The Lesson of the Patriot Dead
Upon the grave's cold mouth there ever have caresses clungFor those who died ideally good and grand and pure and young;Under the scorn of all who clamor: "There is nothing just!"And bow to dread inquisitor and worship lords of dust;Let sophists give the lie, hearts droop, and courtiers play the worm,Our martyrs of Democracy the Truth sublime affirm!And when all seems inert upon this seething, troublous round,And when the rashest knows not best to flee ar stand his ground,When not a single war-cry from the sombre mass will rush,When o'er the universe is spread by Doubting utter hush,Then he who searches well within the walls that close immureOur teachers, leaders, heroes slain because they lived too pure,May glue his ear upon the ground where few else came to grieve,And ask the austere shadows: "Ho! and must one still believe?Read yet the orders: 'Forward, march!' and 'charge!'" Then from the lime,Which burnt the bones but left the soul (Oh! tyrants' useless crime!)Will rise reply: "Yes!" "yes!" and "yes!" the thousand, thousandth time!
Words in this poem
- clung a.
- Wasted away; shrunken. [Prop. p. p. fr. OE. clingen to wither. See Cling, v. i.]
- ideally adv.
- In an ideal manner; by means of ideals; mentally.
- inquisitor n.
- An inquisitive person; one fond of asking questions. [L.: cf. F. inquisiteur. See Inquire.]
- troublous a.
- Full of trouble; causing trouble.
- sombre n.
- Gloom; obscurity; duskiness; somberness.
- immure v. t.
- To wall around; to surround with walls. Sandys. [Pref. im- in + mure: cf. F. emmurer.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Lesson of the Patriot Dead is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #8775, the various hands translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Victor Hugo, The Lesson of the Patriot Dead, in Poems (1888), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #8775, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hugo-poems/the-lesson-of-the-patriot-dead.html, id L26840.
Form and metre
The Lesson of the Patriot Dead is 17 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 94% of the lines. The metre is iambic heptameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in iambic heptameter.
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 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHH clungA · youngA · justB · dustB · wormC · affirmC · roundD · groundD · rushE · hushE · immureF · pureF · grieveG · believeG · limeH · crimeH · timeH
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 heptameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Upon the grave's cold mouth there ever have caresses clung | 14 | ·······/˘·˘/˘· |
| For those who died ideally good and grand and pure and young; | 14 | ····˘/˘······· |
| Under the scorn of all who clamor: "There is nothing just!" | 14 | ·······/˘··/˘· |
| And bow to dread inquisitor and worship lords of dust; | 14 | ····˘/˘˘·/˘··· |
| Let sophists give the lie, hearts droop, and courtiers play the worm, | 14 | ·········/˘··· |
| Our martyrs of Democracy the Truth sublime affirm! | 14 | //˘·˘/˘˘··˘/˘/ |
| And when all seems inert upon this seething, troublous round, | 14 | ····˘/···/˘/˘· |
| And when the rashest knows not best to flee ar stand his ground, | 14 | ···/˘········· |
| When not a single war-cry from the sombre mass will rush, | 14 | ···/˘····/˘··· |
| When o'er the universe is spread by Doubting utter hush, | 14 | ···/˘····/˘/˘· |
| Then he who searches well within the walls that close immure | 14 | ···/˘·······˘/ |
| Our teachers, leaders, heroes slain because they lived too pure, | 14 | //˘/˘/˘······· |
| May glue his ear upon the ground where few else came to grieve, | 14 | ·············· |
| And ask the austere shadows: "Ho! and must one still believe? | 14 | ···˘//······˘/ |
| Read yet the orders: 'Forward, march!' and 'charge!'" Then from the lime, | 14 | ···/˘/˘······· |
| Which burnt the bones but left the soul (Oh! tyrants' useless crime!) | 14 | ·········/˘/˘· |
| Will rise reply: "Yes!" "yes!" and "yes!" the thousand, thousandth time! | 14 | ··˘/·····/˘/˘· |
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.