A Good Time Going!
BRAVE singer of the coming time,Sweet minstrel of the joyous present,Crowned with the noblest wreath of rhyme,The holly-leaf of Ayrshire's peasant,Good by! Good by!--Our hearts and hands,Our lips in honest Saxon phrases,Cry, God be with him, till he standsHis feet among the English daisies!
'T is here we part;--for other eyesThe busy deck, the fluttering streamer,The dripping arms that plunge and rise,The waves in foam, the ship in tremor,The kerchiefs waving from the pier,The cloudy pillar gliding o'er him,The deep blue desert, lone and drear,With heaven above and home before him!
His home!--the Western giant smiles,And twirls the spotty globe to find it;This little speck the British Isles?'T is but a freckle,--never mind it!He laughs, and all his prairies roll,Each gurgling cataract roars and chuckles,And ridges stretched from pole to poleHeave till they crack their iron knuckles!
But Memory blushes at the sneer,And Honor turns with frown defiant,And Freedom, leaning on her spear,Laughs louder than the laughing giant"An islet is a world," she said,"When glory with its dust has blended,And Britain keeps her noble deadTill earth and seas and skies are rended!"
Beneath each swinging forest-boughSome arm as stout in death reposes,--From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed browHer valor's life-blood runs in roses;Nay, let our brothers of the WestWrite smiling in their florid pages,One half her soil has walked the restIn poets, heroes, martyrs, sages!
Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp,From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather,The British oak with rooted graspHer slender handful holds together;--With cliffs of white and bowers of green,And Ocean narrowing to caress her,And hills and threaded streams between,--Our little mother isle, God bless her!
In earth's broad temple where we stand,Fanned by the eastern gales that brought us,We hold the missal in our hand,Bright with the lines our Mother taught us.Where'er its blazoned page betraysThe glistening links of gilded fetters,Behold, the half-turned leaf displaysHer rubric stained in crimson letters!
Enough! To speed a parting friend'T is vain alike to speak and listen;--Yet stay,--these feeble accents blendWith rays of light from eyes that glisten.Good by! once more,--and kindly tellIn words of peace the young world's story,--And say, besides, we love too wellOur mothers' soil, our fathers' glory.
Words in this poem
- dripping n.
- A falling in drops, or the sound so made.
- lone n.
- A lane. See Loanin.
- drear n.
- Sadness; dismalness.
- spotty a.
- Full of spots; marked with spots.
- freckle n.
- A small yellowish or brownish spot in the skin, particularly on the face, neck, or hands. [Dim., from the same root as freak, v. t.]
- defiant a.
- Full of defiance; bold; insolent; as, a defiant spirit or act. [Cf. F. défiant, p. pr. of défier. See Defy.]
- islet n.
- A little island. [OF. islette (cf. F. îlot), dim. of isle.]
- handful n.
- As much as the hand will grasp or contain. [AS. handfull.]
- narrowing n.
- The act of contracting, or of making or becoming less in breadth or extent.
- caress n.
- An act of endearment; any act or expression of affection; an embracing, or touching, with tenderness. [F. caresse, It. carezza, LL. caritia dearness, fr. L. carus dear. See Charity.]
- isle v. t.
- To cause to become an island, or like an island; to surround or encompass; to island.
- missal n.
- The book containing the service of the Mass for the entire year; a Mass book. [LL. missale, liber missalis, from missa mass: cf. F. missel. See 1st Mass.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Good Time Going! is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 06 Poems from the Breakfast Table Series, Project Gutenberg ebook #7393; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Oliver Wendell Holmes, A Good Time Going!, in Poems from the Breakfast-Table Series (1858), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #7393, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/holmes-breakfast-table-poems/a-good-time-going.html, id L23564.
