Macgregor
Alas, sweet Liberty! in speeding hence,Too well didst thou reveal unto my heartIts careless joy, ere Love ensheathed his dart,Of whose dread wound I ne'er can lose the senseMy eyes, enamour'd of their grief intense,Did in that hour from Reason's bridle start,Thus used to woe, they have no wish to part;Each other mortal work is an offence.No other theme will now my soul contentThan she who plants my death, with whose blest nameI make the air resound in echoes sweet:Love spurs me to her as his only bent,My hand can trace nought other but her fame,No other spot attracts my willing feet.
Words in this poem
- didst
- , the 2d pers. sing. imp. of Do.
- offence n.
- The act of offending in any sense; esp., a crime or a sin, an affront or an injury. [F., fr. L. offensa. See Offend.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Macgregor is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, the various hands 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: Petrarch, Macgregor, in The Sonnets, Triumphs and Other Poems (1859), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #17650, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/petrarch-sonnets/macgregor-11.html, id L14602.
Form and metre
Macgregor is 14 lines in a single stanza. It rhymes ABBAABBACDCDCD, the pattern of the Italian sonnet. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.0 syllables. 29% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other Italian sonnets, 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 ABBAABBACDCDCD henceA · heartB · dartB · senseA · intenseA · startB · partB · offenceA · contentC · nameD · sweetC · bentD · fameC · feetD
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Alas, sweet Liberty! in speeding hence, | 10 | ˘/·/˘˘·/˘· |
| Too well didst thou reveal unto my heart | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Its careless joy, ere Love ensheathed his dart, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Of whose dread wound I ne'er can lose the sense | 10 | ·········· |
| My eyes, enamour'd of their grief intense, | 10 | ········˘/ |
| Did in that hour from Reason's bridle start, | 10 | ···/·/˘/˘· |
| Thus used to woe, they have no wish to part; | 10 | ·········· |
| Each other mortal work is an offence. | 10 | ·/˘/˘···˘/ |
| No other theme will now my soul content | 10 | ·/˘·····˘/ |
| Than she who plants my death, with whose blest name | 10 | ·········· |
| I make the air resound in echoes sweet: | 10 | ·····/·/˘· |
| Love spurs me to her as his only bent, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| My hand can trace nought other but her fame, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| No other spot attracts my willing feet. | 10 | ·/˘·˘/·/˘· |
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.