The Procession
There were trampling sounds of many feet,And music rush’d through the crowded street:Proud music, such as tells the skyOf a chief return’d from victory.
There were banners to the winds unroll’d,With haughty words on each blazon’d fold;High battle-names, which had rung of yoreWhen lances clash’d on the Syrian shore.
Borne from their dwellings, green and lone,There were flowers of the woods on the pathway strown;And wheels that crush’d as they swept along;--Oh! what doth the violet amidst the throng?
I saw where a bright procession pass’dThe gates of a minster old and vast;And a king to his crowning-place was led,Through a sculptured line of the warrior-dead.
I saw, far gleaming, the long arrayOf trophies, on those high tombs that lay,And the colour’d light, that wrapp’d them all,Rich, deep, and sad, as a royal pall.
But a lowlier grave soon won mine eyeAway from th’ ancestral pageantry--A grave by the lordly minster’s gate,Unhonour’d, and yet not desolate.
It was a dewy greensward bed,Meet for the rest of a peasant head;But Love--oh, lovelier than all beside!--That lone place guarded and glorified.
For a gentle form stood watching there,Young--but how sorrowfully fair!Keeping the flowers of the holy spot,That reckless feet might profane them not.
Clear, pale and clear, was the tender cheek,And her eye, though tearful, serenely meek;And I deem’d, by its lifted gaze of love,That her sad heart’s treasure was all above.
For alone she seem’d midst the throng to be,Like a bird of the waves far away at sea;Alone, in a mourner’s vest array’d,And with folded hands, e’en as if she pray’d.
It faded before me, that mask of pride,The haughty swell of the music died;Banner, and armour, and tossing plume,All melted away in the twilight’s gloom.
But that orphan form, with its willowy grace,And the speaking prayer in that pale, calm face,Still, still o’er my thoughts in the night-hour glide----Oh! Love is lovelier than all beside!
Words in this poem 16
- haughty a.
- High; lofty; bold. [OE. hautein, F. hautain, fr. haut high, OF. also halt, fr. L. altus. See Altitude.]
- blazon v. t.
- To depict in colors; to display; to exhibit conspicuously; to publish or make public far and wide. [From blazon, n.; confused with 4th blaze: cf. F. blasonner.]
- rung n.
- A floor timber in a ship. [OE. ronge, AS. hrung, a staff, rod, pole; akin to G. runge a short, thick piece of iron or wood, OD. ronghe a prop, support, Icel. röng a rib in a ship, Goth. H]
- yore adv.
- In time long past; in old time; long since. [OE. , yare, , AS. geára;akin to geár a year, E. year. Year.]
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
- pathway n.
- A footpath; a beaten track; any path or course. Also used figuratively.
- amidst prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- pageantry n.
- Scenic shows or spectacles, taken collectivelly; spectacular guality; splendor.
- greensward n.
- Turf green with grass.
- tearful a.
- Abounding with tears; weeping; shedding tears; as, tearful eyes.
- serenely adv.
- In a serene manner; clearly.
- deem v. t.
- To decide; to judge; to sentence; to condemn. [OE. demen to judge, condemn, AS. d, fr. d doom; akin to OFries. d, OS. ad, D. doemen, OHG. tuommen, Icel. dæma, Sw. dömma, Dan. dömme, Goth. d. See Doom, n., an]
- mourner n.
- One who mourns or is grieved at any misfortune, as the death of a friend.
- vest n.
- An article of clothing covering the person; an outer garment; a vestment; a dress; a vesture; a robe. [L. vestis a garment, vesture; akin to Goth. wasti, and E. wear: cf. F. veste. See Wear to carry on the person, and cf. Divest, Invest, Travesty.]
- armour n.
- Defensive arms for the body; any clothing or covering worn to protect one's person in battle. [OE. armure, fr. F. armure, OF. armeure, fr. L. armatura. See Armature.]
- willowy a.
- Abounding with willows.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Procession is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Felicia Hemans, Project Gutenberg ebook #66785; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Felicia Hemans, The Procession, in Poems (1808–1835), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66785, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hemans-poems/the-procession.html, id L19590.
