The Supplanter a Tale
HE bends his travel-tarnished feetTo where she wastes in clay:From day-dawn until eve he faresAlong the wintry way;From day-dawn until eve repairsUnto her mound to pray.
“Are these the gravestone shapes that meetMy forward-straining view?Or forms that cross a window-blindIn circle, knot, and queue:Gay forms, that cross and whirl and windTo music throbbing through?”—
“The Keeper of the Field of TombsDwells by its gateway-pier;He celebrates with feast and danceHis daughter’s twentieth year:He celebrates with wine of FranceThe birthday of his dear.”—
“The gates are shut when evening glooms:Lay down your wreath, sad wight;To-morrow is a time more fitFor placing flowers aright:The morning is the time for it;Come, wake with us to-night!”—
He grounds his wreath, and enters in,And sits, and shares their cheer.—“I fain would foot with you, young man,Before all others here;I fain would foot it for a spanWith such a cavalier!”
She coaxes, clasps, nor fails to winHis first-unwilling hand:The merry music strikes its staves,The dancers quickly band;And with the damsel of the gravesHe duly takes his stand.
“You dance divinely, stranger swain,Such grace I’ve never known.O longer stay! Breathe not adieuAnd leave me here alone!O longer stay: to her be trueWhose heart is all your own!”—
“I mark a phantom through the pane,That beckons in despair,Its mouth all drawn with heavy moan—Her to whom once I sware!”—“Nay; ’tis the lately carven stoneOf some strange girl laid there!”—
“I see white flowers upon the floorBetrodden to a clot;My wreath were they?”—“Nay; love me much,Swear you’ll forget me not!’Twas but a wreath! Full many suchAre brought here and forgot.”
The watches of the night grow hoar,He rises ere the sun;“Now could I kill thee here!” he says,“For winning me from oneWho ever in her living daysWas pure as cloistered nun!”
She cowers, and he takes his trackAfar for many a mile,For evermore to be apartFrom her who could beguileHis senses by her burning heart,And win his love awhile.
A year: and he is travelling backTo her who wastes in clay;From day-dawn until eve he faresAlong the wintry way,From day-dawn until eve repairsUnto her mound to pray.
And there he sets him to fulfilHis frustrate first intent:And lay upon her bed, at last,The offering earlier meant:When, on his stooping figure, ghastAnd haggard eyes are bent.
“O surely for a little whileYou can be kind to me!For do you love her, do you hate,She knows not—cares not she:Only the living feel the weightOf loveless misery!
“I own my sin; I’ve paid its cost,Being outcast, shamed, and bare:I give you daily my whole heart,Your babe my tender care,I pour you prayers; and aye to partIs more than I can bear!”
He turns—unpitying, passion-tossed;“I know you not!” he cries,“Nor know your child. I knew this maid,But she’s in Paradise!”And swiftly in the winter shadeHe breaks from her and flies.
Words in this poem 20
- wintry a.
- Suitable to winter; resembling winter, or what belongs to winter; brumal; hyemal; cold; stormy; wintery. [AS. wintrig.]
- gravestone n.
- A stone laid over, or erected near, a grave, usually with an inscription, to preserve the memory of the dead; a tombstone.
- queue v. t.
- To fasten, as hair, in a queue.
- wight n.
- A whit; a bit; a jot. [OE. wight, wiht, a wight, a whit, AS. wiht, wuht, a creature, a thing; skin to D. wicht a child, OS. & OHG. wiht a creature, thing, G. wicht a creature, Icel. v]
- aright adv.
- Rightly; correctly; in a right way or form; without mistake or crime; as, to worship God aright. [Pref. a- + right.]
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
- cavalier n.
- A military man serving on horseback; a knight. [F. cavalier, It. cavaliere, LL. caballarius, fr. L. caballus. See Cavalcade, and cf. Cavallier, Caballine.]
- damsel n.
- A young person, either male or female, of noble or gentle extraction; as, Damsel Pepin; Damsel Richard, Prince of Wales. [OE. damosel, damesel, damisel, damsel, fr. OF. damoisele, damisele, gentlewoman, F. demoiselle young lady; cf. OF. damoisel young nobleman, F. damoiseau; fr. LL]
- pane n.
- The narrow edge of a hammer head. See Peen. [F. panne.]
- carven a.
- Wrought by carving; ornamented by carvings; carved.
- hoar v. t.
- To become moldy or musty. [AS. harian to grow gray.]
- cloistered a.
- Dwelling in cloisters; solitary.
- afar adv.
- At, to, or from a great distance; far away; -- often used with from preceding, or off following; as, he was seen from afar; I saw him afar off. [Pref. a-.(for on or of) + far.]
- evermore adv.
- During eternity; always; forever; for an indefinite period; at all times; -- often used substantively with for.
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
- ghast v. t.
- To strike aghast; to affright. [OE. gasten. See Ghastly, a.]
- haggard a.
- Wild or intractable; disposed to break away from duty; untamed; as, a haggard or refractory hawk. Shak [F. hagard; of German origin, and prop. meaning, of the hegde or woods, wild, untamed. See Hedge, 1st Haw, and -ard.]
- loveless a.
- Void of love; void of tenderness or kindness. Milton. Shelton.
- outcast a.
- Cast out; degraded. [Cf. Sw. utkasta to cast out.]
- babe n.
- An infant; a young child of either sex; a baby. [Cf. Ir. bab, baban, W. baban, maban.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Supplanter a Tale is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems of the Past and the Present, Project Gutenberg ebook #3168; 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 Hardy, The Supplanter a Tale, in Poems of the Past and the Present (1901), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #3168, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hardy-past-and-present/the-supplanter-a-tale.html, id L16942.
