To Critias
“Why, when the world’s great mindHath finally inclined,Why,” you say, Critias, “be debating still?Why, with these mournful rhymesLearned in more languid climes,Blame our activityWho, with such passionate will,Are what we mean to be?”
Critias, long since, I know(For Fate decreed it so),Long since the world hath set its heart to live;Long since, with credulous zealIt turns life’s mighty wheel,Still doth for laborers sendWho still their labor give,And still expects an end.
Yet, as the wheel flies round,With no ungrateful soundDo adverse voices fall on the world’s ear.Deafened by his own stir,The rugged laborerCaught not till then a senseSo glowing and so nearOf his omnipotence.
So, when the feast grew loudIn Susa’s palace proud,A white-robed slave stole to the great king’s side.He spake--the great king heard;Felt the slow-rolling wordSwell his attentive soul;Breathed deeply as it died,And drained his mighty bowl.
Words in this poem
- debating n.
- The act of discussing or arguing; discussion. Debating society or club, a society or club for the purpose of debate and improvement in extemporaneous speaking.
- ungrateful a.
- Not grateful; not thankful for favors; making no returns, or making ill return for kindness, attention, etc.; ingrateful. South.
- omnipotence n.
- The state of being omnipotent; almighty power; hence, one who is omnipotent; the Deity. [L. omnipotentia: cf.F. omnipotence.]
- stole n.
- A long, loose garment reaching to the feet. [AS. stole, L. stola, Gr. stall. See Stall.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
To Critias is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #54985; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Matthew Arnold, To Critias, in Poems (1849–1867), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #54985, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/arnold-poems/to-critias.html, id L06958.
Form and metre
To Critias is 32 lines in 4 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABCCDBD, complete in 2 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 83%). 90% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.8 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 38% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABCC-B- mindA · inclinedA · stillB · rhymesC · climesC · activity · willB · be
- 2 AABCCDBD knowA · soA · liveB · zealC · wheelC · sendD · giveB · endD
- 3 AAB--CBC roundA · soundA · earB · stir · laborer · senseC · nearB · omnipotenceC
- 4 AABCCDBD loudA · proudA · sideB · heardC · wordC · soulD · diedB · bowlD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| “Why, when the world’s great mind | 6 | ······ |
| Hath finally inclined, | 6 | ·/˘˘˘/ |
| Why,” you say, Critias, “be debating still? | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Why, with these mournful rhymes | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Learned in more languid climes, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Blame our activity | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘˘ |
| Who, with such passionate will, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Are what we mean to be?” | 6 | ······ |
| Critias, long since, I know | 6 | ······ |
| (For Fate decreed it so), | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Long since the world hath set its heart to live; | 10 | ·········· |
| Long since, with credulous zeal | 6 | ···/˘· |
| It turns life’s mighty wheel, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Still doth for laborers send | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Who still their labor give, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And still expects an end. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Yet, as the wheel flies round, | 6 | ······ |
| With no ungrateful sound | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Do adverse voices fall on the world’s ear. | 10 | ·/·/˘····· |
| Deafened by his own stir, | 6 | /˘···· |
| The rugged laborer | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| Caught not till then a sense | 6 | ······ |
| So glowing and so near | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Of his omnipotence. | 6 | ··˘/˘˘ |
| So, when the feast grew loud | 6 | ······ |
| In Susa’s palace proud, | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| A white-robed slave stole to the great king’s side. | 10 | ·········· |
| He spake--the great king heard; | 6 | ······ |
| Felt the slow-rolling word | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Swell his attentive soul; | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Breathed deeply as it died, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And drained his mighty bowl. | 6 | ···/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.