An Echo
Never sleeping, still awake,Pleasing most when most I speak;The delight of old and young,Though I speak without a tongue.Nought but one thing can confound me,Many voices joining round me;Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,Like the labourers of Babel.Now I am a dog, or cow,I can bark, or I can low;I can bleat, or I can sing,Like the warblers of the spring.Let the lovesick bard complain,And I mourn the cruel pain;Let the happy swain rejoice,And I join my helping voice:Both are welcome, grief or joy,I with either sport and toy.Though a lady, I am stout,Drums and trumpets bring me out:Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,Join in all the din of battle.Jove, with all his loudest thunder,When I'm vext, can't keep me under;Yet so tender is my ear,That the lowest voice I fear;Much I dread the courtier's fate,When his merit's out of date,For I hate a silent breath,And a whisper is my death.
Words in this poem
- babel n.
- The city and tower in the land of Shinar, where the confusion of languages took place. [Heb. Babel, the name of the capital of Babylonia; in Genesis associated with the idea of "confusion"]
- bleat v. i.
- To make the noise of, or one like that of, a sheep; to cry like a sheep or calf. [OE. bleten, AS. bl; akin to D. blaten, bleeten, OHG. blazan, plazan; prob. of imitative origin.]
- trumpets n.
- A plant (Sarracenia flava) with long, hollow leaves.
- jove n.
- The chief divinity of the ancient Romans; Jupiter. [L. Jupiter, gen. Jovis, OL. Jovis, nom. & gen. for Djovis; akin to E. Tuesday. See Tuesday, and cf. Jupiter.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
An Echo is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D., Volume 2, Project Gutenberg ebook #13621; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Jonathan Swift, An Echo, in Poems, Volume II (1710–1745), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #13621, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/swift-poems/an-echo.html, id L18544.
Form and metre
An Echo is 30 lines in a single stanza. It is in rhyming couplets, 87% of the lines. The metre is trochaic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%). 99% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.3 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending.
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in trochaic 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 --AABBCC--DDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMM awake · speak · youngA · tongueA · meB · meB · gabbleC · babelC · cow · low · singD · springD · complainE · painE · rejoiceF · voiceF · joyG · toyG · stoutH · outH · rattleI · battleI · thunderJ · underJ · earK · fearK · fateL · dateL · breathM · deathM
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 trochaic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Never sleeping, still awake, | 7 | /˘/˘·˘/ |
| Pleasing most when most I speak; | 7 | /˘····· |
| The delight of old and young, | 7 | ·˘/···· |
| Though I speak without a tongue. | 7 | ······· |
| Nought but one thing can confound me, | 8 | ·····˘/· |
| Many voices joining round me; | 8 | /˘/˘/˘·· |
| Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Like the labourers of Babel. | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Now I am a dog, or cow, | 7 | ······· |
| I can bark, or I can low; | 7 | ······· |
| I can bleat, or I can sing, | 7 | ······· |
| Like the warblers of the spring. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Let the lovesick bard complain, | 7 | ··/˘·˘/ |
| And I mourn the cruel pain; | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Let the happy swain rejoice, | 7 | ··/˘·˘/ |
| And I join my helping voice: | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Both are welcome, grief or joy, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| I with either sport and toy. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Though a lady, I am stout, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Drums and trumpets bring me out: | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Then I clash, and roar, and rattle, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Join in all the din of battle. | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Jove, with all his loudest thunder, | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| When I'm vext, can't keep me under; | 8 | ········ |
| Yet so tender is my ear, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| That the lowest voice I fear; | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Much I dread the courtier's fate, | 8 | ····/˘˘· |
| When his merit's out of date, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| For I hate a silent breath, | 7 | ····/˘· |
| And a whisper is my death. | 7 | ··/˘··· |
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.