Thomas Trevelyan
Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys,Son of the love of Tereus and Procne, slainFor the guilty passion of Tereus for Philomela,The flesh of him served to Tereus by Procne,And the wrath of Tereus, the murderess pursuingTill the gods made Philomela a nightingale,Lute of the rising moon, and Procne a swallowOh livers and artists of Hellas centuries gone,Sealing in little thuribles dreams and wisdom,Incense beyond all price, forever fragrant,A breath whereof makes clear the eyes of the soulHow I inhaled its sweetness here in Spoon River!The thurible opening when I had lived and learnedHow all of us kill the children of love, and all of us,Knowing not what we do, devour their flesh;And all of us change to singers, although it beBut once in our lives, or change—alas!—to swallows,To twitter amid cold winds and falling leaves!
Words in this poem
- philomela n.
- The nightingale; philomel.
- murderess n.
- A woman who commits murder.
- whereof adv.
- Of which; of whom; formerly, also, with which; -- used relatively.
- thurible n.
- A censer of metal, for burning incense, having various forms, held in the hand or suspended by chains; -- used especially at mass, vespers, and other solemn services. Fairholt.
- twitter n.
- One who twits, or reproaches; an upbraider. [From Twit.]
- amid prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Thomas Trevelyan is in the public domain. This text is taken from Spoon River Anthology, Project Gutenberg ebook #1280; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edgar Lee Masters, Thomas Trevelyan, in Spoon River Anthology (1915), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1280, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/masters-spoon-river/thomas-trevelyan.html, id L07875.
Form and metre
Thomas Trevelyan is 18 lines in a single verse paragraph. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is trochaic hexameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 71%). 82% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 12.0 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 33% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in trochaic hexameter.
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.
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 trochaic hexameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Reading in Ovid the sorrowful story of Itys, | 14 | /˘····/˘˘/˘··· |
| Son of the love of Tereus and Procne, slain | 10 | ·········· |
| For the guilty passion of Tereus for Philomela, | 14 | ··/˘/˘·····˘/˘ |
| The flesh of him served to Tereus by Procne, | 10 | ·········· |
| And the wrath of Tereus, the murderess pursuing | 13 | ·······/˘˘˘/˘ |
| Till the gods made Philomela a nightingale, | 12 | ·····˘/˘·/˘˘ |
| Lute of the rising moon, and Procne a swallow | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| Oh livers and artists of Hellas centuries gone, | 13 | ·/˘·/˘···/˘˘· |
| Sealing in little thuribles dreams and wisdom, | 11 | /˘·/˘····/˘ |
| Incense beyond all price, forever fragrant, | 11 | ˘/····˘/˘/˘ |
| A breath whereof makes clear the eyes of the soul | 11 | ··········· |
| How I inhaled its sweetness here in Spoon River! | 12 | ··˘/·/˘···/˘ |
| The thurible opening when I had lived and learned | 13 | ·/˘˘/˘˘······ |
| How all of us kill the children of love, and all of us, | 14 | ······/˘······ |
| Knowing not what we do, devour their flesh; | 11 | /˘····˘/˘·· |
| And all of us change to singers, although it be | 12 | ······/˘···· |
| But once in our lives, or change—alas!—to swallows, | 13 | ···/˘···˘/·/˘ |
| To twitter amid cold winds and falling leaves! | 11 | ·/˘˘/···/˘· |
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.