The Exeter Road
Panels of claret and blue which shineUnder the moon like lees of wine.A coronet done in a golden scroll,And wheels which blunder and creak as they rollThrough the muddy ruts of a moorland track.They daren't look back!
They are whipping and cursing the horses. Lord!What brutes men are when they think they're scored.Behind, my bay gelding gallops with me,In a steaming sweat, it is fine to seeThat coach, all claret, and gold, and blue,Hop about and slue.
They are scared half out of their wits, poor souls.For my lord has a casket full of rollsOf minted sovereigns, and silver bars.I laugh to think how he'll show his scarsIn London to-morrow. He whines with rageIn his varnished cage.
My lady has shoved her rings over her toes.'Tis an ancient trick every night-rider knows.But I shall relieve her of them yet,When I see she limps in the minuetI must beg to celebrate this night,And the green moonlight.
There's nothing to hurry about, the plainIs hours long, and the mud's a strain.My gelding's uncommonly strong in the loins,In half an hour I'll bag the coins.'Tis a clear, sweet night on the turn of Spring.The chase is the thing!
How the coach flashes and wobbles, the moonDripping down so quietly on it. A tuneIs beating out of the curses and screams,And the cracking all through the painted seams.Steady, old horse, we'll keep it in sight.'Tis a rare fine night!
There's a clump of trees on the dip of the down,And the sky shimmers where it hangs over the town.It seems a shame to break the airIn two with this pistol, but I've my shareOf drudgery like other men.His hat? Amen!
Hold up, you beast, now what the devil!Confound this moor for a pockholed, evil,Rotten marsh. My right leg's snapped.'Tis a mercy he's rolled, but I'm nicely capped.A broken-legged man and a broken-legged horse!They'll get me, of course.
The cursed coach will reach the townAnd they'll all come out, every loafer grownA lion to handcuff a man that's down.What's that? Oh, the coachman's bulleted hat!I'll give it a head to fit it pat.Thank you! No cravat.
They handcuffed the body just for style,And they hung him in chains for the volatileWind to scour him flesh from bones.Way out on the moor you can hear the groansHis gibbet makes when it blows a gale.'Tis a common tale.
Words in this poem 18
- claret n.
- The name firat given in England to the red wines of M [OE. claret, clare, clarry, OF. claret, clar, fr. cler, F. clair, clear, fr. L. clarus clear. See Clear.]
- creak v. i.
- To make a prolonged sharp grating or ssqueaking sound, as by the friction of hard substances; as, shoes creak. [OE. creken, prob. of imitative origin; cf. E. crack, and. D. kreiken to crackle, chirp.]
- moorland n.
- Land consisting of a moor or moors. [AS. morland.]
- gelding n.
- A castrated animal; -- usually applied to a horse, but formerly used also of the human male. [Icel. gelding a gelding, akin to geldingr wether, eunuch, Sw. gälling gelding, Dan. gilding eunuch. See Geld, v. t.]
- slue n.
- A slough; a run or wet place. See 2d Slough, 2.
- casket v. t.
- To put into, or preserve in, a casket.
- 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,]
- relieve v. t.
- To lift up; to raise again, as one who has fallen; to cause to rise. Piers Plowman. [OE. releven, F. relever to raise again, discharge, relieve, fr. L. relevare to lift up, raise, make light, relieve; pref. re- re- + levare to raise, fr. levis l]
- minuet n.
- A slow graceful dance consisting of a coupee, a high step, and a balance. [F., fr. menu small, L. minutus small. So called on account of the short steps of the dance. See 4th Minute.]
- dripping n.
- A falling in drops, or the sound so made.
- drudgery n.
- The act of drudging; disagreeable and wearisome labor; ignoble or slavish toil.
- amen interj.
- An expression used at the end of prayers, and meaning, So be it. At the end of a creed, it is a solemn asseveration of belief. [L. amen, Gr. am certainly, truly.]
- cursed a.
- Deserving a curse; execrable; hateful; detestable; abominable.
- loafer n.
- One who loafs; a lazy lounger. Lowell. [G. läufer a runner, Prov. G. laufer, lofer, fr. laufen to run. See Leap.]
- handcuff n.
- A fastening, consisting of an iron ring around the wrist, usually connected by a chain with one on the other wrist; a manacle; -- usually in the plural. [AS. handcops; hand hand + cosp, cops, fetter. The second part was confused with E. cuffs,]
- thank n.
- A expression of gratitude; an acknowledgment expressive of a sense of favor or kindness received; obligation, claim, or desert, or gratitude; -- now generally used in the plural. [AS. Þanc, Þonc, thanks, favor, thought; akin to OS. thank favor, pleasure, thanks, D. & G. dank thanks, Icel. Þ\'94kk, Dan. tak, Sw. tack, Goth. Þagks thanks; -]
- cravat n.
- A neckcloth; a piece of silk, fine muslin, or other cloth, worn by men about the neck. [F. cravate, fr. Cravate a Croat, an inhabitant of Croatia, one of a body of Austrian troops, from whom, in 1636, this article of dress was adopted in France.]
- gibbet n.
