The Oaks of Monte Luca
How still it is among these ancient oaks!Surges and undulations of the airUplift the leafy boughs, and let them fallWith scarce a sound. Such sylvan quietudesBecome old age. These huge centennial oaks,That may have heard in infancy the trumpetsOf Barbarossa's cavalry, derideMan's brief existence, that with all his strengthHe cannot stretch beyond the hundredth year.This little acorn, turbaned like the Turk,Which with my foot I spurn, may be an oakHereafter, feeding with its bitter mastThe fierce wild boar, and tossing in its armsThe cradled nests of birds, when all the menThat now inhabit this vast universe,They and their children, and their children's children,Shall be but dust and mould, and nothing more.Through openings in the trees I see below meThe valley of Clitumnus, with its farmsAnd snow-white oxen grazing in the shadeOf the tall poplars on the river's brink.O Nature, gentle mother, tender nurse!I who have never loved thee as I ought,But wasted all my years immured in cities,And breathed the stifling atmosphere of streets,Now come to thee for refuge. Here is peace.Yonder I see the little hermitagesDotting the mountain side with points of light,And here St. Julian's convent, like a nestOf curlews, clinging to some windy cliff.Beyond the broad, illimitable plainDown sinks the sun, red as Apollo's quoit,That, by the envious Zephyr blown aside,Struck Hyacinthus dead, and stained the earthWith his young blood, that blossomed into flowers.And now, instead of these fair deitiesDread demons haunt the earth; hermits inhabitThe leafy homes of sylvan Hamadryads;And jovial friars, rotund and rubicund,Replace the old Silenus with his ass.
Here underneath these venerable oaks,Wrinkled and brown and gnarled like them with age,A brother of the monastery sits,Lost in his meditations. What may beThe questions that perplex, the hopes that cheer him?Good-evening, holy father.
MONK.God be with you.
Pardon a stranger if he interruptYour meditations.
MONK.It was but a dream,--The old, old dream, that never will come true;The dream that all my life I have been dreaming,And yet is still a dream.
All men have dreams:I have had mine; but none of them came true;They were but vanity. Sometimes I thinkThe happiness of man lies in pursuing,Not in possessing; for the things possessedLose half their value. Tell me of your dream.
MONK.The yearning of my heart, my sole desire,That like the sheaf of Joseph stands up right,While all the others bend and bow to it;The passion that torments me, and that breathesNew meaning into the dead forms of prayer,Is that with mortal eyes I may beholdThe Eternal City.
Rome?
MONK.There is but one;The rest are merely names. I think of itAs the Celestial City, paved with gold,And sentinelled with angels.
Would it were.I have just fled from it. It is beleagueredBy Spanish troops, led by the Duke of Alva.
MONK.But still for me 't is the Celestial City,And I would see it once before I die.
Each one must bear his cross.
MONK.Were it a crossThat had been laid upon me, I could bear it,Or fall with it. It is a crucifix;I am nailed hand and foot, and I am dying!
What would you see in Rome?
MONK.His Holiness.
Him that was once the Cardinal Caraffa?You would but see a man of fourscore years,With sunken eyes, burning like carbuncles,Who sits at table with his friends for hours,Cursing the Spaniards as a race of JewsAnd miscreant Moors. And with what soldieryThink you he now defends the Eternal City?
MONK.With legions of bright angels.
So he calls them;And yet in fact these bright angelic legionsAre only German Lutherans.
MONK, crossing himself.Heaven protect us?
What further would you see?
MONK.The Cardinals,Going in their gilt coaches to High Mass.
Men do not go to Paradise in coaches.
MONK.The catacombs, the convents, and the churches;The ceremonies of the Holy WeekIn all their pomp, or, at the Epiphany,The Feast of the Santissima BambinoAt Ara Coeli. But I shall not see them.
These pompous ceremonies of the ChurchAre but an empty show to him who knowsThe actors in them. Stay here in your convent,For he who goes to Rome may see too much.What would you further?
MONK.I would see the paintingof the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel.
The smoke of incense and of altar candlesHas blackened it already.
MONK.Woe is me!Then I would hear Allegri's Miserere,Sung by the Papal choir.
A dismal dirge!I am an old, old man, and I have livedIn Rome for thirty years and more, and knowThe jarring of the wheels of that great world,Its jealousies, its discords, and its strife.Therefore I say to you, remain contentHere in your convent, here among your woods,Where only there is peace. Go not to Rome.There was of old a monk of WittenbergWho went to Rome; you may have heard of him;His name was Luther; and you know what followed.
