Chloris and Hylas, Made to a Saraband
Hylas, O Hylas! why sit we mute,Now that each bird saluteth the spring?Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute,Never canst thou want matter to sing;For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of thingsOf various flowers the bees do compose;Yet no particular taste it bringsOf violet, woodbine, pink, or rose;So love the result is of all the gracesWhich flow from a thousand sev'ral faces.
Hylas! the birds which chant in this grove,Could we but know the language they use,They would instruct us better in love,And reprehend thy inconstant Muse;For love their breasts does fill with such a fire,That what they once do choose, bounds their desire.
Chloris! this change the birds do approve,Which the warm season hither does bring;Time from yourself does further removeYou, than the winter from the gay spring;She that like lightning shined while her face lasted,The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.
Words in this poem
- instruct a.
- Arranged; furnished; provided. [L. instructus, p. p. of instruere to furnish, provide, construct, instruct; pref. in- in, struere. See Structure.]
- reprehend v. t.
- To reprove or reprimand with a view of restraining, checking, or preventing; to make charge of fault against; to disapprove of; to chide; to blame; to censure. [L. reprehendere, reprehensum, to hold back, seize, check, blame; pref. re- re- + prehendere to lay hold of. See Prehensile, and cf. Reprisal.]
- blasted a.
- Blighted; withered.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Chloris and Hylas, Made to a Saraband is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham, Project Gutenberg ebook #12322; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edmund Waller, Chloris and Hylas, Made to a Saraband, in Cooper's Hill, and Other Poems (1645–1668), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #12322, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/waller-denham/chloris-and-hylas-made-to-a-saraband.html, id L26313.
Form and metre
Chloris and Hylas, Made to a Saraband is 24 lines in 4 stanzas of 6 lines each. Every stanza rhymes ABABCC. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 76%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
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 ABABCC muteA · springB · luteA · singB · fireC · desireC
- 2 ABABCC thingsA · composeB · bringsA · roseB · gracesC · facesC
- 3 ABABCC groveA · useB · loveA · museB · fireC · desireC
- 4 ABABCC approveA · bringB · removeA · springB · lastedC · blastedC
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 pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Hylas, O Hylas! why sit we mute, | 9 | ········· |
| Now that each bird saluteth the spring? | 9 | ····˘/˘·· |
| Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| Never canst thou want matter to sing; | 9 | /˘···/˘·· |
| For love thy breast does fill with such a fire, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire. | 10 | ·······˘/˘ |
| Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things | 9 | /˘···/˘·· |
| Of various flowers the bees do compose; | 10 | ·/˘/˘···˘/ |
| Yet no particular taste it brings | 9 | ··˘/˘˘··· |
| Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose; | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘··· |
| So love the result is of all the graces | 11 | ···˘/····/˘ |
| Which flow from a thousand sev'ral faces. | 10 | ····/˘··/˘ |
| Hylas! the birds which chant in this grove, | 9 | ········· |
| Could we but know the language they use, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| They would instruct us better in love, | 9 | ··˘/·/˘·· |
| And reprehend thy inconstant Muse; | 9 | ·····˘/˘· |
| For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| That what they once do choose, bounds their desire. | 11 | ········˘/˘ |
| Chloris! this change the birds do approve, | 9 | /˘·····˘/ |
| Which the warm season hither does bring; | 9 | ···/˘/˘·· |
| Time from yourself does further remove | 9 | ··˘/·/˘˘/ |
| You, than the winter from the gay spring; | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| She that like lightning shined while her face lasted, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted. | 12 | ···˘/˘·/˘·/˘ |
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