The Tired Steed
Tighter the reins of my poor steed I drew,For he was weary, and I weary too;His mouth was white with foam, his sides with bloodWere red—and I was breathless as I rode.
One thought possessed my spirit, only one—"And is my dovelet mine and mine alone?"It haunted me like piercing thorns, when prestBy unseen influence on the songster's breast.
Tired must thy limbs be, and thy paces slow,If sympathising with such thoughts of woe;Well may the blood run down thy sides, if tornWith such a sharp and agonizing thorn.
Time was I revelled in bright purple eyes,They scorned me, inaccessible the prize;Black eyes have now entranced me—Gracious heaven!O let me not to black despair be driven!
Words in this poem
- tighter n.
- A ribbon or string used to draw clothes closer.
- steed n.
- A horse, especially a spirited horse for state of war; -- used chiefly in poetry or stately prose. [OE. stede, AS. steda a stud-horse, war horse, fr. stod a stud of breeding steeds; akin to G. stute a mare, Icel. stedda, sto, a stud. *163. See Stud of horses.]
- breathless a.
- Spent with labor or violent action; out of breath.
- rode n.
- Redness; complexion. [See Rud.]
- dovelet n.
- A young or small dove. Booth.
- haunted a.
- Inhabited by, or subject to the visits of, apparitions; frequented by a ghost.
- prest a.
- Ready; prompt; prepared. [OF. prest, F. prêt, fr. L. praestus ready. Cf. Presto.]
- unseen a.
- Not seen or discovered.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Tired Steed is in the public domain. This text is taken from Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet, by Sir John Bowring (London: Trübner & Co., 1866), Internet Archive, the John Bowring translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Sándor Petőfi, The Tired Steed, in Translations from Alexander Petofi, the Magyar Poet (1866), text of Internet Archive, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/petofi-poems-bowring/the-tired-steed.html, id L29790.
Form and metre
The Tired Steed is 16 lines in 4 stanzas of 4 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 62% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 87%).
See other poems in heroic couplets, 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 AA-- drewA · tooA · blood · rode
- 2 --AA one · alone · prestA · breastA
- 3 AABB slowA · woeA · tornB · thornB
- 4 AA-- eyesA · prizeA · heaven · driven
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Tighter the reins of my poor steed I drew, | 10 | /˘········ |
| For he was weary, and I weary too; | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| His mouth was white with foam, his sides with blood | 10 | ·········· |
| Were red—and I was breathless as I rode. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| One thought possessed my spirit, only one— | 10 | ··˘/·/˘/˘· |
| "And is my dovelet mine and mine alone?" | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| It haunted me like piercing thorns, when prest | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| By unseen influence on the songster's breast. | 10 | ·˘//˘····· |
| Tired must thy limbs be, and thy paces slow, | 10 | /······/˘· |
| If sympathising with such thoughts of woe; | 10 | ·/˘·˘····· |
| Well may the blood run down thy sides, if torn | 10 | ·········· |
| With such a sharp and agonizing thorn. | 10 | ·····/˘˘˘· |
| Time was I revelled in bright purple eyes, | 10 | ···˘/··/˘· |
| They scorned me, inaccessible the prize; | 10 | ····˘/˘˘·· |
| Black eyes have now entranced me—Gracious heaven! | 11 | ····˘/·/˘/˘ |
| O let me not to black despair be driven! | 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.