MONK, rising.It is the convent bell; it rings for vespers.Let us go in; we both will pray for peace.
Words in this poem 35
- uplift v. t.
- To lift or raise aloft; to raise; to elevate; as, to uplift the arm; to uplift a rock.
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- centennial a.
- Relating to, or associated with, the commemoration of an event that happened a hundred years before; as, a centennial ode. [L. centum a hundred + annus year.]
- trumpets n.
- A plant (Sarracenia flava) with long, hollow leaves.
- deride v. t.
- To laugh at with contempt; to laugh to scorn; to turn to ridicule or make sport of; to mock; to scoff at. [L. deridere, derisum; de- + rid to laugh. See Ridicule.]
- turbaned a.
- Wearing a turban.
- turk n.
- A member of any of numerous Tartar tribes of Central Asia, etc.; esp., one of the dominant race in Turkey. [Per. Turk; probably of Tartar origin: cf. F. Turc.]
- spurn v. t.
- To drive back or away, as with the foot; to kick. [OE. spurnen to kick against, to stumble over, AS. spurnan to kick, offend; akin to spura spur, OS. & OHG. spurnan to kick, Icel. spyrna, L. spernere to despise,]
- hereafter adv.
- In time to come; in some future time or state. [AS. hræfter.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- mould n.
- Crumbling, soft, friable earth; esp., earth containing the remains or constituents of organic matter, and suited to the growth of plants; soil. [OE. molde, AS. molde; akin to D. mul, G. mull, mulm, OHG. molt, molta, Icel. mold, Dan. muld, Sw. mull, Goth. mulda, and E. meal flour. See Meal, and cf. Mole a]
- 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.]
- ought p. p.
- Was or were under obligation to pay; owed. [Orig. the preterit of the verb to owe. OE. oughte, aughte, ahte, AS. ahte. sq. root110. See Owe.]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- quoit v. t.
- To throw; to pitch.
- envious a.
- Malignant; mischievous; spiteful. [OF. envios, F. envieux, fr. L. invidiosus, fr. invidia envy. See Envy, and cf. Invidious.]
- zephyr n.
- The west wind; poetically, any soft, gentle breeze. [L. zephyrus, Gr. zéphyr.]
- jovial a.
- Of or pertaining to the god, or the planet, Jupiter. [F., fr. L. Jovialis pertaining to Jove. The planet Jupiter was thought to make those born under it joyful or jovial. See Jove.]
- rotund n.
- A rotunds. Burke.
- rubicund a.
- Inclining to redness; ruddy; red. [L. rubicundus, fr. rubere to be red, akin to ruber red. See Red.]
- gnarled a.
- Knotty; full of knots or gnarls; twisted; crossgrained.
- duke n.
- A leader; a chief; a prince. [F. duc, fr. L. dux, ducis, leader, commander, fr. ducere to lead; akin to AS. teón to draw; cf. AS. heretoga (here army) an army leader, general, G. herzog duke]
- crucifix n.
- A representation in art of the figure of Christ upon the cross; esp., the sculptured figure affixed to a real cross of wood, ivory, metal, or the like, used by the Roman Catholics in their devotions. [F. crucifix or LL. crucifixum, fr. L. crux, crucis, cross + figere, fixum, to fix. See Cross, and Fix, and cf. Crucify.]
- fourscore a.
- Four times twenty; eighty. [Four + core, n.]
- miscreant n.
- One who holds a false religious faith; a misbeliever. [OF. mescreant, F. mécréant; pref. mes- (L. minus less) + p. pr. fr. L. credere to believe. See Creed.]
- soldiery n.
- A body of soldiers; soldiers, collectivelly; the military.
- epiphany n.
- An appearance, or a becoming manifest. [F. épiphanie, L. epiphania, Gr. Fancy.]
- bambino n.
- A child or baby; esp., a representation in art of the infant Christ wrapped in swaddling clothes. [It., a little boy, fr. bambo silly; cf. Gr. , , to chatter.]
- sistine a.
- Of or pertaining to Pope Sixtus. Sistine chapel, a chapel in the Vatican at Rome, built by Pope Sixtus IV., and decorated with frescoes by Michael Angelo and others. [It. sistino.]
- miserere n.
- The psalm usually appointed for penitential acts, being the 50th psalm in the Latin version. It commences with the word miserere. [L., have mercy, fr. misereri to have mercy, fr. miser. See Miser.]
- dismal a.
