Victor and Vanquished
As one who long hath fled with panting breathBefore his foe, bleeding and near to fall,I turn and set my back against the wall,And look thee in the face, triumphant Death,I call for aid, and no one answereth;I am alone with thee, who conquerest all;Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall,For thou art but a phantom and a wraith.Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt,With armor shattered, and without a shield,I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt;I can resist no more, but will not yield.This is no tournament where cowards tilt;The vanquished here is victor of the field.
Words in this poem
- appall v. t.
- To make pale; to blanch. [OF. appalir to grow pale, make pale; a (L. ad) + pâlir to grow pale, to make pale, pâle pale. See Pale, a., and cf. Pall.]
- wraith n.
- An apparition of a person in his exact likeness, seen before death, or a little after; hence, an apparition; a specter; a vision; an unreal image. [Scot. wraith, warth; probably originally, a guardian angel, from Icel. vörthr a warden, guardian, akin to E. ward. See Ward a guard.]
- unmoved a.
- Not moved; fixed; firm; unshaken; calm; apathetic.
- tournament n.
- A mock fight, or warlike game, formerly in great favor, in which a number of combatants were engaged, as an exhibition of their address and bravery; hence, figuratively, a real battle. [OE. turnement, tornement, OF. torneiement, tornoiement, F. tournoiement a turning or wheeling round. See Tourney.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Victor and Vanquished 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, Victor and Vanquished, in The Complete Poetical Works (1839–1882), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1365, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/longfellow-poems/victor-and-vanquished.html, id L17829.
Form and metre
Victor and Vanquished is 14 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABBAABBACDCDCD, the pattern of the Italian sonnet. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%). 93% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.0 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 7% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other Italian sonnets, other poems in iambic pentameter.
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 ABBAABBACDCDCD breathA · fallB · wallB · deathA · answerethA · allB · appallB · wraithA · hiltC · shieldD · wiltC · yieldD · tiltC · fieldD
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 |
|---|---|---|
| As one who long hath fled with panting breath | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall, | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| I turn and set my back against the wall, | 10 | ·········· |
| And look thee in the face, triumphant Death, | 10 | ······˘/˘· |
| I call for aid, and no one answereth; | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| I am alone with thee, who conquerest all; | 10 | ··˘/···/˘· |
| Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall, | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt, | 10 | /˘···/˘··· |
| With armor shattered, and without a shield, | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt; | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| I can resist no more, but will not yield. | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| This is no tournament where cowards tilt; | 10 | ···/˘˘·/˘· |
| The vanquished here is victor of the field. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
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.