On the Death of Colonel Ross, in the Action of Fontenoy
While, lost to all his former mirth,Britannia's genius bends to earth,And mourns the fatal day:While stain'd with blood he strives to tearUnseemly from his sea-green hairThe wreaths of cheerful May:
The thoughts which musing Pity pays,And fond Remembrance loves to raise,Your faithful hours attend;Still Fancy, to herself unkind,Awakes to grief the soften'd mind,And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's descending waveHis country's vows shall bless the grave,Where'er the youth is laid:That sacred spot the village hindWith every sweetest turf shall bind,And Peace protect the shade.
Blest youth, regardful of thy doom,Aërial hands shall build thy tomb,With shadowy trophies crown'd;Whilst Honour bathed in tears shall roveTo sigh thy name through every grove,And call his heroes round.
The warlike dead of every age,Who fill the fair recording page,Shall leave their sainted rest;And, half reclining on his spear,Each wondering chief by turns appear,To hail the blooming guest:
Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field,And gaze with fix'd delight;Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,Again they snatch the gleamy steel,And wish the avenging fight.
But lo, where, sunk in deep despair,Her garments torn, her bosom bare,Impatient Freedom lies!Her matted tresses madly spread,To every sod, which wraps the dead,She turns her joyless eyes.
Ne'er shall she leave that lowly groundTill notes of triumph bursting roundProclaim her reign restored:Till William seek the sad retreat,And, bleeding at her sacred feet,Present the sated sword.
If, weak to soothe so soft a heart,These pictured glories nought impart,To dry thy constant tear:If, yet, in Sorrow's distant eye,Exposed and pale thou see'st him lie,Wild War insulting near:
Where'er from time thou court'st relief,The Muse shall still, with social grief,Her gentlest promise keep;Even humbled Harting's cottaged valeShall learn the sad repeated tale,And bid her shepherds weep.
Words in this poem
- unkind a.
- Having no race or kindred; childless. [See Kin kindred.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- regardful a.
- Heedful; attentive; observant.
- honour n.
- Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
- sainted a.
- Consecrated; sacred; holy; pious.
- gleamy a.
- Darting beams of light; casting light in rays; flashing; coruscating.
- madly adv.
- In a mad manner; without reason or understanding; wildly. [From Mad, a.]
- joyless a.
- Not having joy; not causing joy; unenjoyable.
- soothe v. t.
- To assent to as true. Testament of Love. [Originally, to assent to as true; OE. so to verify, AS. ges to prove the truth of, to bear witness. See Sooth, a.]
- pictured a.
- Furnished with pictures; represented by a picture or pictures; as, a pictured scene.
- cottaged a.
- Set or covered with cottages.
- vale n.
- A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
On the Death of Colonel Ross, in the Action of Fontenoy is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of William Collins; With a Memoir, Project Gutenberg ebook #29879; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: William Collins, On the Death of Colonel Ross, in the Action of Fontenoy, in Poetical Works (1746), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #29879, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/collins-poems/on-the-death-of-colonel-ross-in-the-action-of-fontenoy.html, id L13348.
Form and metre
On the Death of Colonel Ross, in the Action of Fontenoy is 60 lines in 10 stanzas of 6 lines each. Every stanza rhymes AABCCB. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 96%). 91% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.6 syllables. 13% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 AABCCB mirthA · earthA · dayB · tearC · hairC · mayB
- 2 AABCCB paysA · raiseA · attendB · unkindC · mindC · friendB
- 3 AABCCB waveA · graveA · laidB · hindC · bindC · shadeB
- 4 AABCCB doomA · tombA · crown'dB · roveC · groveC · roundB
- 5 AABCCB ageA · pageA · restB · spearC · appearC · guestB
- 6 AABCCB yieldA · fieldA · delightB · feelC · steelC · fightB
- 7 AABCCB despairA · bareA · liesB · spreadC · deadC · eyesB
- 8 AABCCB groundA · roundA · restoredB · retreatC · feetC · swordB
- 9 AABCCB heartA · impartA · tearB · eyeC · lieC · nearB
- 10 AABCCB reliefA · griefA · keepB · valeC · taleC · weepB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| While, lost to all his former mirth, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Britannia's genius bends to earth, | 9 | ˘/˘˘/˘··· |
| And mourns the fatal day: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| While stain'd with blood he strives to tear | 8 | ········ |
| Unseemly from his sea-green hair | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| The wreaths of cheerful May: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The thoughts which musing Pity pays, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And fond Remembrance loves to raise, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Your faithful hours attend; | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘/ |
| Still Fancy, to herself unkind, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘/ |
| Awakes to grief the soften'd mind, | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| And points the bleeding friend. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| By rapid Scheld's descending wave | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| His country's vows shall bless the grave, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Where'er the youth is laid: | 7 | ˘˘/···· |
| That sacred spot the village hind | 9 | ·/˘˘··/˘· |
| With every sweetest turf shall bind, | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘··· |
| And Peace protect the shade. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Blest youth, regardful of thy doom, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Aërial hands shall build thy tomb, | 7 | ······· |
| With shadowy trophies crown'd; | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| Whilst Honour bathed in tears shall rove | 9 | ·/˘·˘···· |
| To sigh thy name through every grove, | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| And call his heroes round. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The warlike dead of every age, | 9 | ·/···/˘˘· |
| Who fill the fair recording page, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Shall leave their sainted rest; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And, half reclining on his spear, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Each wondering chief by turns appear, | 9 | ·/˘˘···˘/ |
| To hail the blooming guest: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| Shall crowd from Cressy's laurel'd field, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And gaze with fix'd delight; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| Again they snatch the gleamy steel, | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| And wish the avenging fight. | 7 | ···˘/˘· |
| But lo, where, sunk in deep despair, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Her garments torn, her bosom bare, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Impatient Freedom lies! | 6 | ˘/˘/˘· |
| Her matted tresses madly spread, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| To every sod, which wraps the dead, | 9 | ·/˘˘····· |
| She turns her joyless eyes. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Till notes of triumph bursting round | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Proclaim her reign restored: | 6 | ˘/··˘/ |
| Till William seek the sad retreat, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| And, bleeding at her sacred feet, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘˘· |
| Present the sated sword. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| If, weak to soothe so soft a heart, | 8 | ········ |
| These pictured glories nought impart, | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘·˘/ |
| To dry thy constant tear: | 6 | ···/˘· |
| If, yet, in Sorrow's distant eye, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Exposed and pale thou see'st him lie, | 9 | ˘/˘······ |
| Wild War insulting near: | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Where'er from time thou court'st relief, | 9 | ˘˘/····˘/ |
| The Muse shall still, with social grief, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Her gentlest promise keep; | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| Even humbled Harting's cottaged vale | 10 | /˘/˘˘/˘/˘· |
| Shall learn the sad repeated tale, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| And bid her shepherds weep. | 6 | ···/˘· |
Notes from the edition 1
Notes to the Poetical Works of William Collins, ed. W. C. Bronson (Project Gutenberg #29879).
- Stanza 10, line 4 Harting, a village adjoining the parish of Trotton, and about two miles distant from it.
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