Form and metre
The Procession is 48 lines in 12 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABB, complete in 9 of its 12 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 78%).
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 AA-- feetA · streetA · sky · victory
- 2 --AA unroll'd · fold · yoreA · shoreA
- 3 AABB loneA · strownA · alongB · throngB
- 4 AABB pass'dA · vastA · ledB · deadB
- 5 AABB arrayA · layA · allB · pallB
- 6 --AA eye · pageantry · gateA · desolateA
- 7 AABB bedA · headA · besideB · glorifiedB
- 8 AABB thereA · fairA · spotB · notB
- 9 AABB cheekA · meekA · loveB · aboveB
- 10 AABB beA · seaA · array'dB · pray'dB
- 11 AABB prideA · diedA · plumeB · gloomB
- 12 AABB graceA · faceA · glideB · besideB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| There were trampling sounds of many feet, | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| And music rush’d through the crowded street: | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| Proud music, such as tells the sky | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Of a chief return’d from victory. | 9 | ···˘/·/˘˘ |
| There were banners to the winds unroll’d, | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| With haughty words on each blazon’d fold; | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| High battle-names, which had rung of yore | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| When lances clash’d on the Syrian shore. | 10 | ·/˘···/˘˘· |
| Borne from their dwellings, green and lone, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| There were flowers of the woods on the pathway strown; | 11 | ··/·····/·· |
| And wheels that crush’d as they swept along;-- | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| Oh! what doth the violet amidst the throng? | 10 | ····/˘˘/·· |
| I saw where a bright procession pass’d | 9 | ·····˘/˘· |
| The gates of a minster old and vast; | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And a king to his crowning-place was led, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Through a sculptured line of the warrior-dead. | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| I saw, far gleaming, the long array | 9 | ···/˘··˘/ |
| Of trophies, on those high tombs that lay, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| And the colour’d light, that wrapp’d them all, | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| Rich, deep, and sad, as a royal pall. | 9 | ······/˘· |
| But a lowlier grave soon won mine eye | 9 | ········· |
| Away from th’ ancestral pageantry-- | 9 | ˘/·˘/˘/˘˘ |
| A grave by the lordly minster’s gate, | 9 | ····/˘/˘· |
| Unhonour’d, and yet not desolate. | 9 | ······/˘· |
| It was a dewy greensward bed, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Meet for the rest of a peasant head; | 9 | ······/˘· |
| But Love--oh, lovelier than all beside!-- | 10 | ········˘/ |
| That lone place guarded and glorified. | 9 | ···/˘·/˘· |
| For a gentle form stood watching there, | 9 | ··/˘··/˘· |
| Young--but how sorrowfully fair! | 8 | ········ |
| Keeping the flowers of the holy spot, | 10 | /˘·/˘··/˘· |
| That reckless feet might profane them not. | 9 | ·/˘··˘/·· |
| Clear, pale and clear, was the tender cheek, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| And her eye, though tearful, serenely meek; | 10 | ····/˘˘/˘· |
| And I deem’d, by its lifted gaze of love, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| That her sad heart’s treasure was all above. | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| For alone she seem’d midst the throng to be, | 10 | ·˘/······· |
| Like a bird of the waves far away at sea; | 11 | ·······˘/·· |
| Alone, in a mourner’s vest array’d, | 9 | ˘/··/˘·˘/ |
| And with folded hands, e’en as if she pray’d. | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| It faded before me, that mask of pride, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| The haughty swell of the music died; | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| Banner, and armour, and tossing plume, | 9 | /˘·/˘·/˘· |
| All melted away in the twilight’s gloom. | 10 | ·/˘˘/··/·· |
| But that orphan form, with its willowy grace, | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| And the speaking prayer in that pale, calm face, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| Still, still o’er my thoughts in the night-hour glide-- | 10 | ········/· |
| --Oh! Love is lovelier than all beside! | 10 | ········˘/ |
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