Form and metre
A Good Time Going! is 64 lines in 8 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 6 of its 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
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 ABABC-C- timeA · presentB · rhymeA · peasantB · handsC · phrases · standsC · daisies
- 2 A-A-BCBC eyesA · streamer · riseA · tremor · pierB · himC · drearB · himC
- 3 ABABCDCD smilesA · itB · islesA · itB · rollC · chucklesD · poleC · knucklesD
- 4 ABABCDCD sneerA · defiantB · spearA · giantB · saidC · blendedD · deadC · rendedD
- 5 ABABCDCD boughA · reposesB · browA · rosesB · westC · pagesD · restC · sagesD
- 6 ABABCDCD claspA · heatherB · graspA · togetherB · greenC · herD · betweenC · herD
- 7 ABABCDCD standA · usB · handA · usB · betraysC · fettersD · displaysC · lettersD
- 8 ABABCDCD friendA · listenB · blendA · glistenB · tellC · storyD · wellC · gloryD
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 |
|---|---|---|
| BRAVE singer of the coming time, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Sweet minstrel of the joyous present, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Crowned with the noblest wreath of rhyme, | 9 | ·˘··/˘··· |
| The holly-leaf of Ayrshire's peasant, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Good by! Good by!--Our hearts and hands, | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| Our lips in honest Saxon phrases, | 10 | /˘··/˘/˘/˘ |
| Cry, God be with him, till he stands | 8 | ········ |
| His feet among the English daisies! | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| 'T is here we part;--for other eyes | 9 | ······/˘· |
| The busy deck, the fluttering streamer, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘˘/˘ |
| The dripping arms that plunge and rise, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The waves in foam, the ship in tremor, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| The kerchiefs waving from the pier, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The cloudy pillar gliding o'er him, | 9 | ·/˘/˘/˘·· |
| The deep blue desert, lone and drear, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| With heaven above and home before him! | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| His home!--the Western giant smiles, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And twirls the spotty globe to find it; | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| This little speck the British Isles? | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| 'T is but a freckle,--never mind it! | 10 | ····/˘/˘·· |
| He laughs, and all his prairies roll, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Each gurgling cataract roars and chuckles, | 11 | ·/˘˘/˘˘··/˘ |
| And ridges stretched from pole to pole | 9 | ·/˘·˘···· |
| Heave till they crack their iron knuckles! | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| But Memory blushes at the sneer, | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘··· |
| And Honor turns with frown defiant, | 9 | ·/˘···˘/˘ |
| And Freedom, leaning on her spear, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Laughs louder than the laughing giant | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| "An islet is a world," she said, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "When glory with its dust has blended, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| And Britain keeps her noble dead | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Till earth and seas and skies are rended!" | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Beneath each swinging forest-bough | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Some arm as stout in death reposes,-- | 9 | ······/·˘ |
| From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow | 10 | ···˘··/˘·· |
| Her valor's life-blood runs in roses; | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Nay, let our brothers of the West | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| Write smiling in their florid pages, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| One half her soil has walked the rest | 9 | ······˘·· |
| In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages! | 9 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘ |
| Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, | 9 | ·˘··/˘/˘· |
| From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| The British oak with rooted grasp | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Her slender handful holds together;-- | 9 | ·/˘/··˘/˘ |
| With cliffs of white and bowers of green, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| And Ocean narrowing to caress her, | 10 | ·/˘/˘˘·˘/· |
| And hills and threaded streams between,-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Our little mother isle, God bless her! | 10 | /˘/˘/˘···· |
| In earth's broad temple where we stand, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Fanned by the eastern gales that brought us, | 10 | ·˘··/˘···· |
| We hold the missal in our hand, | 9 | ···/˘·/˘· |
| Bright with the lines our Mother taught us. | 10 | ····/˘/˘·· |
| Where'er its blazoned page betrays | 10 | ˘˘/···˘·˘/ |
| The glistening links of gilded fetters, | 10 | ·/˘˘··/˘/˘ |
| Behold, the half-turned leaf displays | 9 | ˘/···˘·˘/ |
| Her rubric stained in crimson letters! | 10 | ·/˘·˘·/˘/˘ |
| Enough! To speed a parting friend | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| 'T is vain alike to speak and listen;-- | 10 | ···˘/···/˘ |
| Yet stay,--these feeble accents blend | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| With rays of light from eyes that glisten. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Good by! once more,--and kindly tell | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In words of peace the young world's story,-- | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And say, besides, we love too well | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Our mothers' soil, our fathers' glory. | 11 | /˘/˘·/˘/˘/˘ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.