Form and metre
The Supplanter a Tale is 96 lines in 16 stanzas of 6 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.1 syllables. 1 line ends 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 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 ABCBCB feetA · clayB · faresC · wayB · repairsC · prayB
- 2 ADEDED meetA · viewD · blindE · queueD · windE · throughD
- 3 FGHGHG tombsF · pierG · danceH · yearG · franceH · dearG
- 4 FIJ-JI gloomsF · wightI · fitJ · aright · itJ · nightI
- 5 KLMLML inK · cheerL · manM · hereL · spanM · cavalierL
- 6 KNONON winK · handN · stavesO · bandN · gravesO · standN
- 7 PQRQRQ swainP · knownQ · adieuR · aloneQ · trueR · ownQ
- 8 PSQSQS paneP · despairS · moanQ · swareS · stoneQ · thereS
- 9 TUVUVU floorT · clotU · muchV · notU · suchV · forgotU
- 10 TW-W-W hoarT · sunW · says · oneW · days · nunW
- 11 XYZYZY trackX · mileY · apartZ · beguileY · heartZ · awhileY
- 12 Xababa backX · claya · faresb · waya · repairsb · praya
- 13 -cdcdc fulfil · intentc · lastd · meantc · ghastd · bentc
- 14 -efef- while · mee · hatef · shee · weightf · misery
- 15 -ghghg cost · bareg · hearth · careg · parth · bearg
- 16 -ij-ji tossed · criesi · maidj · paradise · shadej · fliesi
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 |
|---|---|---|
| HE bends his travel-tarnished feet | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| To where she wastes in clay: | 6 | ······ |
| From day-dawn until eve he fares | 8 | ········ |
| Along the wintry way; | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| From day-dawn until eve repairs | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Unto her mound to pray. | 6 | ······ |
| “Are these the gravestone shapes that meet | 8 | ···/···· |
| My forward-straining view? | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Or forms that cross a window-blind | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In circle, knot, and queue: | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Gay forms, that cross and whirl and wind | 8 | ········ |
| To music throbbing through?”— | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| “The Keeper of the Field of Tombs | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Dwells by its gateway-pier; | 6 | ···/·· |
| He celebrates with feast and dance | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| His daughter’s twentieth year: | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘· |
| He celebrates with wine of France | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The birthday of his dear.”— | 6 | ·/···· |
| “The gates are shut when evening glooms: | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Lay down your wreath, sad wight; | 6 | ······ |
| To-morrow is a time more fit | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| For placing flowers aright: | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘/ |
| The morning is the time for it; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Come, wake with us to-night!”— | 6 | ······ |
| He grounds his wreath, and enters in, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And sits, and shares their cheer.— | 6 | ······ |
| “I fain would foot with you, young man, | 8 | ········ |
| Before all others here; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I fain would foot it for a span | 8 | ········ |
| With such a cavalier!” | 6 | ····˘/ |
| She coaxes, clasps, nor fails to win | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| His first-unwilling hand: | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| The merry music strikes its staves, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The dancers quickly band; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| And with the damsel of the graves | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| He duly takes his stand. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| “You dance divinely, stranger swain, | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| Such grace I’ve never known. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| O longer stay! Breathe not adieu | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| And leave me here alone! | 6 | ····˘/ |
| O longer stay: to her be true | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Whose heart is all your own!”— | 6 | ······ |
| “I mark a phantom through the pane, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That beckons in despair, | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| Its mouth all drawn with heavy moan— | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Her to whom once I sware!”— | 6 | ······ |
| “Nay; ’tis the lately carven stone | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Of some strange girl laid there!”— | 6 | ······ |
| “I see white flowers upon the floor | 8 | ···/···· |
| Betrodden to a clot; | 6 | ······ |
| My wreath were they?”—“Nay; love me much, | 8 | ········ |
| Swear you’ll forget me not! | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| ’Twas but a wreath! Full many such | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Are brought here and forgot.” | 6 | ····˘/ |
| The watches of the night grow hoar, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| He rises ere the sun; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| “Now could I kill thee here!” he says, | 8 | ········ |
| “For winning me from one | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Who ever in her living days | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Was pure as cloistered nun!” | 6 | ···/˘· |
| She cowers, and he takes his track | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Afar for many a mile, | 7 | ˘/·/˘·· |
| For evermore to be apart | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| From her who could beguile | 6 | ····˘/ |
| His senses by her burning heart, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And win his love awhile. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| A year: and he is travelling back | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To her who wastes in clay; | 6 | ······ |
| From day-dawn until eve he fares | 8 | ········ |
| Along the wintry way, | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| From day-dawn until eve repairs | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Unto her mound to pray. | 6 | ······ |
| And there he sets him to fulfil | 8 | ········ |
| His frustrate first intent: | 6 | ·/··˘/ |
| And lay upon her bed, at last, | 8 | ········ |
| The offering earlier meant: | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘˘· |
| When, on his stooping figure, ghast | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And haggard eyes are bent. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| “O surely for a little while | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| You can be kind to me! | 6 | ······ |
| For do you love her, do you hate, | 8 | ········ |
| She knows not—cares not she: | 6 | ······ |
| Only the living feel the weight | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| Of loveless misery! | 6 | ·/˘/˘˘ |
| “I own my sin; I’ve paid its cost, | 8 | ········ |
| Being outcast, shamed, and bare: | 7 | /˘/···· |
| I give you daily my whole heart, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Your babe my tender care, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I pour you prayers; and aye to part | 8 | ········ |
| Is more than I can bear!” | 6 | ······ |
| He turns—unpitying, passion-tossed; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| “I know you not!” he cries, | 6 | ······ |
| “Nor know your child. I knew this maid, | 8 | ········ |
| But she’s in Paradise!” | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And swiftly in the winter shade | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| He breaks from her and flies. | 6 | ······ |
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