Bagatelles!
I saw one day, near Paphos’ bowers,In a glass--sweet Fancy’s own--A boy lie down among the flowersThat circled Beauty’s throne.Poor youth! it moved my pity quite,He looked so very sad;--Apollo said “his head was light,”But Pallas called him “mad.”A little sylphid, hiding near,Flew out from some blue-bells,And whispered in the pale youth’s ear,“Pray, try our Bagatelles!
“You’ve pondered over those musty booksTill half your locks are grey;--You’ve dimmed your eyes, you’ve spoiled your looks,You’ve worn yourself away!Leave Wisdom’s leaden page awhile,And take your lute again,And Beauty’s eyes shall round you smile,And Love’s repay the strain:Leave politics to dull M.P.’s,Philosophy to cells,--Good youth!--you’ll ne’er succeed in these--So try our Bagatelles!
“We’ve cures in these enchanted bowersFor every sort of ill,--Our only medicines are flowers,Sweet flowers that never kill!Our leeches, too, are wondrous wiseIn mixing simples up,--We’ve frozen dew-drops from the skiesFor the fevered lover’s cup;We’ve moonbeams gathered on the hills,And star-drops in the dells;And we never send you in our bills--Pray, try our Bagatelles!
“And youths from every court and climeCome here to seek advice,And maids who have misspent their timeAre kept preserved--in ice!Bright fountains in our gardens play,And each has magic in it,--We cure blue devils every day,Blue stockings every minute:And heartaches when they’re worst, and whenNo other medicine tells,In maids or matrons, youths or men,Yield to our--Bagatelles!
“Last week a statesman came, whose eyesScarce knew what sweet repose is,We gave one draught of Beauty’s sighs,--Look there--how calm he dozes!A lawyer called the week before,Who talked of naught but Blackstone,We took him to our sylphid store,And a pair of wings we waxed on;And if you’ll look in yonder grove,--Just by that grot of shells,--You’ll find him making shocking love,And talking--Bagatelles!”
The sick youth raised his drooping headAs the sylphid ceased to speak,--“Hush, hush,” she cried, “you must to bed,And be quiet for a week!”And soon a Muse, with rainbow wings,And looks of laughing joy,Came with a lute of silver strings;And she sat beside the boy:And when I saw them last they layFar up those flowery dells,And the boy was growing glad and gayAs she sung him--Bagatelles!
Words in this poem
- circled a.
- Having the form of a circle; round.
- pallas n.
- Pallas Athene, the Grecian goddess of wisdom, called also Athene, and identified, at a later period, with the Roman Minerva.
- sylphid n.
- A little sylph; a young or diminutive sylph. [F. sylphide, fem. See Sylph.]
- awhile adv.
- For a while; for some time; for a short time. [Adj. a + while time, interval.]
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- enchanted a.
- Under the power of enchantment; possessed or exercised by enchanters; as, an enchanted castle.
- wondrous adv.
- In a wonderful or surprising manner or degree; wonderfully. [OE. wonders, adv. (later also adj.). See Wonder, n., and cf. -wards.]
- clime n.
- A climate; a tract or region of the earth. See Climate. [L. clima. See Climate.]
- scarce a.
- Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- shocking a.
- Causing to shake or tremble, as by a blow; especially, causing to recoil with horror or disgust; extremely offensive or disgusting.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Bagatelles! is in the public domain. This text is taken from The poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed. [selected], Project Gutenberg ebook #71008; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Bagatelles!, in Poems (1820–1839), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71008, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/praed-poems/bagatelles.html, id L10171.
Form and metre
Bagatelles! is 72 lines in 6 stanzas of 12 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCDEFEF, complete in 4 of its 6 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.6 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 17% 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.
