The Twa Gordons III
Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht,Hame til his ain countree;An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht,"Noo Christ me sain an' see!"
He turnit him roun: the man in rust-brounWas gane, he saw nocht quhair!At the ha' door he lichtit him doun,Lady Margaret met him there.
Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien,An' her words war sharp an' sair:"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene,An' welcome ye s' get nae mair!
Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold,That lay i' my body wi' thee?I miss my mark gien he liesna starkQuhaur the daylicht comesna to see!"
Lord Archibold dochtna speik a wordFor his hert was like a stane;He turnt him awa--an' the huddy crawWas roupin for his ain.
"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said,"Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?""Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lieAnce mair wi' my body-twin."
Up she brade, but awa he gaedStraucht for the corbie-tree;For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay,An' cast him doon an' dee.
"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair,"Has he lien there ever sin' syne?"An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare,Throu the cracks o' his harness shine.
"Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' ArchiboldWi' a hert-upheavin mane,"I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corpTo see ye alive again!"
"Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm,"A man suld heed quhat he says!"An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerseAs up the armour rase:--
"Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ainAn' its time to hand yer jaw!The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine:Deil Archie, come awa!"
"Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that:My burnin hert burns on;An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat,For aye I was dreamin o' John!
"But I carena a plack for a soul sae black--Wae's me 'at my mither bore me!Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back,But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!"
The gantlets grippit the helm sae stootAn' liftit frae chin an' broo:An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:--"O Archie, I hae ye noo!
"O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur,I crap awa my lane;An' never a deevil cam ye nar,'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!"
Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay,Fell Archie upon his knees;The words he said I dinna say,But I'm sure they warna lees.
Words in this poem 16
- rase v. t.
- To rub along the surface of; to graze. [F. raser, LL. rasare to scrape often, v. freq. fr. L. radere, rasum, to scrape, shave; cf. Skr. rad to scratch, gnaw, L. rodere to gnaw. Cf. Raze, Razee, Razor,]
- sain v. t.
- To sanctify; to bless so as to protect from evil influence. [Cf. Saint, Sane.]
- roun v. i.
- To whisper. [obs.] Gower. [AS. r, fr. r a rune, secret, mystery; akin to G. raunen to whisper. See Rune.]
- gane v. i.
- To yawn; to gape. [See Yawn.]
- stark adv.
- Wholly; entirely; absolutely; quite; as, stark mind.
- syne adv.
- Afterwards; since; ago. R. of Brunne. [See Since.]
- quod v.
- Quoth; said. See Quoth.
- tore n.
- The dead grass that remains on mowing land in winter and spring. Mortimer. [Probably from the root of tear; cf. W. tór a break, cut, tóri to break, cut.]
- armour n.
- Defensive arms for the body; any clothing or covering worn to protect one's person in battle. [OE. armure, fr. F. armure, OF. armeure, fr. L. armatura. See Armature.]
- deil n.
- Devil; -- spelt also deel. Deil's buckie. See under Buckie.
- auld a.
- Old; as, Auld Reekie (old smoky), i. e., Edinburgh. [See Old.]
- weel
- A kind of trap or snare for fish, made of twigs. Carew. [Prov. E. weel, weal, a wicker basket to catch eels; prob. akin to willow, and so called as made of willow twigs.]
- reek n.
- A rick. B. Jonson.
- plack n.
- A small copper coin formerly current in Scotland, worth less than a cent. [F. plaque a plate of metal. Cf. Plaque.]
- afore prep.
- Before (in all its senses).
- crap n.
- In the game of craps, a first throw of the dice in which the total is two, three, or twelve, in which case the caster loses.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Twa Gordons III is in the public domain. This text is taken from The poetical works of George MacDonald in two volumes — Volume 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #9984; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: George MacDonald, The Twa Gordons III, in A Microcosm in Terza Rima, and Other Poems (1893), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9984, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/macdonald-poems/the-twa-gordons-iii.html, id L22542.
