Lawrence
Look down the river--against the western sky--The Ponte Santa Trinità--what throngSlowly trails o'er with waving banners high,With foot and horse! Surely they bear alongThe spoil of one whom Florence honoureth:And hark! the drum, the trumpeting dismay,The wail of the triumphal march of death.
'Twill be the funeral of Giovánn DuprèWending to Santa Croce. Let us goAnd see what relic of old splendour cheersThe dying ritual.
I can tellAll as we walk. A poor woodcarver's son,Prenticed to cut his father's rude designs(We have it from himself), maker of shrines,In his mean workshop in Siena dreamed;And saw as gods the artists of the earth,And long'd to stand on their immortal shore,And be as they, who in his vision gleam'd,Dowering the world with grace for evermore.So, taxing rest and leisure to one aim,The boy of single will and inbred skillRose step by step to academic fame.
Do I not know him then? His figures fillThe tympana o'er Santa Croce's gate;In the museum too, his Cain, that standsA left-handed discobolos....
So greatHis vogue, that elder art of classic worthWent to the wall to give his statues room;And last--his country's praise could do no more--He cut the stone that honoured good Cavour.
He, finding in his handsHis life-desire possest, fell not in gloom,Nor froth'd in vanity: his Sabbath earn'dHe look'd to spend in meditative rest:So laying chisel by, he took a penTo tell his story to his countrymen,And prove (he did it) that the flower of all,Rarest to attain, is in the power of all.
Yet nought he ever made, that I have learn'd,In wood or stone deserved, nay not his best,The Greek or Tuscan name for beautiful.'Twas level with its praise, had force to pullFavour from fashion.
Yet he made one thingWorthy of the lily city in her spring;For while in vain the forms of beauty he aped,A perfect spirit in himself he shaped;And all his lifetime doing less than wellWhere he profess'd nor doubted to excel,Now, where he had no scholarship, but drewHis art from love, 'twas better than he knew:And when he sat to write, lo! by him stoodThe heavenly Muse, who smiles on all things good;And for his truth's sake, for his stainless mind,His homely love and faith, she now grew kind,And changed the crown, that from the folk he got,For her green laurel, and he knew it not.
Beneath the wattled bank the eddies swarmIn wandering dimples o'er the shady pool:The same their chase as when I was at school;The same the music, where in shallows warmThe current, sunder'd by the bushy isles,Returns to join the main, and struggles freeAbove the willows, gurgling thro' the piles:Nothing is changed, and yet how changed are we!--What can bring Godfrey to the Muses' bower?
For Fancy cannot live on real food:In youth she will despise familiar joyTo dwell in mournful shades; as they grow real,Then buildeth she of joy her far ideal.
Words in this poem 17
- trumpeting n.
- A channel cut behind the brick lining of a shaft. Raymond.
- triumphal n.
- A token of victory.
- splendour n.
- Great brightness; brilliant luster; brilliancy; as, the splendor ot the sun. B. Jonson. [L. fr. splendere to shine: cf. F. splendeur.]
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- inbred a.
- Bred within; innate; as, inbred worth.
- vogue n.
- The way or fashion of people at any particular time; temporary mode, custom, or practice; popular reception for the time; -- used now generally in the phrase in vogue. [F. vogue a rowing, vogue, fashion, It. voga, fr. vogare to row, to sail; probably fr. OHG. wag to move, akin to E. way. Cf. Way.]
- classic a.
- Of or relating to the first class or rank, especially in literature or art. [L. classicus relating to the classes of the Roman people, and especially to the frist class; hence, of the first rank, superior, from classis class: cf. F. clas]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- favour n.
- Kind regard; propitious aspect; countenance; friendly disposition; kindness; good will. [Written also favour.]
- lifetime n.
- The time that life continues.
- scholarship n.
- The character and qualities of a scholar; attainments in science or literature; erudition; learning.
- stainless a.
- Free from stain; immaculate.
- homely a.
- Belonging to, or having the characteristics of, home; domestic; familiar; intimate. [From Home, n.]
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- wattled a.
- Furnished with wattles, or pendent fleshy processes at the chin or throat.
- despise v. t.
- To look down upon with disfavor or contempt; to contemn; to scorn; to disdain; to have a low opinion or contemptuous dislike of. [OF. despis-, in some forms of despire to despise, fr. L. despicere, despectum, to look down upon, despise; de- + spicere, specere, to look. See Spy, and cf. Des]
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Lawrence is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Excluding the Eight Dramas, Project Gutenberg ebook #37804; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Robert Bridges, Lawrence, in Poetical Works (1873–1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #37804, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/bridges-shorter-poems/lawrence.html, id L18505.