- Fatal; ill-omened; unlucky. [Formerly a noun; e. g., "I trow it was in the dismalle." Chaucer. Of uncertain origin; but perh. (as suggested by Skeat) from OF. disme, F. dîme, tithe, the phr]
- dirge n.
- A piece of music of a mournful character, to accompany funeral rites; a funeral hymn. [Contraction of Lat. dirige, direct thou (imperative of dirigere), the first word of a funeral hymn (Lat. transl. of Psalm v. 8) beginning, "Dirige, Domine, in c]
- jarring a.
- Shaking; disturbing; discordant. [See Jar.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Oaks of Monte Luca is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Project Gutenberg ebook #1365; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Oaks of Monte Luca, in Michael Angelo: A Fragment (1883), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1365, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/longfellow-michael-angelo/the-oaks-of-monte-luca.html, id L19266.
Form and metre
The Oaks of Monte Luca is 143 lines in 29 stanzas.
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------------------------ oaks · air · fall · quietudes · oaks · trumpets · deride · strength · year · turk · oak · mast · arms · menA · universe · childrenA · more · me · farms · shade · brink · nurse · ought · cities · streets · peace · hermitages · light · nest · cliff · plain · quoit · aside · earth · flowers · deities · inhabit · hamadryads · rubicund · ass
- 5 -A--A monk · dreamA · true · dreaming · dreamA
- 16 ---AA-- caraffa · years · carbuncles · hoursA · jewsA · soldiery · city
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. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| How still it is among these ancient oaks! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Surges and undulations of the air | 10 | /˘········ |
| Uplift the leafy boughs, and let them fall | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| With scarce a sound. Such sylvan quietudes | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| Become old age. These huge centennial oaks, | 10 | ˘/····˘/˘· |
| That may have heard in infancy the trumpets | 11 | ·····/˘˘·/˘ |
| Of Barbarossa's cavalry, deride | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘/ |
| Man's brief existence, that with all his strength | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| He cannot stretch beyond the hundredth year. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| This little acorn, turbaned like the Turk, | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Which with my foot I spurn, may be an oak | 10 | ·········· |
| Hereafter, feeding with its bitter mast | 10 | ˘/˘/˘··/˘· |
| The fierce wild boar, and tossing in its arms | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The cradled nests of birds, when all the men | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| That now inhabit this vast universe, | 10 | ··˘/˘··/˘· |
| They and their children, and their children's children, | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Shall be but dust and mould, and nothing more. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Through openings in the trees I see below me | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| The valley of Clitumnus, with its farms | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| And snow-white oxen grazing in the shade | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Of the tall poplars on the river's brink. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| O Nature, gentle mother, tender nurse! | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘/˘· |
| I who have never loved thee as I ought, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| But wasted all my years immured in cities, | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| And breathed the stifling atmosphere of streets, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Now come to thee for refuge. Here is peace. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Yonder I see the little hermitages | 11 | /˘···/˘/˘˘˘ |
| Dotting the mountain side with points of light, | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| And here St. Julian's convent, like a nest | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Of curlews, clinging to some windy cliff. | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Beyond the broad, illimitable plain | 10 | ····˘/˘˘˘· |
| Down sinks the sun, red as Apollo's quoit, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| That, by the envious Zephyr blown aside, | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Struck Hyacinthus dead, and stained the earth | 10 | ·······˘·· |
| With his young blood, that blossomed into flowers. | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| And now, instead of these fair deities | 10 | ··˘/···/˘˘ |
| Dread demons haunt the earth; hermits inhabit | 11 | ·/˘···/˘˘/˘ |
| The leafy homes of sylvan Hamadryads; | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| And jovial friars, rotund and rubicund, | 11 | ·/˘˘/˘/·/˘˘ |
| Replace the old Silenus with his ass. | 10 | ·/··˘/˘··· |
| Here underneath these venerable oaks, | 10 | ··˘/·/˘˘˘· |
| Wrinkled and brown and gnarled like them with age, | 10 | /˘········ |
| A brother of the monastery sits, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·˘· |
| Lost in his meditations. What may be | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| The questions that perplex, the hopes that cheer him? | 11 | ·/˘·˘/····· |
| Good-evening, holy father. | 7 | ·/˘/˘/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| God be with you. | 4 | ···· |
| Pardon a stranger if he interrupt | 10 | /˘·/˘···˘/ |
| Your meditations. | 5 | ··˘/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| It was but a dream,-- | 5 | ····· |
