Book III: Philomel and Progne
From home and city spires, one day,The swallow Progne flew away,And sought the bosky dellWhere sang poor Philomel.'My sister,' Progne said, 'how do you do?'Tis now a thousand years since youHave been conceal'd from human view;I'm sure I have not seen your faceOnce since the times of Thrace.Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?''Where could I find,' said Philomel, 'so sweet?''What! sweet?' cried Progne--'sweet to wasteSuch tones on beasts devoid of taste,Or on some rustic, at the most!Should you by deserts be engross'd?Come, be the city's pride and boast.Besides, the woods remind of harmsThat Tereus in them did your charms.''Alas!' replied the bird of song,'The thought of that so cruel wrongMakes me, from age to age,Prefer this hermitage;For nothing like the sight of menCan call up what I suffer'd then.'
Words in this poem
- bosky a.
- Woody or bushy; covered with boscage or thickets. [Cf. Bushy.]
- dell n.
- A small, retired valley; a ravine. [AS. del, akin to E. dale; cf. D. delle, del, low ground. See Dale.]
- remind v. t.
- To put (one) in mind of something; to bring to the remembrance of; to bring to the notice or consideration of (a person).
- hermitage n.
- The habitation of a hermit; a secluded residence. [OE. hermitage, ermitage, F. hermitage, ermitage. See Hermit.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Book III: Philomel and Progne is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Fables of La Fontaine, Project Gutenberg ebook #7241, the Elizur Wright 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: Jean de La Fontaine, Book III: Philomel and Progne, in The Fables of La Fontaine (1841), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #7241, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/la-fontaine-fables/3-15.html, id L28267.
Form and metre
Book III: Philomel and Progne is 24 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 58% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, 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 AA--BBBCCDDEEFFFGGHHIIJJ dayA · awayA · dell · philomel · doB · youB · viewB · faceC · thraceC · retreatD · sweetD · wasteE · tasteE · mostF · engross'dF · boastF · harmsG · charmsG · songH · wrongH · ageI · hermitageI · menJ · thenJ
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 |
|---|---|---|
| From home and city spires, one day, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The swallow Progne flew away, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| And sought the bosky dell | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Where sang poor Philomel. | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| 'My sister,' Progne said, 'how do you do? | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| 'Tis now a thousand years since you | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Have been conceal'd from human view; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| I'm sure I have not seen your face | 8 | ········ |
| Once since the times of Thrace. | 6 | ······ |
| Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?' | 9 | ···/···˘/ |
| 'Where could I find,' said Philomel, 'so sweet?' | 10 | ·····/˘˘·· |
| 'What! sweet?' cried Progne--'sweet to waste | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Such tones on beasts devoid of taste, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Or on some rustic, at the most! | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Should you by deserts be engross'd? | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| Come, be the city's pride and boast. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Besides, the woods remind of harms | 8 | ˘/··˘/·· |
| That Tereus in them did your charms.' | 8 | ········ |
| 'Alas!' replied the bird of song, | 8 | ˘/˘/···· |
| 'The thought of that so cruel wrong | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Makes me, from age to age, | 6 | ······ |
| Prefer this hermitage; | 6 | ˘/·/˘˘ |
| For nothing like the sight of men | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Can call up what I suffer'd then.' | 8 | ·····/˘· |
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.