Michael Angelo and Urbino
MICHAEL ANGELO, pausing in his work.Urbino, thou and I are both old men.My strength begins to fail me.
Eccellenza.That is impossible. Do I not see youAttack the marble blocks with the same furyAs twenty years ago?
'T is an old habit.I must have learned it early from my nurseAt Setignano, the stone-mason's wife;For the first sounds I heard were of the chiselchipping away the stone.
At every strokeYou strike fire with your chisel.
Ay, becauseThe marble is too hard.
It is a blockThat Topolino sent you from Carrara.He is a judge of marble.
I remember.With it he sent me something of his making,--A Mercury, with long body and short legs,As if by any possibilityA messenger of the gods could have short legs.It was no more like Mercury than you are,But rather like those little plaster figuresThat peddlers hawk about the villagesAs images of saints. But luckilyFor Topolino, there are many peopleWho see no difference between what is bestAnd what is only good, or not even good;So that poor artists stand in their esteemOn the same level with the best, or higher.
How Eccellenza laughed!
Poor Topolino!All men are not born artists, nor will laborE'er make them artists.
No, no moreThan Emperors, or Popes, or Cardinals.One must be chosen for it. I have beenYour color-grinder six and twenty years,And am not yet an artist.
Some have eyesThat see not; but in every block of marbleI see a statue,--see it as distinctlyAs if it stood before me shaped and perfectIn attitude and action. I have onlyTo hew away the stone walls that imprisonThe lovely apparition, and reveal itTo other eyes as mine already see it.But I grow old and weak. What wilt thou doWhen I am dead, Urbino?
Eccellenza,I must then serve another master.
Never!Bitter is servitude at best. AlreadySo many years hast thou been serving me;But rather as a friend than as a servant.We have grown old together. Dost thou thinkSo meanly of this Michael AngeloAs to imagine he would let thee serve,When he is free from service? Take this purse,Two thousand crowns in gold.
Two thousand crowns!
Ay, it will make thee rich. Thou shalt not dieA beggar in a hospital.
Words in this poem
- luckily adv.
- In a lucky manner; by good fortune; fortunately; -- used in a good sense; as, they luckily escaped injury. [From Lucky.]
- artist n.
- One who practices some mechanic art or craft; an artisan. [F. artiste, LL. artista, fr. L. ars. See Art, n., and cf. Artiste.]
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- shalt
- 2d per. sing. of Shall.
- hospital n.
- A place for shelter or entertainment; an inn. [OF. hospital, ospital, F. hôpital, LL. hospitale (or perh. E. hospital is directly from the Late Latin), from L. hospitalis relating to a guest, hospitalia apar]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Michael Angelo and Urbino 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, Michael Angelo and Urbino, in The Complete Poetical Works (1839–1882), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1365, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/longfellow-poems/michael-angelo-and-urbino.html, id L18023.
Form and metre
Michael Angelo and Urbino is 66 lines in 15 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 85%). 95% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.5 syllables. 27 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 44% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter, other poems in blank verse.
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.
- 7 --A-A--------- remember · making · legsA · possibility · legsA · are · figures · villages · luckily · people · best · good · esteem · higher
- 11 ------AA-- eyes · marble · distinctly · perfect · only · imprison · itA · itA · do · urbino
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 |
|---|---|---|
| MICHAEL ANGELO, pausing in his work. | 10 | /˘/˘·/˘··· |
| Urbino, thou and I are both old men. | 10 | ·········· |
| My strength begins to fail me. | 7 | ··˘/··· |
| Eccellenza. | 4 | ···· |
| That is impossible. Do I not see you | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| Attack the marble blocks with the same fury | 11 | ˘/·/˘····/˘ |
| As twenty years ago? | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| 'T is an old habit. | 6 | ····/˘ |
| I must have learned it early from my nurse | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| At Setignano, the stone-mason's wife; | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| For the first sounds I heard were of the chisel | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| chipping away the stone. | 6 | /˘˘/·· |
| At every stroke | 5 | ·/˘˘· |
| You strike fire with your chisel. | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| Ay, because | 3 | ··· |
| The marble is too hard. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| It is a block | 4 | ···· |
| That Topolino sent you from Carrara. | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| He is a judge of marble. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| I remember. | 4 | ·˘/˘ |
| With it he sent me something of his making,-- | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| A Mercury, with long body and short legs, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| As if by any possibility | 10 | ···/˘·˘/˘˘ |
| A messenger of the gods could have short legs. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| It was no more like Mercury than you are, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| But rather like those little plaster figures | 11 | ·/˘··/˘/˘/˘ |
| That peddlers hawk about the villages | 10 | ·/˘····/˘˘ |
| As images of saints. But luckily | 10 | ·/˘˘···/˘˘ |
| For Topolino, there are many people | 11 | ·······/˘/˘ |
| Who see no difference between what is best | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And what is only good, or not even good; | 10 | ···/˘···/· |
| So that poor artists stand in their esteem | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| On the same level with the best, or higher. | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| How Eccellenza laughed! | 6 | ······ |
| Poor Topolino! | 5 | ····· |
| All men are not born artists, nor will labor | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| E'er make them artists. | 5 | ···/˘ |
| No, no more | 3 | ··· |
| Than Emperors, or Popes, or Cardinals. | 10 | ·/˘˘···/˘˘ |
| One must be chosen for it. I have been | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Your color-grinder six and twenty years, | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| And am not yet an artist. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Some have eyes | 3 | ··· |
| That see not; but in every block of marble | 11 | ·····/˘··/˘ |
| I see a statue,--see it as distinctly | 11 | ···/····˘/˘ |
| As if it stood before me shaped and perfect | 11 | ·········˘/ |
| In attitude and action. I have only | 11 | ·/˘··/˘··/˘ |
| To hew away the stone walls that imprison | 11 | ··˘/····˘/˘ |
| The lovely apparition, and reveal it | 11 | ·/˘·˘/˘·˘/· |
| To other eyes as mine already see it. | 11 | ·/˘···˘/˘·· |
| But I grow old and weak. What wilt thou do | 10 | ·········· |
| When I am dead, Urbino? | 7 | ······· |
| Eccellenza, | 4 | ···· |
| I must then serve another master. | 9 | ····˘/˘/˘ |
| Never! | 2 | /˘ |
| Bitter is servitude at best. Already | 11 | /˘·/˘···˘/˘ |
| So many years hast thou been serving me; | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| But rather as a friend than as a servant. | 11 | ·/˘······/˘ |
| We have grown old together. Dost thou think | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| So meanly of this Michael Angelo | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| As to imagine he would let thee serve, | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| When he is free from service? Take this purse, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Two thousand crowns in gold. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Two thousand crowns! | 4 | ·/˘· |
| Ay, it will make thee rich. Thou shalt not die | 10 | ·········· |
| A beggar in a hospital. | 8 | ·/˘··/·˘ |
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