| The old, old dream, that never will come true; | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The dream that all my life I have been dreaming, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| And yet is still a dream. | 6 | ······ |
| All men have dreams: | 4 | ···· |
| I have had mine; but none of them came true; | 10 | ·········· |
| They were but vanity. Sometimes I think | 10 | ···/˘˘˘/·· |
| The happiness of man lies in pursuing, | 11 | ·/˘˘····˘/˘ |
| Not in possessing; for the things possessed | 10 | ··˘/˘···˘/ |
| Lose half their value. Tell me of your dream. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| The yearning of my heart, my sole desire, | 11 | ·/˘·····˘/˘ |
| That like the sheaf of Joseph stands up right, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| While all the others bend and bow to it; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The passion that torments me, and that breathes | 10 | ·/˘·/····· |
| New meaning into the dead forms of prayer, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Is that with mortal eyes I may behold | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| The Eternal City. | 6 | ·˘/˘/˘ |
| Rome? | 1 | · |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| There is but one; | 4 | ···· |
| The rest are merely names. I think of it | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| As the Celestial City, paved with gold, | 10 | ··˘/˘/˘··· |
| And sentinelled with angels. | 7 | ·/˘˘·/˘ |
| Would it were. | 3 | ··· |
| I have just fled from it. It is beleaguered | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| By Spanish troops, led by the Duke of Alva. | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| But still for me 't is the Celestial City, | 12 | ·······˘/˘/˘ |
| And I would see it once before I die. | 10 | ·········· |
| Each one must bear his cross. | 6 | ······ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| Were it a cross | 4 | ···· |
| That had been laid upon me, I could bear it, | 11 | ··········· |
| Or fall with it. It is a crucifix; | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| I am nailed hand and foot, and I am dying! | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| What would you see in Rome? | 6 | ······ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| His Holiness. | 4 | ·/˘˘ |
| Him that was once the Cardinal Caraffa? | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| You would but see a man of fourscore years, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| With sunken eyes, burning like carbuncles, | 9 | ·/˘·/˘··· |
| Who sits at table with his friends for hours, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Cursing the Spaniards as a race of Jews | 10 | /˘·/˘····· |
| And miscreant Moors. And with what soldiery | 11 | ·/˘˘····/˘˘ |
| Think you he now defends the Eternal City? | 12 | ····˘/·˘/˘/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| With legions of bright angels. | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| So he calls them; | 4 | ···· |
| And yet in fact these bright angelic legions | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Are only German Lutherans. | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘˘ |
| MONK, crossing himself. | 5 | ·/˘˘/ |
| Heaven protect us? | 5 | /˘˘/· |
| What further would you see? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| The Cardinals, | 4 | ·/˘˘ |
| Going in their gilt coaches to High Mass. | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| Men do not go to Paradise in coaches. | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| The catacombs, the convents, and the churches; | 11 | ·/˘··/˘··/˘ |
| The ceremonies of the Holy Week | 10 | ·/˘·˘··/˘· |
| In all their pomp, or, at the Epiphany, | 11 | ·······˘/˘˘ |
| The Feast of the Santissima Bambino | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| At Ara Coeli. But I shall not see them. | 11 | ·/˘········ |
| These pompous ceremonies of the Church | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘··· |
| Are but an empty show to him who knows | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The actors in them. Stay here in your convent, | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| For he who goes to Rome may see too much. | 10 | ·········· |
| What would you further? | 5 | ···/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| I would see the painting | 6 | ····/˘ |
| of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| The smoke of incense and of altar candles | 11 | ···/···/˘/˘ |
| Has blackened it already. | 7 | ·/˘·˘/˘ |
| MONK. | 1 | · |
| Woe is me! | 3 | ··· |
| Then I would hear Allegri's Miserere, | 10 | ·········· |
| Sung by the Papal choir. | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| A dismal dirge! | 4 | ·/˘· |
| I am an old, old man, and I have lived | 10 | ·········· |
| In Rome for thirty years and more, and know | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The jarring of the wheels of that great world, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Its jealousies, its discords, and its strife. | 10 | ·/˘˘·/˘··· |
| Therefore I say to you, remain content | 10 | ······˘/˘/ |
| Here in your convent, here among your woods, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Where only there is peace. Go not to Rome. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| There was of old a monk of Wittenberg | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| Who went to Rome; you may have heard of him; | 10 | ·········· |
| His name was Luther; and you know what followed. | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| MONK, rising. | 3 | ·/˘ |
| It is the convent bell; it rings for vespers. | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Let us go in; we both will pray for peace. | 10 | ·········· |
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