return, having had a troubling dream. The tone shifts dramatically when the master returns, accompanied by two silent companions who bear him, suggesting a tragic turn of events. His once lively demeanor is replaced by a pallid face and dimmed eyes, indicating that he has suffered a fatal accident during the hunt. The imagery of the mare being led before him and the coldness of a lady's hand emphasizes the somber reality of death. The poem explores themes of life, death, and the abruptness of fate. The juxtaposition of the master’s earlier joy with the stark reality of his demise creates a poignant reflection on the fragility of existence. The final lines convey a sense of resignation to the inevitability of death, underscoring that, ultimately, it matters little to the master, who has crossed the threshold from life to the unknown. The work encapsulates the cycle of life and the suddenness with which it can be disrupted, leaving behind a haunting resonance of loss and the passage of time.

By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle · First published 1892 · Genre: Poetry, Narrative, Romanticism · 203 words

First lines

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.

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Master is listed on Textopian as a poem by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, dated 1892 CE.

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hunting · loss · death · nature · sorrow · dreams · friendship · comradeship · nostalgia · grief · farewell · life

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