Form and metre
Lawrence is 72 lines in 10 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 88%). 91% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.5 syllables. 7 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 33% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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 ABABC-C skyA · throngB · highA · alongB · honourethC · dismay · deathC
- 3 --AAB-CBCD-D tell · son · designsA · shrinesA · dreamedB · earth · shoreC · gleam'dB · evermoreC · aimD · skill · fameD
- 6 ----AABB hands · gloom · earn'd · rest · penA · countrymenA · allB · allB
- 7 --AA- learn'd · best · beautifulA · pullA · fashion
- 8 AABBCCDDEEFFGG thingA · springA · apedB · shapedB · wellC · excelC · drewD · knewD · stoodE · goodE · mindF · kindF · gotG · notG
- 9 ABBACDCD- swarmA · poolB · schoolB · warmA · islesC · freeD · pilesC · weD · bower
- 10 --AA food · joy · realA · idealA
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 pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Look down the river--against the western sky-- | 11 | ···/˘···/˘· |
| The Ponte Santa Trinità--what throng | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Slowly trails o'er with waving banners high, | 10 | /˘···/˘/˘· |
| With foot and horse! Surely they bear along | 10 | ····/˘··˘/ |
| The spoil of one whom Florence honoureth: | 10 | ·····/˘/˘˘ |
| And hark! the drum, the trumpeting dismay, | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘/ |
| The wail of the triumphal march of death. | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| 'Twill be the funeral of Giovánn Duprè | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| Wending to Santa Croce. Let us go | 10 | /˘·/˘/˘··· |
| And see what relic of old splendour cheers | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The dying ritual. | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| I can tell | 3 | ··· |
| All as we walk. A poor woodcarver's son, | 10 | ······/·˘· |
| Prenticed to cut his father's rude designs | 10 | /˘···/˘·˘/ |
| (We have it from himself), maker of shrines, | 10 | ····˘//˘·· |
| In his mean workshop in Siena dreamed; | 10 | ···/·····˘ |
| And saw as gods the artists of the earth, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And long'd to stand on their immortal shore, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| And be as they, who in his vision gleam'd, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Dowering the world with grace for evermore. | 10 | /˘·····/˘· |
| So, taxing rest and leisure to one aim, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| The boy of single will and inbred skill | 10 | ···/˘··/·· |
| Rose step by step to academic fame. | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| Do I not know him then? His figures fill | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The tympana o'er Santa Croce's gate; | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| In the museum too, his Cain, that stands | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| A left-handed discobolos.... | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| So great | 2 | ·· |
| His vogue, that elder art of classic worth | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Went to the wall to give his statues room; | 10 | ·······/·· |
| And last--his country's praise could do no more-- | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| He cut the stone that honoured good Cavour. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| He, finding in his hands | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| His life-desire possest, fell not in gloom, | 10 | ··˘//˘···· |
| Nor froth'd in vanity: his Sabbath earn'd | 10 | ···/˘˘·/˘· |
| He look'd to spend in meditative rest: | 10 | ·····/˘·˘· |
| So laying chisel by, he took a pen | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| To tell his story to his countrymen, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| And prove (he did it) that the flower of all, | 10 | ·······/·· |
| Rarest to attain, is in the power of all. | 11 | /˘·˘/···/·· |
| Yet nought he ever made, that I have learn'd, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| In wood or stone deserved, nay not his best, | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| The Greek or Tuscan name for beautiful. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘˘ |
| 'Twas level with its praise, had force to pull | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Favour from fashion. | 5 | /˘·/˘ |
| Yet he made one thing | 5 | ····· |
| Worthy of the lily city in her spring; | 11 | /˘··/˘/˘··· |
| For while in vain the forms of beauty he aped, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| A perfect spirit in himself he shaped; | 10 | ·/·/˘·˘/·· |
| And all his lifetime doing less than well | 10 | ···/·/˘··· |
| Where he profess'd nor doubted to excel, | 10 | ··˘/·/˘·˘/ |
| Now, where he had no scholarship, but drew | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| His art from love, 'twas better than he knew: | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| And when he sat to write, lo! by him stood | 10 | ·········· |
| The heavenly Muse, who smiles on all things good; | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And for his truth's sake, for his stainless mind, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| His homely love and faith, she now grew kind, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And changed the crown, that from the folk he got, | 10 | ·········· |
| For her green laurel, and he knew it not. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Beneath the wattled bank the eddies swarm | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| In wandering dimples o'er the shady pool: | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| The same their chase as when I was at school; | 10 | ·········· |
| The same the music, where in shallows warm | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| The current, sunder'd by the bushy isles, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Returns to join the main, and struggles free | 10 | ˘/·····/˘· |
| Above the willows, gurgling thro' the piles: | 10 | ···/·/˘··· |
| Nothing is changed, and yet how changed are we! | 10 | /˘········ |
| --What can bring Godfrey to the Muses' bower? | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| For Fancy cannot live on real food: | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| In youth she will despise familiar joy | 10 | ····˘/˘/˘· |
| To dwell in mournful shades; as they grow real, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Then buildeth she of joy her far ideal. | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
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