- 1 ABABCDCDEFEF bowersA · ownB · flowersA · throneB · quiteC · sadD · lightC · madD · nearE · bellsF · earE · bagatellesF
- 2 ABABCDCD-E-E booksA · greyB · looksA · awayB · awhileC · againD · smileC · strainD · — · cellsE · these · bagatellesE
- 3 ABABCDCDEFEF bowersA · illB · flowersA · killB · wiseC · upD · skiesC · cupD · hillsE · dellsF · billsE · bagatellesF
- 4 ABABCDCDEFEF climeA · adviceB · timeA · iceB · playC · itD · dayC · minuteD · whenE · tellsF · menE · bagatellesF
- 5 A-AAB-B--C-C eyesA · is · sighsA · dozesA · beforeB · blackstone · storeB · on · grove · shellsC · love · bagatellesC
- 6 ABABCDCDEFEF headA · speakB · bedA · weekB · wingsC · joyD · stringsC · boyD · layE · dellsF · gayE · bagatellesF
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 |
|---|---|---|
| I saw one day, near Paphos’ bowers, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| In a glass--sweet Fancy’s own-- | 7 | ····/˘· |
| A boy lie down among the flowers | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| That circled Beauty’s throne. | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| Poor youth! it moved my pity quite, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| He looked so very sad;-- | 7 | ··˘·/˘· |
| Apollo said “his head was light,” | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| But Pallas called him “mad.” | 7 | ····˘·· |
| A little sylphid, hiding near, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| Flew out from some blue-bells, | 6 | ······ |
| And whispered in the pale youth’s ear, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| “Pray, try our Bagatelles! | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| “You’ve pondered over those musty books | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Till half your locks are grey;-- | 6 | ······ |
| You’ve dimmed your eyes, you’ve spoiled your looks, | 8 | ········ |
| You’ve worn yourself away! | 6 | ··˘/˘/ |
| Leave Wisdom’s leaden page awhile, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·˘/ |
| And take your lute again, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And Beauty’s eyes shall round you smile, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And Love’s repay the strain: | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Leave politics to dull M.P.’s, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Philosophy to cells,-- | 6 | ˘/˘˘·· |
| Good youth!--you’ll ne’er succeed in these-- | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| So try our Bagatelles! | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| “We’ve cures in these enchanted bowers | 9 | ····˘/˘/˘ |
| For every sort of ill,-- | 7 | ·/˘˘··· |
| Our only medicines are flowers, | 9 | //˘/˘˘·/˘ |
| Sweet flowers that never kill! | 7 | ·/˘·/˘· |
| Our leeches, too, are wondrous wise | 8 | //˘··/˘· |
| In mixing simples up,-- | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| We’ve frozen dew-drops from the skies | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| For the fevered lover’s cup; | 8 | ··/˘˘/˘· |
| We’ve moonbeams gathered on the hills, | 8 | ·/·/˘··· |
| And star-drops in the dells; | 6 | ······ |
| And we never send you in our bills-- | 8 | ··/···/· |
| Pray, try our Bagatelles! | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| “And youths from every court and clime | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Come here to seek advice, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| And maids who have misspent their time | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| Are kept preserved--in ice! | 7 | ··˘/˘·· |
| Bright fountains in our gardens play, | 8 | ·/˘·//˘· |
| And each has magic in it,-- | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| We cure blue devils every day, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Blue stockings every minute: | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘˘/ |
| And heartaches when they’re worst, and when | 8 | ·/······ |
| No other medicine tells, | 7 | ·/˘/˘˘· |
| In maids or matrons, youths or men, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Yield to our--Bagatelles! | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| “Last week a statesman came, whose eyes | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Scarce knew what sweet repose is, | 7 | ····˘/· |
| We gave one draught of Beauty’s sighs,-- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Look there--how calm he dozes! | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| A lawyer called the week before, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Who talked of naught but Blackstone, | 8 | ··˘···/· |
| We took him to our sylphid store, | 8 | ····//˘· |
| And a pair of wings we waxed on; | 8 | ········ |
| And if you’ll look in yonder grove,-- | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Just by that grot of shells,-- | 6 | ······ |
| You’ll find him making shocking love, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And talking--Bagatelles!” | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| The sick youth raised his drooping head | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| As the sylphid ceased to speak,-- | 8 | ··/˘·˘·· |
| “Hush, hush,” she cried, “you must to bed, | 8 | ········ |
| And be quiet for a week!” | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| And soon a Muse, with rainbow wings, | 8 | ·····/·· |
| And looks of laughing joy, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Came with a lute of silver strings; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And she sat beside the boy: | 7 | ···˘/·· |
| And when I saw them last they lay | 8 | ········ |
| Far up those flowery dells, | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| And the boy was growing glad and gay | 8 | ····/··· |
| As she sung him--Bagatelles! | 8 | ········ |
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