Ballad XV
"O Solitude, romantic maid,Whether by nodding towers you tread,Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom,Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,Or climb the Andes' clifted side,Or by the Nile's coy source abide,Or starting from your half-year's sleepFrom Hecla view the thawing deep,Or at the purple dawn of dayTadmor's marble wastes survey," &c.
The north-east wind did briskly blow,The ship was safely moor'd;Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow,And so leapt over-board.
Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,His heart long held in thrall;And whoso his impatience blames,I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.
A long long year, one month and day,He dwelt on English land,Nor once in thought or deed would stray,Tho' ladies sought his hand.
For Bryan he was tall and strong,Right blythsome roll'd his een,Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung,He scant had twenty seen.
But who the countless charms can draw,That grac'd his mistress true;Such charms the old world seldom saw,Nor oft I ween the new.
Her raven hair plays round her neck,Like tendrils of the vine;Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,Her eyes like diamonds shine.
Soon as his well-known ship she spied,She cast her weeds away,And to the palmy shore she hied,All in her best array.
In sea-green silk so neatly clad,She there impatient stood;The crew with wonder saw the ladRepell the foaming flood.
Her hands a handkerchief display'd.Which he at parting gave;Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,And manlier beat the wave.
Her fair companions one and all,Rejoicing crowd the strand;For now her lover swam in call,And almost touch'd the land.
Then through the white surf did she haste,To clasp her lovely swain;When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:His heart's blood dy'd the main!
He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave,Streaming with purple gore,And soon it found a living grave,And ah! was seen no more.
Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,Fetch water from the spring:She falls, she swoons, she dies away,And soon her knell they ring.
Now each May morning round her tombYe fair, fresh flowerets strew,So may your lovers scape his doom,Her hapless fate scape you.
Words in this poem
- trackless a.
- Having no track; marked by no footsteps; untrodden; as, a trackless desert.
- hover n.
- A cover; a shelter; a protection. Carew. C. Kingsley. [Etymol. doubtful.]
- clifted a.
- Broken; fissured. [From Clift a cleft.]
- whoso pron.
- Whosoever. Piers Plowman.
- countless a.
- Incapable of being counted; not ascertainable; innumerable.
- ween v. i.
- To think; to imagine; to fancy. [OE. wenen, AS. w, fr. w hope, expectation, opinion; akin to D. waan, OFries. w, OS. & OHG. wan, G. wahn delusion, Icel. van hope, expectation, Goth. w, and D. w]
- palmy a.
- Bearing palms; abounding in palms; derived from palms; as, a palmy shore.
- clad v.
- To clothe. Holland.
- repell v. t.
- To drive back; to force to return; to check the advance of; to repulse as, to repel an enemy or an assailant. [L. repellere, repulsum; pref. re- re- + pellere to drive. See Pulse a beating, and cf. Repulse, Repeal.]
- streaming a.
- Sending forth streams.
- hapless a.
- Without hap or luck; luckless; unfortunate; unlucky; unhappy; as, hapless youth; hapless maid.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Ballad XV is in the public domain. This text is taken from Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume 1 (of 3) Consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs and Other Pieces of Our Earlier Poets Together With Some Few of Later Date, Project Gutenberg ebook #45939; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Percy, Ballad XV, in Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume I (1765), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #45939, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/percy-reliques/ballad-xv.html, id L08561.
Form and metre
Ballad XV is 66 lines in 15 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 12 of its 15 stanzas. The metre is common measure, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.2 syllables. 6% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in common measure.
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-- maid · tread · gloomA · tombA · sideB · abideB · sleepC · deepC · day · —
- 2 A-A- blowA · moor'd · slowA · board
- 3 ABAB damesA · thrallB · blamesA · allB
- 4 ABAB dayA · landB · strayA · handB
- 5 -A-A strong · eenA · sung · seenA
- 6 ABAB drawA · trueB · sawA · newB
- 7 ABAB neckA · vineB · deckA · shineB
- 8 ABAB spiedA · awayB · hiedA · arrayB
- 9 ABAB cladA · stoodB · ladA · floodB
- 10 ABAB display'dA · gaveB · survey'dA · waveB
- 11 ABAB allA · strandB · callA · landB
- 12 ABAB hasteA · swainB · wasteA · mainB
- 13 ABAB waveA · goreB · graveA · moreB
- 14 ABAB prayA · springB · awayA · ringB
- 15 ABAB tombA · strewB · doomA · youB
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 common measure. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| "O Solitude, romantic maid, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| Whether by nodding towers you tread, | 8 | ···/˘/·· |
| Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Or climb the Andes' clifted side, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Or by the Nile's coy source abide, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Or starting from your half-year's sleep | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| From Hecla view the thawing deep, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Or at the purple dawn of day | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Tadmor's marble wastes survey," &c. | 8 | ··/˘·˘/· |
| The north-east wind did briskly blow, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The ship was safely moor'd; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Young Bryan thought the boat's-crew slow, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And so leapt over-board. | 6 | ······ |
| Pereene, the pride of Indian dames, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| His heart long held in thrall; | 6 | ······ |
| And whoso his impatience blames, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/˘· |
| I wot, ne'er lov'd at all. | 6 | ······ |
| A long long year, one month and day, | 8 | ········ |
| He dwelt on English land, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Nor once in thought or deed would stray, | 8 | ········ |
| Tho' ladies sought his hand. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| For Bryan he was tall and strong, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Right blythsome roll'd his een, | 6 | ······ |
| Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, | 9 | ········· |
| He scant had twenty seen. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| But who the countless charms can draw, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That grac'd his mistress true; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Such charms the old world seldom saw, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Nor oft I ween the new. | 6 | ······ |
| Her raven hair plays round her neck, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Like tendrils of the vine; | 6 | ······ |
| Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Her eyes like diamonds shine. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Soon as his well-known ship she spied, | 8 | ········ |
| She cast her weeds away, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And to the palmy shore she hied, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| All in her best array. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| In sea-green silk so neatly clad, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| She there impatient stood; | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| The crew with wonder saw the lad | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Repell the foaming flood. | 6 | ˘/·/˘· |
| Her hands a handkerchief display'd. | 8 | ···/˘˘˘/ |
| Which he at parting gave; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Well pleas'd the token he survey'd, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| And manlier beat the wave. | 6 | ······ |
| Her fair companions one and all, | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| Rejoicing crowd the strand; | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| For now her lover swam in call, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And almost touch'd the land. | 6 | ·/···· |
| Then through the white surf did she haste, | 8 | ········ |
| To clasp her lovely swain; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| When, ah! a shark bit through his waste: | 8 | ········ |
| His heart's blood dy'd the main! | 6 | ······ |
| He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave, | 8 | ········ |
| Streaming with purple gore, | 6 | /˘·/˘· |
| And soon it found a living grave, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And ah! was seen no more. | 6 | ······ |
| Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray, | 8 | ········ |
| Fetch water from the spring: | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| She falls, she swoons, she dies away, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| And soon her knell they ring. | 6 | ······ |
| Now each May morning round her tomb | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Ye fair, fresh flowerets strew, | 7 | ······· |
| So may your lovers scape his doom, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Her hapless fate scape you. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
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.