- A kind of gallows; an upright post with an arm projecting from the top, on which, formerly, malefactors were hanged in chains, and their bodies allowed to remain asa warning. [OE. gibet, F. gibet, in OF. also club, fr. LL. gibetum;; cf. OF. gibe sort of sickle or hook, It. giubbetto gibbet, and giubbetta, dim. of giubba mane, also, an]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Exeter Road is in the public domain. This text is taken from Sword Blades and Poppy Seed, Project Gutenberg ebook #1020; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Amy Lowell, The Exeter Road, in Sword Blades and Poppy Seed (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1020, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lowell-amy-sword-blades/the-exeter-road.html, id L08237.
Form and metre
The Exeter Road is 60 lines in 10 stanzas of 6 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABBCC, complete in 8 of its 10 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 78%). 90% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.8 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 27% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See 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 AABBCC shineA · wineA · scrollB · rollB · trackC · backC
- 2 AABBCC lordA · scoredA · meB · seeB · blueC · slueC
- 3 AABBCC soulsA · rollsA · barsB · scarsB · rageC · cageC
- 4 AABBCC toesA · knowsA · yetB · minuetB · nightC · moonlightC
- 5 AABBCC plainA · strainA · loinsB · coinsB · springC · thingC
- 6 AABBCC moonA · tuneA · screamsB · seamsB · sightC · nightC
- 7 AABBCC downA · townA · airB · shareB · menC · amenC
- 8 --AABB devil · evil · snappedA · cappedA · horseB · courseB
- 9 A-ABB- townA · grown · downA · hatB · patB · cravat
- 10 AABBCC styleA · volatileA · bonesB · groansB · galeC · taleC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Panels of claret and blue which shine | 9 | /˘·/˘···· |
| Under the moon like lees of wine. | 8 | ········ |
| A coronet done in a golden scroll, | 10 | ·/˘/···/˘· |
| And wheels which blunder and creak as they roll | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Through the muddy ruts of a moorland track. | 10 | ··/˘···/·· |
| They daren't look back! | 5 | ····· |
| They are whipping and cursing the horses. Lord! | 11 | ··/˘·/˘·/˘· |
| What brutes men are when they think they're scored. | 10 | ·········˘ |
| Behind, my bay gelding gallops with me, | 10 | ····/˘/˘·· |
| In a steaming sweat, it is fine to see | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| That coach, all claret, and gold, and blue, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| Hop about and slue. | 5 | ····· |
| They are scared half out of their wits, poor souls. | 10 | ·········· |
| For my lord has a casket full of rolls | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Of minted sovereigns, and silver bars. | 9 | ·/˘/˘·/˘· |
| I laugh to think how he'll show his scars | 9 | ········· |
| In London to-morrow. He whines with rage | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| In his varnished cage. | 5 | ··/˘· |
| My lady has shoved her rings over her toes. | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| 'Tis an ancient trick every night-rider knows. | 10 | ··/˘·/˘·/· |
| But I shall relieve her of them yet, | 9 | ···˘/···· |
| When I see she limps in the minuet | 10 | ········˘/ |
| I must beg to celebrate this night, | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And the green moonlight. | 5 | ···/· |
| There's nothing to hurry about, the plain | 10 | ·/˘·/˘···· |
| Is hours long, and the mud's a strain. | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| My gelding's uncommonly strong in the loins, | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| In half an hour I'll bag the coins. | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| 'Tis a clear, sweet night on the turn of Spring. | 10 | ·········· |
| The chase is the thing! | 5 | ····· |
| How the coach flashes and wobbles, the moon | 10 | ···/˘·/˘·· |
| Dripping down so quietly on it. A tune | 10 | /˘··/˘···· |
| Is beating out of the curses and screams, | 10 | ·/˘···/˘·· |
| And the cracking all through the painted seams. | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| Steady, old horse, we'll keep it in sight. | 9 | /˘······· |
| 'Tis a rare fine night! | 5 | ····· |
| There's a clump of trees on the dip of the down, | 11 | ··········· |
| And the sky shimmers where it hangs over the town. | 11 | ···/˘······ |
| It seems a shame to break the air | 8 | ········ |
| In two with this pistol, but I've my share | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| Of drudgery like other men. | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| His hat? Amen! | 4 | ··˘/ |
| Hold up, you beast, now what the devil! | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Confound this moor for a pockholed, evil, | 10 | /·······/˘ |
| Rotten marsh. My right leg's snapped. | 7 | /˘····· |
| 'Tis a mercy he's rolled, but I'm nicely capped. | 11 | ··/˘····/˘· |
| A broken-legged man and a broken-legged horse! | 13 | ·/˘/˘···/˘/˘· |
| They'll get me, of course. | 5 | ····· |
| The cursed coach will reach the town | 7 | ······· |
| And they'll all come out, every loafer grown | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| A lion to handcuff a man that's down. | 10 | ·/˘·/····· |
| What's that? Oh, the coachman's bulleted hat! | 10 | ····/˘/˘˘· |
| I'll give it a head to fit it pat. | 9 | ········· |
| Thank you! No cravat. | 5 | ···˘/ |
| They handcuffed the body just for style, | 10 | ·/·˘·/˘··· |
| And they hung him in chains for the volatile | 11 | ········/˘˘ |
| Wind to scour him flesh from bones. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Way out on the moor you can hear the groans | 10 | ·········· |
| His gibbet makes when it blows a gale. | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| 'Tis a common tale. | 5 | ··/˘· |
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.