Songs from the Troubadour (From Canto I.) I
“My mother’s grave, my mother’s grave!Oh! dreamless is her slumber there,And drowsily the banners waveO’er her that was so chaste and fair;Yea! love is dead, and memory faded!But when the dew is on the brake,And silence sleeps on earth and sea,And mourners weep, and ghosts awake,Oh! then she cometh back to me,In her cold beauty darkly shaded!
“I cannot guess her face or form;But what to me is form or face?I do not ask the weary wormTo give me back each buried graceOf glistening eyes, or trailing tresses!I only feel that she is here,And that we meet, and that we part;And that I drink within mine ear,And that I clasp around my heart,Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses!
“Not in the waking thought by day,Not in the sightless dream by night,Do the mild tones and glances play,Of her who was my cradle’s light!But in some twilight of calm weatherShe glides, by fancy dimly wrought,A glittering cloud, a darkling beam,With all the quiet of a thought,And all the passion of a dream,Linked in a golden spell together!”
Words in this poem
- dreamless a.
- Free from, or without, dreams. Camden.
- drowsily adv.
- In a drowsy manner.
- sightless a.
- Wanting sight; without sight; blind.
- dimly adv.
- In a dim or obscure manner; not brightly or clearly; with imperfect sight.
- darkling a.
- Becoming dark or gloomy; frowing.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Songs from the Troubadour (From Canto I.) I 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, Songs from the Troubadour (From Canto I.) I, in Poems (1820–1839), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71008, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/praed-poems/songs-from-the-troubadour-from-canto-i-i.html, id L10181.
Form and metre
Songs from the Troubadour (From Canto I.) I is 30 lines in 3 stanzas of 10 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDEDEC, complete in 2 of its 3 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.2 syllables. 6 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 13% 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 ABABCDEDEC graveA · thereB · waveA · fairB · fadedC · brakeD · seaE · awakeD · meE · shadedC
- 2 -A-ABCDCDB form · faceA · worm · graceA · tressesB · hereC · partD · earC · heartD · caressesB
- 3 ABABCDEDEC dayA · nightB · playA · lightB · weatherC · wroughtD · beamE · thoughtD · dreamE · togetherC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| “My mother’s grave, my mother’s grave! | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Oh! dreamless is her slumber there, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And drowsily the banners wave | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| O’er her that was so chaste and fair; | 8 | ········ |
| Yea! love is dead, and memory faded! | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| But when the dew is on the brake, | 8 | ········ |
| And silence sleeps on earth and sea, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And mourners weep, and ghosts awake, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| Oh! then she cometh back to me, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| In her cold beauty darkly shaded! | 9 | ···/˘/˘/˘ |
| “I cannot guess her face or form; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| But what to me is form or face? | 8 | ········ |
| I do not ask the weary worm | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To give me back each buried grace | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of glistening eyes, or trailing tresses! | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| I only feel that she is here, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And that we meet, and that we part; | 8 | ········ |
| And that I drink within mine ear, | 8 | ········ |
| And that I clasp around my heart, | 8 | ········ |
| Her sweet still voice, and soft caresses! | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| “Not in the waking thought by day, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Not in the sightless dream by night, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Do the mild tones and glances play, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Of her who was my cradle’s light! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| But in some twilight of calm weather | 9 | ···/···/˘ |
| She glides, by fancy dimly wrought, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| A glittering cloud, a darkling beam, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| With all the quiet of a thought, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And all the passion of a dream, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Linked in a golden spell together!” | 9 | ···/˘·˘/˘ |
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.