Old Ireland
Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty,Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrowful mother,Once a queen, now lean and tatter’d seated on the ground,Her old white hair drooping dishevel’d round her shoulders,At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded hope and heir,Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow because most full of love.
Yet a word ancient mother,You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with foreheadbetween your knees,O you need not sit there veil’d in your old white hair so dishevel’d,For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave,It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead,The Lord is not dead, he is risen again young and strong in another country,Even while you wept there by your fallen harp by the grave,What you wept for was translated, pass’d from the grave,The winds favor’d and the sea sail’d it,And now with rosy and new blood,Moves to-day in a new country.
Words in this poem
- amid prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- isle v. t.
- To cause to become an island, or like an island; to surround or encompass; to island.
- wondrous adv.
- In a wonderful or surprising manner or degree; wonderfully. [OE. wonders, adv. (later also adj.). See Wonder, n., and cf. -wards.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Old Ireland is in the public domain. This text is taken from Leaves of Grass, Project Gutenberg ebook #1322; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Walt Whitman, Old Ireland, in Leaves of Grass (1855–1892), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1322, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/whitman-leaves/old-ireland.html, id L03984.
Form and metre
Old Ireland is 19 lines in 2 stanzas. 88% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 12.3 syllables. 8 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 5% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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.
- 2 -A--BACBB--C mother · foreheadA · knees · dishevel'd · graveB · deadA · countryC · graveB · graveB · it · blood · countryC
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. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty, | 11 | ··˘/···/˘/˘ |
| Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrowful mother, | 14 | /˘·····/˘/˘˘/˘ |
| Once a queen, now lean and tatter’d seated on the ground, | 13 | ······/˘/˘··· |
| Her old white hair drooping dishevel’d round her shoulders, | 13 | ····/˘˘/˘··/˘ |
| At her feet fallen an unused royal harp, | 11 | ···/˘·˘//˘· |
| Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded hope and heir, | 16 | ·/˘···/˘/˘·/˘··· |
| Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow because most full of love. | 17 | ·········/˘······ |
| Yet a word ancient mother, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with forehead | 14 | ·····/˘·····/˘ |
| between your knees, | 4 | ···· |
| O you need not sit there veil’d in your old white hair so dishevel’d, | 16 | ·············˘/˘ |
| For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave, | 12 | ············ |
| It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead, | 15 | ···˘/˘······/˘· |
| The Lord is not dead, he is risen again young and strong in another country, | 20 | ·······/˘˘/····˘/˘/˘ |
| Even while you wept there by your fallen harp by the grave, | 14 | /˘······/˘···· |
| What you wept for was translated, pass’d from the grave, | 12 | ·····˘/˘···· |
| The winds favor’d and the sea sail’d it, | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| And now with rosy and new blood, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Moves to-day in a new country. | 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.