One Struggle More, and I Am Free.Ai
One struggle more, and I am freeFrom pangs that rend my heart in twain;ajOne last long sigh to Love and thee,Then back to busy life again.It suits me well to mingle nowWith things that never pleased before:akThough every joy is fled below,What future grief can touch me more?al
Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;Man was not formed to live alone:I'll be that light unmeaning thingThat smiles with all, and weeps with none.It was not thus in days more dear,It never would have been, but thouamHast fled, and left me lonely here;Thou'rt nothing,--all are nothing now.
In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!The smile that Sorrow fain would wearBut mocks the woe that lurks beneath,Like roses o'er a sepulchre.Though gay companions o'er the bowlDispel awhile the sense of ill;Though Pleasure fires the maddening soul,The Heart,--the Heart is lonely still!
On many a lone and lovely nightIt soothed to gaze upon the sky;For then I deemed the heavenly lightShone sweetly on thy pensive eye:And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,When sailing o'er the AEgean wave,"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"--Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!
When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed,And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins,"'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,an"That Thyrza cannot know my pains:"Like freedom to the time-worn slave--aoA boon 'tis idle then to give--Relenting Nature vainly gaveMy life, when Thyrza ceased to live!
My Thyrza's pledge in better days,apWhen Love and Life alike were new!How different now thou meet'st my gaze!How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue!The heart that gave itself with theeIs silent--ah, were mine as still!Though cold as e'en the dead can be,It feels, it sickens with the chill.
Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!Though painful, welcome to my breast!Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed.Time tempers Love, but not removes,More hallowed when its Hope is fled:Oh! what are thousand living lovesTo that which cannot quit the dead?
Words in this poem
- twain a.
- Two;- nearly obsolete in common discourse, but used in poetry and burlesque. [OE. twein, tweien, tweyne, AS. twegen, masc. See Two.]
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
- sepulchre n.
- The place in which the dead body of a human being is interred, or a place set apart for that purpose; a grave; a tomb. [OE. sepulcre, OF. sepulcre, F. sépulcre, fr. L. sepulcrum, sepulchrum, fr. sepelire to bury.]
- dispel v. t.
- To drive away by scattering, or so to cause to vanish; to clear away; to banish; to dissipate; as, to dispel a cloud, vapors, cares, doubts, illusions. [L. dispellere; dis- + pellere to push, drive. See Pulse a beating.]
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
- sleepless a.
- Having no sleep; wakeful.
- boon n.
- A prayer or petition. [OE. bone, boin, a petition, fr. Icel. b; akin to Sw. & Dan. b, AS. b, and perh. to E. ban; but influenced by F. bon good, fr. L. bonus. Ban, Bounty.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
One Struggle More, and I Am Free.Ai is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 3, Project Gutenberg ebook #21811; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Lord Byron, One Struggle More, and I Am Free.Ai, in The Giaour, and Other Poems (1816), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #21811, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/byron-works-3/one-struggle-more-and-i-am-free-ai.html, id L23841.
Form and metre
One Struggle More, and I Am Free.Ai is 56 lines in 7 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%).
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 A-A----- freeA · twain;aj · theeA · again · now · before:ak · below · more?al
- 2 A-A-B-B- bringA · alone · thingA · none · dearB · thouam · hereB · now
- 3 ----ABAB breathe · wear · beneath · sepulchre · bowlA · illB · soulA · stillB
- 4 ABABCDCD nightA · skyB · lightA · eyeB · noonC · waveD · moonC · graveD
- 5 -A-A-B-B bed · veinsA · said,an · painsA · ao · giveB · gave · liveB
- 6 -A-ABCBC days,ap · newA · gaze · hueA · theeB · stillC · beB · chillC
- 7 ABAB-C-C tokenA · breastB · unbrokenA · pressedB · removes · fledC · loves · deadC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| One struggle more, and I am free | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| From pangs that rend my heart in twain;aj | 9 | ········· |
| One last long sigh to Love and thee, | 8 | ········ |
| Then back to busy life again. | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| It suits me well to mingle now | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| With things that never pleased before:ak | 8 | ···/···· |
| Though every joy is fled below, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| What future grief can touch me more?al | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Then bring me wine, the banquet bring; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Man was not formed to live alone: | 8 | ······˘/ |
| I'll be that light unmeaning thing | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| That smiles with all, and weeps with none. | 8 | ········ |
| It was not thus in days more dear, | 8 | ········ |
| It never would have been, but thouam | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Hast fled, and left me lonely here; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Thou'rt nothing,--all are nothing now. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The smile that Sorrow fain would wear | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But mocks the woe that lurks beneath, | 8 | ········ |
| Like roses o'er a sepulchre. | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Though gay companions o'er the bowl | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Dispel awhile the sense of ill; | 8 | ˘/˘/···· |
| Though Pleasure fires the maddening soul, | 8 | ·/˘/·/˘· |
| The Heart,--the Heart is lonely still! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| On many a lone and lovely night | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| It soothed to gaze upon the sky; | 8 | ········ |
| For then I deemed the heavenly light | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye: | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| When sailing o'er the AEgean wave, | 9 | ·/˘··˘/˘· |
| "Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Alas, it gleamed upon her grave! | 8 | ˘/······ |
| When stretched on Fever's sleepless bed, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| "'Tis comfort still," I faintly said,an | 9 | ·/˘··/˘·· |
| "That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Like freedom to the time-worn slave--ao | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| A boon 'tis idle then to give-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Relenting Nature vainly gave | 8 | ˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! | 8 | ········ |
| My Thyrza's pledge in better days,ap | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| When Love and Life alike were new! | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| How different now thou meet'st my gaze! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| How tinged by time with Sorrow's hue! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The heart that gave itself with thee | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Is silent--ah, were mine as still! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Though cold as e'en the dead can be, | 8 | ········ |
| It feels, it sickens with the chill. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Though painful, welcome to my breast! | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Still, still, preserve that love unbroken, | 9 | ··˘/··˘/˘ |
| Or break the heart to which thou'rt pressed. | 8 | ········ |
| Time tempers Love, but not removes, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| More hallowed when its Hope is fled: | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Oh! what are thousand living loves | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| To that which cannot quit the dead? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
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