Form and metre
The Twa Gordons III is 64 lines in 16 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 8 of its 16 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 80%).
See 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 ABAB wichtA · countreeB · sichtA · seeB
- 2 ABAB brounA · quhairB · dounA · thereB
- 3 ABAB mienA · sairB · teneA · mairB
- 4 -A-A archibold · theeA · stark · seeA
- 5 -A-A word · staneA · craw · ainA
- 6 -A-A said · thinA · lie · twinA
- 7 -A-A gaed · treeA · slay · deeA
- 8 ABAB rairA · syneB · bareA · shineB
- 9 -A-A archibold · maneA · corp · againA
- 12 ABAB thatA · onB · patA · johnB
- 13 ABAB blackA · meB · backA · meB
- 14 ABAB stootA · brooB · ootA · nooB
- 15 -A-A waur · laneA · nar · aneA
- 16 ABAB layA · kneesB · sayA · leesB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Hame til his ain countree; | 6 | ······ |
| An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht, | 11 | ······/˘··· |
| "Noo Christ me sain an' see!" | 6 | ······ |
| He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun | 10 | ·········· |
| Was gane, he saw nocht quhair! | 7 | ······· |
| At the ha' door he lichtit him doun, | 9 | ········· |
| Lady Margaret met him there. | 8 | /˘/˘˘··· |
| Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien, | 10 | ·········· |
| An' her words war sharp an' sair: | 7 | ······· |
| "Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene, | 8 | /˘/˘···· |
| An' welcome ye s' get nae mair! | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold, | 9 | ········· |
| That lay i' my body wi' thee? | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| I miss my mark gien he liesna stark | 9 | ········· |
| Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!" | 10 | ·········· |
| Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word | 9 | ········· |
| For his hert was like a stane; | 7 | ······· |
| He turnt him awa--an' the huddy craw | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Was roupin for his ain. | 6 | ······ |
| "Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said, | 10 | ······/˘·· |
| "Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?" | 7 | ······· |
| "Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie | 8 | /˘······ |
| Ance mair wi' my body-twin." | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Up she brade, but awa he gaed | 8 | ········ |
| Straucht for the corbie-tree; | 6 | ······ |
| For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay, | 10 | ·········· |
| An' cast him doon an' dee. | 6 | ······ |
| "God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair, | 9 | ········· |
| "Has he lien there ever sin' syne?" | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare, | 11 | ··········· |
| Throu the cracks o' his harness shine. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' Archibold | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Wi' a hert-upheavin mane, | 7 | ······· |
| "I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corp | 10 | ·········· |
| To see ye alive again!" | 7 | ···˘/˘/ |
| "Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm, | 10 | ·········· |
| "A man suld heed quhat he says!" | 8 | ········ |
| An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerse | 11 | ··········· |
| As up the armour rase:-- | 6 | ···/˘· |
| "Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ain | 8 | ········ |
| An' its time to hand yer jaw! | 7 | ······· |
| The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine: | 11 | ··········· |
| Deil Archie, come awa!" | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| "Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that: | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| My burnin hert burns on; | 6 | ······ |
| An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat, | 12 | ············ |
| For aye I was dreamin o' John! | 8 | ········ |
| "But I carena a plack for a soul sae black-- | 12 | ···/˘······· |
| Wae's me 'at my mither bore me! | 8 | ········ |
| Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back, | 10 | ·/····/··· |
| But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!" | 10 | ··/˘·/˘˘/· |
| The gantlets grippit the helm sae stoot | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| An' liftit frae chin an' broo: | 7 | ······· |
| An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:-- | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| "O Archie, I hae ye noo! | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| "O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur, | 11 | ·······/˘·· |
| I crap awa my lane; | 6 | ······ |
| An' never a deevil cam ye nar, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| 'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!" | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay, | 11 | ········/˘· |
| Fell Archie upon his knees; | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| The words he said I dinna say, | 8 | ········ |
| But I'm sure they warna lees. | 7 | ······· |
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.