Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?Art thou not overbold?What! leapest thou forth as of oldIn the light of thy morning mirth,The last of the flock of the starry fold?Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?What spark is alive on thy hearth?How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?Thou wert warming thy fingers oldO'er the embers covered and coldOf that most fiery spirit, when it fled--What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,'Or who has my story told?It is thou who art overbold.'And the lightning of scorn laughed forthAs she sung, 'To my bosom I foldAll my sons when their knell is knolled,And so with living motion all are fed,And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,'I grow bolder and still more bold.The dead fill me ten thousandfoldFuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,Like a frozen chaos uprolled,Till by the spirit of the mighty deadMy heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,In terror and blood and gold,A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.Leave the millions who follow to mouldThe metal before it be cold;And weave into his shame, which like the deadShrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
Words in this poem
- overbold a.
- Excessively or presumptuously bold; impudent.
- starry a.
- Abounding with stars; adorned with stars.
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- napoleon n.
- A French gold coin of twenty francs, or about $3.86. [From the Emperor Napoleon 1.]
- thousandfold a.
- Multiplied by a thousand.
- splendour n.
- Great brightness; brilliant luster; brilliancy; as, the splendor ot the sun. B. Jonson. [L. fr. splendere to shine: cf. F. splendeur.]
- sullen a.
- Lonely; solitary; desolate. Wyclif (Job iii. 14). [OE. solein, solain, lonely, sullen; through Old French fr. (assumed) LL. solanus solitary, fr. L. solus alone. See Sole, a.]
- chaos n.
- An empty, immeasurable space; a yawning chasm. [L. chaos chaos (in senses 1 & 2), Gr. Chasm.]
- mould n.
- Crumbling, soft, friable earth; esp., earth containing the remains or constituents of organic matter, and suited to the growth of plants; soil. [OE. molde, AS. molde; akin to D. mul, G. mull, mulm, OHG. molt, molta, Icel. mold, Dan. muld, Sw. mull, Goth. mulda, and E. meal flour. See Meal, and cf. Mole a]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley — Volume 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #4798; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon, in The Complete Poetical Works, Volume II (1816–1819), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #4798, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/shelley-later-poems/lines-written-on-hearing-the-news-of-the-death-of-napoleon.html, id L16444.
Form and metre
Lines Written on Hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon is 40 lines in 5 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABBABBCC, complete in 3 of its 5 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 79%). 89% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.8 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 22% 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 ABBABBCC earthA · overboldB · oldB · mirthA · foldB · oldB · fledC · deadC
- 2 A-A-AABB coldA · hearth · knolledA · earth · oldA · coldA · fledB · deadB
- 3 -AA-AABB earth · toldA · overboldA · forth · foldA · knolledA · fedB · deadB
- 4 ABBABBCC earthA · boldB · thousandfoldB · mirthA · coldB · uprolledB · deadC · fedC
- 5 ABBABBCC earthA · rolledB · goldB · birthA · mouldB · coldB · deadC · fledC
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 |
|---|---|---|
| What! alive and so bold, O Earth? | 8 | ·˘/····· |
| Art thou not overbold? | 6 | ······ |
| What! leapest thou forth as of old | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| In the light of thy morning mirth, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The last of the flock of the starry fold? | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Ha! leapest thou forth as of old? | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, | 10 | ·········· |
| And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead? | 10 | ····˘/˘˘/· |
| How! is not thy quick heart cold? | 7 | ······· |
| What spark is alive on thy hearth? | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| How! is not HIS death-knell knolled? | 7 | ······· |
| And livest THOU still, Mother Earth? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Thou wert warming thy fingers old | 8 | ··/˘·/˘· |
| O'er the embers covered and cold | 9 | ··/˘/˘˘·· |
| Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled-- | 10 | ···/˘˘/··· |
| What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead? | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| 'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth, | 9 | ······˘/· |
| 'Or who has my story told? | 7 | ····/˘· |
| It is thou who art overbold.' | 8 | ········ |
| And the lightning of scorn laughed forth | 9 | ··/˘···˘· |
| As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| All my sons when their knell is knolled, | 9 | ········˘ |
| And so with living motion all are fed, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead. | 10 | ·········· |
| 'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth, | 9 | ·˘/···/˘· |
| 'I grow bolder and still more bold. | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| The dead fill me ten thousandfold | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth. | 9 | /˘···/˘·· |
| I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| Like a frozen chaos uprolled, | 9 | ··/˘/˘··˘ |
| Till by the spirit of the mighty dead | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed. | 10 | ·········· |
| 'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth, | 10 | ·˘/···/˘˘· |
| 'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled, | 9 | ˘/˘˘·/˘·˘ |
| In terror and blood and gold, | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| A torrent of ruin to death from his birth. | 10 | ·/˘·/····· |
| Leave the millions who follow to mould | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| The metal before it be cold; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And weave into his shame, which like the dead | 10 | ·········· |
| Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.' | 10 | ·······/˘· |
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