Ballad
She's up and gone, the graceless girl,And robb'd my failing years!My blood before was thin and coldBut now 'tis turn'd to tears;--My shadow falls upon my grave,So near the brink I stand,She might have stay'd a little yet,And led me by the hand!
Aye, call her on the barren moor,And call her on the hill:'Tis nothing but the heron's cry,And plover's answer shrill;My child is flown on wilder wingsThan they have ever spread,And I may even walk a wasteThat widen'd when she fled.
Full many a thankless child has been,But never one like mine;Her meat was served on plates of gold,Her drink was rosy wine;But now she'll share the robin's food,And sup the common rill,Before her feet will turn againTo meet her father's will!
Words in this poem
- graceless a.
- Wanting in grace or excellence; departed from, or deprived of, divine grace; hence, depraved; corrupt.
- brink n.
- The edge, margin, or border of a steep place, as of a precipice; a bank or edge, as of a river or pit; a verge; a border; as, the brink of a chasm. Also Fig. [Dan. brink edge, verge; akin to Sw. brink declivity, hill, Icel. brekka; cf. LG. brink a grassy hill, W. bryn hill, bryncyn hillock.]
- flown a.
- Flushed, inflated.
- thankless a.
- Not acknowledging favors; not expressing thankfulness; unthankful; ungrateful.
- rill n.
- A very small brook; a streamlet. [Cf. LG. rille a small channel or brook, a furrow, a chamfer, OE. rigol a small brook, F. rigole a trench or furrow for water, W. rhill a row, rhigol a little di]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Ballad is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Project Gutenberg ebook #15652; 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 Hood, Ballad, in The Song of the Shirt, and Other Poems (1826–1845), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #15652, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hood-poetical-works/ballad.html, id L26115.
Form and metre
Ballad is 24 lines in 3 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 96%).
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 -A-A-B-B girl · yearsA · cold · tearsA · grave · standB · yet · handB
- 2 -A-A-B-B moor · hillA · cry · shrillA · wings · spreadB · waste · fledB
- 3 -A-A-B-B been · mineA · gold · wineA · food · rillB · again · willB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| She's up and gone, the graceless girl, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And robb'd my failing years! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| My blood before was thin and cold | 8 | ········ |
| But now 'tis turn'd to tears;-- | 6 | ······ |
| My shadow falls upon my grave, | 8 | ·/······ |
| So near the brink I stand, | 6 | ······ |
| She might have stay'd a little yet, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And led me by the hand! | 6 | ······ |
| Aye, call her on the barren moor, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And call her on the hill: | 6 | ······ |
| 'Tis nothing but the heron's cry, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And plover's answer shrill; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| My child is flown on wilder wings | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Than they have ever spread, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And I may even walk a waste | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That widen'd when she fled. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Full many a thankless child has been, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘··· |
| But never one like mine; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Her meat was served on plates of gold, | 8 | ········ |
| Her drink was rosy wine; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But now she'll share the robin's food, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And sup the common rill, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Before her feet will turn again | 8 | ······˘/ |
| To meet her father's will! | 6 | ···/˘· |
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.