A Child to His Sick Grandfather
Grand-dad, they say your old and frail,Your stocked legs begin to fail:Your knobbed stick (that was my horse)Can scarce support your bended corse;While back to wall, you lean so sad,I'm vex'd to see you, dad.
You us'd to smile, and stroke my head,And tell me how good children did;But now I wot not how it be,You take me seldom on your knee;Yet ne'ertheless I am right gladTo sit beside you, dad.
How lank and thin your beard hangs down!Scant are the white hairs on your crown:How wan and hollow are your cheeks!Your brow is rough with crossing breaks;But yet, for all his strength is fled,I love my own old dad.
The housewives round their potions brew,And gossips come to ask for you:And for your weal each neighbour cares,And good men kneel, and say their pray'rs:And ev'ry body looks so sad,When you are ailing, dad.
You will not die, and leave us then?Rouse up and be our dad again.When you are quiet and laid in bed,We'll doff our shoes and softly tread;And when you wake we'll aye be near,To fill old dad his cheer.
When thro' the house you shift your stand,I'll lead you kindly by the hand:When dinner's set, I'll with you bide,And aye be serving by your side:And when the weary fire burns blue,I'll sit and talk with you.
I have a tale both long and good,About a partlet and her brood;And cunning greedy fox, that stole,By dead of midnight thro' a hole,Which slyly to the hen-roost led--You love a story, dad?
And then I have a wond'rous taleOf men all clad in coats of mail.With glitt'ring swords----you nod, I think?Your fixed eyes begin to wink:Down on your bosom sinks your head:You do not hear me, dad.
Words in this poem
- knobbed a.
- Containing knobs; full of knobs; ending in a nob. See Illust of Antenna.
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- corse n.
- A living body or its bulk. [OF. cors, F. corps. See Corpse.]
- brew v. t.
- To boil or seethe; to cook. [OE. brewen, AS. breówan; akin to D. brouwen, OHG. priuwan, MHG. briuwen, br, G. brauen, Icel. brugga, Sw. brygga, Dan. brygge, and perh. to L. defrutum must boi]
- neighbour v. i.
- To dwell in the vicinity; to be a neighbor, or in the neighborhood; to be near.
- kneel v. i.
- To bend the knee; to fall or rest on the knees; -- sometimes with down. [OE. knelen, cneolien; akin to D. knielen, Dan. knæle. See Knee.]
- doff v. t.
- To put off, as dress; to divest one's self of; hence, figuratively, to put or thrust away; to rid one's self of. And made us doff our easy robes of peace. [Do + off. See Do, v. t., 7.]
- bide v. i.
- To dwell; to inhabit; to abide; to stay. [OE. biden, AS. bidan; akin to OHG. bitan, Goth. beidan, Icel. bi; perh. orig., to wait with trust, and akin to bid. See Bid, v. t., and cf. Abide.]
- partlet n.
- A covering for the neck, and sometimes for the shoulders and breast; originally worn by both sexes, but laterby women alone; a ruff. Fuller. [Dim. of part.]
- stole n.
- A long, loose garment reaching to the feet. [AS. stole, L. stola, Gr. stall. See Stall.]
- clad v.
- To clothe. Holland.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Child to His Sick Grandfather is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, &c. (1790) Wherein It Is Attempted To Describe Certain Views Of Nature And Of Rustic Manners; And Also, To Point Out, In Some Instances, The Different Influence Which The Same Circumstances Produce On Different Characters, Project Gutenberg ebook #14617; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Joanna Baillie, A Child to His Sick Grandfather, in Poems (1790) (1790), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #14617, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/baillie-poems/a-child-to-his-sick-grandfather.html, id L09872.
Form and metre
A Child to His Sick Grandfather is 48 lines in 8 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABBCC, complete in 4 of its 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 100% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.7 syllables.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 AABBCC frailA · failA · horseB · corseB · sadC · dadC
- 2 --AABB head · did · beA · kneeA · gladB · dadB
- 3 AA---- downA · crownA · cheeks · breaks · fled · dad
- 4 AABBCC brewA · youA · caresB · pray'rsB · sadC · dadC
- 5 AABBCC thenA · againA · bedB · treadB · nearC · cheerC
- 6 AABBCC standA · handA · bideB · sideB · blueC · youC
- 7 --AA-- good · brood · stoleA · holeA · led · dad
- 8 AABB-- taleA · mailA · thinkB · winkB · head · dad
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Grand-dad, they say your old and frail, | 8 | ········ |
| Your stocked legs begin to fail: | 7 | ···˘/·· |
| Your knobbed stick (that was my horse) | 7 | ······· |
| Can scarce support your bended corse; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| While back to wall, you lean so sad, | 8 | ········ |
| I'm vex'd to see you, dad. | 6 | ······ |
| You us'd to smile, and stroke my head, | 8 | ········ |
| And tell me how good children did; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| But now I wot not how it be, | 8 | ········ |
| You take me seldom on your knee; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad | 8 | ········ |
| To sit beside you, dad. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| How lank and thin your beard hangs down! | 8 | ········ |
| Scant are the white hairs on your crown: | 8 | ········ |
| How wan and hollow are your cheeks! | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Your brow is rough with crossing breaks; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| But yet, for all his strength is fled, | 8 | ········ |
| I love my own old dad. | 6 | ······ |
| The housewives round their potions brew, | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| And gossips come to ask for you: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And for your weal each neighbour cares, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And good men kneel, and say their pray'rs: | 8 | ········ |
| And ev'ry body looks so sad, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When you are ailing, dad. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| You will not die, and leave us then? | 8 | ········ |
| Rouse up and be our dad again. | 9 | ····/˘·˘/ |
| When you are quiet and laid in bed, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| We'll doff our shoes and softly tread; | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| And when you wake we'll aye be near, | 8 | ········ |
| To fill old dad his cheer. | 6 | ······ |
| When thro' the house you shift your stand, | 8 | ········ |
| I'll lead you kindly by the hand: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When dinner's set, I'll with you bide, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And aye be serving by your side: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And when the weary fire burns blue, | 9 | ···/˘/˘·· |
| I'll sit and talk with you. | 6 | ······ |
| I have a tale both long and good, | 8 | ········ |
| About a partlet and her brood; | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And cunning greedy fox, that stole, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| By dead of midnight thro' a hole, | 8 | ···/···· |
| Which slyly to the hen-roost led-- | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| You love a story, dad? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And then I have a wond'rous tale | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of men all clad in coats of mail. | 8 | ········ |
| With glitt'ring swords----you nod, I think? | 8 | ········ |
| Your fixed eyes begin to wink: | 7 | ···˘/·· |
| Down on your bosom sinks your head: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| You do not hear me, dad. | 6 | ······ |
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