Pastorals II
YON upland slope which hides the sunAscending from his eastern deeps,And now against the hues of dawnOne level line of tillage rears;The furrowed brow of toil and time;To many it is but a sweep of land!
To others ’tis an Autumn trust,But unto me a mystery;—An influence strange and swift as dreams;A whispering of old romance;A temple naked to the clouds;Or one of nature’s bosoms fresh revealed,
Heaving with adoration! thereThe work of husbandry is done,And daily bread is daily earned;Nor seems there ought to indicateThe springs which move in me such thoughts,But from my soul a spirit calls them up.
All day into the open sky,All night to the eternal stars,For ever both at morn and eveMen mellow distances draw near,And shadows lengthen in the dusk,Athwart the heavens it rolls its glimmering line!
When twilight from the dream-hued WestSighs hush! and all the land is still;When, from the lush empurpling East,The twilight of the crowing cockPeers on the drowsy village roofs,Athwart the heavens that glimmering line is seen.
And now beneath the rising sun,Whose shining chariot overpeersThe irradiate ridge, while fetlock deepIn the rich soil his coursers plunge—How grand in robes of light it looks!How glorious with rare suggestive grace!
The ploughman mounting up the heightBecomes a glowing shape, as though’Twere young Triptolemus, plough in hand,While Ceres in her amber scarfWith gentle love directs him howTo wed the willing earth and hope for fruits!
The furrows running up are fraughtWith meanings; there the goddess walks,While Proserpine is young, and there—’Mid the late autumn sheaves, her voiceSobbing and choked with dumb despair—The nights will hear her wailing for her child!
Whatever dim tradition tells,Whatever history may reveal,Or fancy, from her starry brows,Of light or dreamful lustre shed,Could not at this sweet time increaseThe quiet consecration of the spot.
Blest with the sweat of labour, blestWith the young sun’s first vigorous beams,Village hope and harvest prayer,—The heart that throbs beneath it holdsA bliss so perfect in itselfMen’s thoughts must borrow rather than bestow.
Words in this poem
- ought p. p.
- Was or were under obligation to pay; owed. [Orig. the preterit of the verb to owe. OE. oughte, aughte, ahte, AS. ahte. sq. root110. See Owe.]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- lush a.
- Full of juice or succulence. [Prob. an abbrev. of lushious, fr. luscious.]
- irradiate v. t.
- To throw rays of light upon; to illuminate; to brighten; to adorn with luster. [L. irradiatus, p. p. of irradiate. See In- in, and Radiate.]
- fetlock n.
- The cushionlike projection, bearing a tuft of long hair, on the back side of the leg above the hoof of the horse and similar animals. [OE. fetlak, fitlock, cf. Icel. fet pace, step, fit webbed foot of water birds, akin to E. foot. sq. root 77. See Foot.]
- glorious a.
- Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
- ploughman n.
- One who plows, or who holds and guides a plow; hence, a husbandman. Chaucer.
- ceres n.
- The daughter of Saturn and Ops or Rhea, the goddess of corn and tillage. [L., Ceres, also corn, grain, akin to E. create.]
- fraught n.
- A freight; a cargo. [OE.fraight, fraght; akin to Dan. fragt, Sw. frakt, D. vracht, G. fracht, cf. OHG. fr merit, reward; perh. from corresponding to E. for + The root of E. own. Cf.]
- sobbing n.
- A series of short, convulsive inspirations, the glottis being suddenly closed so that little or no air enters into the lungs.
- starry a.
- Abounding with stars; adorned with stars.
- dreamful a.
- Full of dreams.
- lustre n.
- A period of five years; a lustrum. [L. lustrum: cf. F. lustre.]
- borrow v. t.
- To receive from another as a loan, with the implied or expressed intention of returning the identical article or its equivalent in kind; -- the opposite of lend. [OE. borwen, AS. borgian, fr. borg, borh, pledge; akin to D. borg, G. borg; prob. fr. root of AS. beorgan to protect. Borough.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Pastorals II is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems — Volume 1, Project Gutenberg ebook #1381; 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 Meredith, Pastorals II, in Modern Love, and Other Poems (1851–1862), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1381, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/meredith-poems/pastorals-ii.html, id L13152.
Form and metre
Pastorals II is 60 lines in 10 verse paragraphs. It is unrhymed, as far as the pronouncing dictionary can tell. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%). 92% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.5 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 32% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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.
- 8 --A-A- fraught · walks · thereA · voice · despairA · child
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 |
|---|---|---|
| YON upland slope which hides the sun | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Ascending from his eastern deeps, | 8 | ˘/˘··/˘· |
| And now against the hues of dawn | 8 | ········ |
| One level line of tillage rears; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The furrowed brow of toil and time; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| To many it is but a sweep of land! | 9 | ·/······· |
| To others ’tis an Autumn trust, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| But unto me a mystery;— | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| An influence strange and swift as dreams; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| A whispering of old romance; | 8 | ·/˘˘··˘/ |
| A temple naked to the clouds; | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Or one of nature’s bosoms fresh revealed, | 10 | ···/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Heaving with adoration! there | 8 | /˘··˘/˘· |
| The work of husbandry is done, | 8 | ···/˘˘·· |
| And daily bread is daily earned; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Nor seems there ought to indicate | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The springs which move in me such thoughts, | 8 | ········ |
| But from my soul a spirit calls them up. | 9 | ·····/··· |
| All day into the open sky, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| All night to the eternal stars, | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| For ever both at morn and eve | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Men mellow distances draw near, | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘·· |
| And shadows lengthen in the dusk, | 8 | ·/·/˘··· |
| Athwart the heavens it rolls its glimmering line! | 11 | ˘/·/˘···/˘· |
| When twilight from the dream-hued West | 8 | ·/······ |
| Sighs hush! and all the land is still; | 8 | ········ |
| When, from the lush empurpling East, | 8 | ········ |
| The twilight of the crowing cock | 8 | ·/···/˘· |
| Peers on the drowsy village roofs, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Athwart the heavens that glimmering line is seen. | 11 | ˘/·/˘·/˘··· |
| And now beneath the rising sun, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Whose shining chariot overpeers | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| The irradiate ridge, while fetlock deep | 10 | ·˘/˘···/˘· |
| In the rich soil his coursers plunge— | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| How grand in robes of light it looks! | 8 | ········ |
| How glorious with rare suggestive grace! | 9 | ·/˘··˘/˘· |
| The ploughman mounting up the height | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Becomes a glowing shape, as though | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| ’Twere young Triptolemus, plough in hand, | 9 | ········· |
| While Ceres in her amber scarf | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| With gentle love directs him how | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| To wed the willing earth and hope for fruits! | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| The furrows running up are fraught | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| With meanings; there the goddess walks, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| While Proserpine is young, and there— | 8 | ········ |
| ’Mid the late autumn sheaves, her voice | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Sobbing and choked with dumb despair— | 8 | /˘····˘/ |
| The nights will hear her wailing for her child! | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Whatever dim tradition tells, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| Whatever history may reveal, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| Or fancy, from her starry brows, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Of light or dreamful lustre shed, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Could not at this sweet time increase | 8 | ······˘/ |
| The quiet consecration of the spot. | 9 | ·/·˘/˘··· |
| Blest with the sweat of labour, blest | 8 | ·····/·· |
| With the young sun’s first vigorous beams, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Village hope and harvest prayer,— | 7 | /˘··/˘· |
| The heart that throbs beneath it holds | 8 | ········ |
| A bliss so perfect in itself | 8 | ···/··˘/ |
| Men’s thoughts must borrow rather than bestow. | 10 | ···/·/˘·˘/ |
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