Storm on St. Bernard
Oh, Heaven, it is a fearful thingBeneath the tempest's beating wingTo struggle, like a stricken hareWhen swoops the monarch bird of air;To breast the loud winds' fitful spasms,To brave the cloud and shun the chasms,Tossed like a fretted shallop-sailBetween the ocean and the gale.
Along the valley, loud and fleet,The rising tempest leapt and roared,And scaled the Alp, till from his seatThe throned Eternity of SnowHis frequent avalanches pouredIn thunder to the storm below.
And now, to crown their fears, a roarLike ocean battling with the shore,Or like that sound which night and dayBreaks through Niagara's veil of spray,From some great height within the cloud,
To some unmeasured valley driven,Swept down, and with a voice so loudIt seemed as it would shatter heaven!The bravest quailed; it swept so near,It made the ruddiest cheek to blanch,While look replied to look in fear,"The avalanche! The avalanche!"It forced the foremost to recoil,Before its sideward billows thrown,--Who cried, "O God! Here ends our toil!The path is overswept and gone!"
The night came down. The ghostly dark,Made ghostlier by its sheet of snow,Wailed round them its tempestuous wo,Like Death's announcing courier! "HarkThere, heard you not the alp-hound's bark?And there again! and there! Ah, no,'Tis but the blast that mocks us so!"
Then through the thick and blackening mistDeath glared on them, and breathed so near,Some felt his breath grow almost warm,The while he whispered in their earOf sleep that should out-dream the storm.Then lower drooped their lids,--when, "List!Now, heard you not the storm-bell ring?And there again, and twice and thrice!Ah, no, 'tis but the thunderingOf tempests on a crag of ice!"
Death smiled on them, and it seemed goodOn such a mellow bed to lieThe storm was like a lullaby,And drowsy pleasure soothed their blood.But still the sturdy, practised guideHis unremitting labour plied;Now this one shook until he woke,And closer wrapt the other's cloak,--Still shouting with his utmost breath,To startle back the hand of Death,Brave words of cheer! "But, hark again,--Between the blasts the sound is plain;The storm, inhaling, lulls,--and hark!It is--it is! the alp-dog's barkAnd on the tempest's passing swell--The voice of cheer so long debarred--There swings the Convent's guiding-bell,The sacred bell of Saint Bernard!"
Words in this poem
- stricken p. p.
- Struck; smitten; wounded; as, the stricken deer.
- fitful a.
- Full of fits; irregularly variable; impulsive and unstable. [From 7th Fit.]
- scaled a.
- Covered with scales, or scalelike structures; -- said of a fish, a reptile, a moth, etc.
- avalanche n.
- A large mass or body of snow and ice sliding swiftly down a mountain side, or falling down a precipice. [F. avalanche, fr. avaler to descend, to let down, from aval down, downward; ad) + val, L. vallis, valley. See Valley.]
- ghostly a.
- Relating to the soul; not carnal or secular; spiritual; as, a ghostly confessor. [OE. gastlich, gostlich, AS. gastlic. See Ghost.]
- thundering a.
- Emitting thunder.
- crag n.
- The neck or throat [A form of craw: cf. D. kraag neck, collar, G. kragen. See Craw.]
- lullaby n.
- A song to quiet babes or lull them to sleep; that which quiets. [From Lull, v. t.]
- shook v. t.
- To pack, as staves, in a shook.
- closer n.
- One who, or that which, closes; specifically, a boot closer. See under Boot.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Storm on St. Bernard is in the public domain. This text is taken from Selections from American Poetry, with Special Reference to Poe, Longfellow, Lowell and Whittier, edited by Margaret Sprague Carhart, Project Gutenberg ebook #3650; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Buchanan Read, Storm on St. Bernard, in Poems (1860), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #3650, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/carhart-thomas-buchanan-read/storm-on-st-bernard.html, id L25955.
