Rest
Spread, spread thy silver wings, oh Dove!And seek for rest by land and sea,And bring the tidings back to meFor thee and me and those I love.Look how my Dove soars far away;Go with her, heart of mine, I pray;Go where her fluttering silver pinionsFollow the track of the crimson day.
Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep,And sobbing winds forget to grieve,And quiet waters gently heave,As if they rocked the ship to sleep?Ah no! that southern vapour whiteWill bring a tempest ere the night,And thunder through the quiet Heaven,Lashing the sea in its angry might.
The battle-field lies still and cold,While stars that watch in silent lightGleam here and there on weapons bright,In weary sleepers' slackened hold;Nay, though they dream of no alarm,One bugle sound will stir that calm,And all the strength of two great nations,Eager for battle, will rise and arm.
Pause where the Pilgrim's day is done,Where scrip and staff aside are laid,And, resting in the silent shade,They watch the slowly sinking sun.Ah no! that worn and weary bandMust journey long before they stand,With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing,Kissing the dust of the Holy Land.
Then find a soul who meets at lastA noble prize but hard to gain,Or joy long pleaded for in vain,Now sweeter for a bitter past.Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,And even should cruel Time forget,Then Death will come, and, unrelenting,Brand her with sorrowful long regret.
Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove!Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea,There shall be rest for thee and me,For thee and me and those I love.I heard a promise gently fall,I heard a far-off Shepherd callThe weary and the broken-hearted,Promising rest unto each and all.
It is not marred by outward strife,It is not lost in calm repose,It heedeth neither joys nor woes,Is not disturbed by death or life;Through, and beyond them, lies our Rest:Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest!And thou, my Dove, with silver pinionsFlutter again to thy quiet nest!
Words in this poem
- sobbing n.
- A series of short, convulsive inspirations, the glottis being suddenly closed so that little or no air enters into the lungs.
- vapour n.
- Any substance in the gaseous, or aëriform, state, the condition of which is ordinarily that of a liquid or solid. [OE. vapour, OF. vapour, vapor, vapeur, F. vapeur, L. vapor; probably for cvapor, and akin to Gr. kvepti to breathe, smell, Russ. kopote fine soot. Cf. Vapid.]
- lashing n.
- The act of one who, or that which, lashes; castigation; chastisement. South. Lashing out, a striking out; also, extravagance.
- angry a.
- Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
- scrip n.
- A small bag; a wallet; a satchel. [OE. scrippe, probably of Scand. origin; cf. Icel. & OSw. skreppa, and also LL. scrippum, OF. esquerpe, escrepe, F. écharpe scarf. Cf. Scarp, Scarf a piece of dr]
- unrelenting a.
- Not relenting; unyielding; rigid; hard; stern; cruel.
- 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,]
- promising a.
- Making a promise or promises; affording hope or assurance; as, promising person; a promising day.
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Rest is in the public domain. This text is taken from Legends and Lyrics. Part 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #2304; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Adelaide Anne Procter, Rest, in Legends and Lyrics: Second Series (1861), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2304, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/procter-legends-lyrics/rest.html, id L21775.
Form and metre
Rest is 56 lines in 7 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 92%).
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 ABBACC-C doveA · seaB · meB · loveA · awayC · prayC · pinions · dayC
- 2 ABBACC-C creepA · grieveB · heaveB · sleepA · whiteC · nightC · heaven · mightC
- 3 ABBAC--C coldA · lightB · brightB · holdA · alarmC · calm · nations · armC
- 4 ABBACC-C doneA · laidB · shadeB · sunA · bandC · standC · rejoicing · landC
- 5 ABBACC-C lastA · gainB · vainB · pastA · yetC · forgetC · unrelenting · regretC
- 6 ABBACC-C doveA · seaB · meB · loveA · fallC · callC · hearted · allC
- 7 ABBACC-C strifeA · reposeB · woesB · lifeA · restC · questC · pinions · nestC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| Spread, spread thy silver wings, oh Dove! | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And seek for rest by land and sea, | 8 | ········ |
| And bring the tidings back to me | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| For thee and me and those I love. | 8 | ········ |
| Look how my Dove soars far away; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Go with her, heart of mine, I pray; | 8 | ········ |
| Go where her fluttering silver pinions | 9 | ···/˘/˘/˘ |
| Follow the track of the crimson day. | 9 | /˘····/˘· |
| Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And sobbing winds forget to grieve, | 8 | ·/˘·˘/·· |
| And quiet waters gently heave, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| As if they rocked the ship to sleep? | 8 | ········ |
| Ah no! that southern vapour white | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Will bring a tempest ere the night, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| And thunder through the quiet Heaven, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Lashing the sea in its angry might. | 9 | /˘····/˘· |
| The battle-field lies still and cold, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| While stars that watch in silent light | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Gleam here and there on weapons bright, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| In weary sleepers' slackened hold; | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘· |
| Nay, though they dream of no alarm, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| One bugle sound will stir that calm, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And all the strength of two great nations, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Eager for battle, will rise and arm. | 9 | /˘·/˘···· |
| Pause where the Pilgrim's day is done, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Where scrip and staff aside are laid, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| And, resting in the silent shade, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| They watch the slowly sinking sun. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Ah no! that worn and weary band | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Must journey long before they stand, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing, | 9 | ·/˘···˘/˘ |
| Kissing the dust of the Holy Land. | 9 | /˘····/˘· |
| Then find a soul who meets at last | 8 | ········ |
| A noble prize but hard to gain, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Or joy long pleaded for in vain, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Now sweeter for a bitter past. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Ah no! for Time can rob her yet, | 8 | ········ |
| And even should cruel Time forget, | 8 | ·/·/˘·˘/ |
| Then Death will come, and, unrelenting, | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| Brand her with sorrowful long regret. | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove! | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea, | 8 | ········ |
| There shall be rest for thee and me, | 8 | ········ |
| For thee and me and those I love. | 8 | ········ |
| I heard a promise gently fall, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| I heard a far-off Shepherd call | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The weary and the broken-hearted, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Promising rest unto each and all. | 8 | /˘······ |
| It is not marred by outward strife, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| It is not lost in calm repose, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| It heedeth neither joys nor woes, | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Is not disturbed by death or life; | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Through, and beyond them, lies our Rest: | 8 | ······/· |
| Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And thou, my Dove, with silver pinions | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Flutter again to thy quiet nest! | 8 | /˘˘/··/· |
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.