Form and metre
Storm on St. Bernard is 65 lines in 7 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
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 AABBCCDD thingA · wingA · hareB · airB · spasmsC · chasmsC · sailD · galeD
- 2 ABACBC fleetA · roaredB · seatA · snowC · pouredB · belowC
- 3 AABB- roarA · shoreA · dayB · sprayB · cloud
- 4 ---ABABC-C- driven · loud · heaven · nearA · blanchB · fearA · avalancheB · recoilC · thrown · toilC · gone
- 5 ABBAABB darkA · snowB · woB · harkA · barkA · noB · soB
- 6 ABCBCADEDE mistA · nearB · warmC · earB · stormC · listA · ringD · thriceE · thunderingD · iceE
- 7 ABBACCDDEEFFGGH-H- goodA · lieB · lullabyB · bloodA · guideC · pliedC · wokeD · cloakD · breathE · deathE · againF · plainF · harkG · barkG · swellH · debarred · bellH · bernard
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Oh, Heaven, it is a fearful thing | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| Beneath the tempest's beating wing | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| To struggle, like a stricken hare | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| When swoops the monarch bird of air; | 8 | ···/···· |
| To breast the loud winds' fitful spasms, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| To brave the cloud and shun the chasms, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Tossed like a fretted shallop-sail | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Between the ocean and the gale. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Along the valley, loud and fleet, | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| The rising tempest leapt and roared, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| And scaled the Alp, till from his seat | 8 | ········ |
| The throned Eternity of Snow | 8 | ··˘/˘˘·· |
| His frequent avalanches poured | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘· |
| In thunder to the storm below. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And now, to crown their fears, a roar | 8 | ········ |
| Like ocean battling with the shore, | 8 | ·//˘˘··· |
| Or like that sound which night and day | 8 | ········ |
| Breaks through Niagara's veil of spray, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| From some great height within the cloud, | 8 | ········ |
| To some unmeasured valley driven, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Swept down, and with a voice so loud | 8 | ········ |
| It seemed as it would shatter heaven! | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| The bravest quailed; it swept so near, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| It made the ruddiest cheek to blanch, | 8 | ········ |
| While look replied to look in fear, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| "The avalanche! The avalanche!" | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| It forced the foremost to recoil, | 8 | ···/··˘/ |
| Before its sideward billows thrown,-- | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Who cried, "O God! Here ends our toil! | 8 | ······/· |
| The path is overswept and gone!" | 8 | ········ |
| The night came down. The ghostly dark, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Made ghostlier by its sheet of snow, | 8 | ········ |
| Wailed round them its tempestuous wo, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Like Death's announcing courier! "Hark | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| There, heard you not the alp-hound's bark? | 8 | ········ |
| And there again! and there! Ah, no, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| 'Tis but the blast that mocks us so!" | 8 | ········ |
| Then through the thick and blackening mist | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Death glared on them, and breathed so near, | 8 | ········ |
| Some felt his breath grow almost warm, | 8 | ·····/·· |
| The while he whispered in their ear | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Of sleep that should out-dream the storm. | 8 | ········ |
| Then lower drooped their lids,--when, "List! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Now, heard you not the storm-bell ring? | 8 | ········ |
| And there again, and twice and thrice! | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Ah, no, 'tis but the thundering | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| Of tempests on a crag of ice!" | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Death smiled on them, and it seemed good | 8 | ········ |
| On such a mellow bed to lie | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The storm was like a lullaby, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And drowsy pleasure soothed their blood. | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| But still the sturdy, practised guide | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| His unremitting labour plied; | 8 | ··˘/˘/·· |
| Now this one shook until he woke, | 8 | ········ |
| And closer wrapt the other's cloak,-- | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Still shouting with his utmost breath, | 8 | ·/˘··/·· |
| To startle back the hand of Death, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Brave words of cheer! "But, hark again,-- | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Between the blasts the sound is plain; | 8 | ········ |
| The storm, inhaling, lulls,--and hark! | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| It is--it is! the alp-dog's bark | 8 | ········ |
| And on the tempest's passing swell-- | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| The voice of cheer so long debarred-- | 8 | ······˘/ |
| There swings the Convent's guiding-bell, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| The sacred bell of Saint Bernard!" | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
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