The Watchers
BESIDE a stricken field I stood;On the torn turf, on grass and wood,Hung heavily the dew of blood.
Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain,But all the air was quick with painAnd gusty sighs and tearful rain.
Two angels, each with drooping headAnd folded wings and noiseless tread,Watched by that valley of the dead.
The one, with forehead saintly blandAnd lips of blessing, not command,Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand.
The other's brows were scarred and knit,His restless eyes were watch-fires lit,His hands for battle-gauntlets fit.
"How long!"--I knew the voice of Peace,--"Is there no respite? no release?When shall the hopeless quarrel cease?
"O Lord, how long!! One human soulIs more than any parchment scroll,Or any flag thy winds unroll.
"What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave?How weigh the gift that Lyon gave,Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave?
"O brother! if thine eye can see,Tell how and when the end shall be,What hope remains for thee and me."
Then Freedom sternly said: "I shunNo strife nor pang beneath the sun,When human rights are staked and won.
"I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock,I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock,I walked with Sidney to the block.
"The moor of Marston felt my tread,Through Jersey snows the march I led,My voice Magenta's charges sped.
"But now, through weary day and night,I watch a vague and aimless fightFor leave to strike one blow aright.
"On either side my foe they ownOne guards through love his ghastly throne,And one through fear to reverence grown.
"Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed,By open foes, or those afraidTo speed thy coming through my aid?
"Why watch to see who win or fall?I shake the dust against them all,I leave them to their senseless brawl."
"Nay," Peace implored: "yet longer wait;The doom is near, the stake is greatGod knoweth if it be too late.
"Still wait and watch; the way prepareWhere I with folded wings of prayerMay follow, weaponless and bare."
"Too late!" the stern, sad voice replied,"Too late!" its mournful echo sighed,In low lament the answer died.
A rustling as of wings in flight,An upward gleam of lessening white,So passed the vision, sound and sight.
But round me, like a silver bellRung down the listening sky to tellOf holy help, a sweet voice fell.
"Still hope and trust," it sang; "the rodMust fall, the wine-press must be trod,But all is possible with God!"
Words in this poem
- stricken p. p.
- Struck; smitten; wounded; as, the stricken deer.
- gusty a.
- Subject to, or characterized by, gusts or squalls; windy; stormy; tempestuous.
- tearful a.
- Abounding with tears; weeping; shedding tears; as, tearful eyes.
- saintly a.
- Like a saint; becoming a holy person.
- 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,]
- unroll v. t.
- To open, as what is rolled or convolved; as, to unroll cloth; to unroll a banner. [1st pref. un- + roll.]
- sternly adv.
- In a stern manner.
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- aimless a.
- Without aim or purpose; as, an aimless life.
- aright adv.
- Rightly; correctly; in a right way or form; without mistake or crime; as, to worship God aright. [Pref. a- + right.]
- weaponless a.
- Having no weapon.
- rung n.
- A floor timber in a ship. [OE. ronge, AS. hrung, a staff, rod, pole; akin to G. runge a short, thick piece of iron or wood, OD. ronghe a prop, support, Icel. röng a rib in a ship, Goth. H]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Watchers is in the public domain. This text is taken from Anti-Slavery Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform, Complete Volume III of The Works of John Greenleaf Whittier, Project Gutenberg ebook #9580; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: John Greenleaf Whittier, The Watchers, in Anti-Slavery Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform (1865), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #9580, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/whittier-anti-slavery/the-watchers.html, id L24912.
Form and metre
The Watchers is 66 lines in 22 stanzas of 3 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 67% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 93%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, 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 AAA stoodA · woodA · bloodA
- 2 AAA slainA · painA · rainA
- 3 AAA headA · treadA · deadA
- 4 AA- blandA · commandA · wand
- 5 AAA knitA · litA · fitA
- 6 AAA peaceA · releaseA · ceaseA
- 7 AAA soulA · scrollA · unrollA
- 8 AAA braveA · gaveA · graveA
- 9 AAA seeA · beA · meA
- 10 AAA shunA · sunA · wonA
- 11 AAA flockA · rockA · blockA
- 12 AAA treadA · ledA · spedA
- 13 AAA nightA · fightA · arightA
- 14 AAA ownA · throneA · grownA
- 15 AAA betrayedA · afraidA · aidA
- 16 AAA fallA · allA · brawlA
- 17 AAA waitA · greatA · lateA
- 18 AAA prepareA · prayerA · bareA
- 19 AAA repliedA · sighedA · diedA
- 20 AAA flightA · whiteA · sightA
- 21 AAA bellA · tellA · fellA
- 22 AAA rodA · trodA · godA
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 |
|---|---|---|
| BESIDE a stricken field I stood; | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| On the torn turf, on grass and wood, | 8 | ········ |
| Hung heavily the dew of blood. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain, | 8 | ········ |
| But all the air was quick with pain | 8 | ········ |
| And gusty sighs and tearful rain. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Two angels, each with drooping head | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| And folded wings and noiseless tread, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Watched by that valley of the dead. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The one, with forehead saintly bland | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| And lips of blessing, not command, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The other's brows were scarred and knit, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| His restless eyes were watch-fires lit, | 8 | ·/˘···/· |
| His hands for battle-gauntlets fit. | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| "How long!"--I knew the voice of Peace,-- | 8 | ········ |
| "Is there no respite? no release? | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| When shall the hopeless quarrel cease? | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| "O Lord, how long!! One human soul | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Is more than any parchment scroll, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Or any flag thy winds unroll. | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| "What price was Ellsworth's, young and brave? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| How weigh the gift that Lyon gave, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Or count the cost of Winthrop's grave? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "O brother! if thine eye can see, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Tell how and when the end shall be, | 8 | ········ |
| What hope remains for thee and me." | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| Then Freedom sternly said: "I shun | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| No strife nor pang beneath the sun, | 8 | ········ |
| When human rights are staked and won. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "I knelt with Ziska's hunted flock, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| I watched in Toussaint's cell of rock, | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| I walked with Sidney to the block. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| "The moor of Marston felt my tread, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Through Jersey snows the march I led, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| My voice Magenta's charges sped. | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| "But now, through weary day and night, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| I watch a vague and aimless fight | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| For leave to strike one blow aright. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| "On either side my foe they own | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| One guards through love his ghastly throne, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And one through fear to reverence grown. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| By open foes, or those afraid | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| To speed thy coming through my aid? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| "Why watch to see who win or fall? | 8 | ········ |
| I shake the dust against them all, | 8 | ········ |
| I leave them to their senseless brawl." | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "Nay," Peace implored: "yet longer wait; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| The doom is near, the stake is great | 8 | ········ |
| God knoweth if it be too late. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "Still wait and watch; the way prepare | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Where I with folded wings of prayer | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| May follow, weaponless and bare." | 8 | ·/˘/˘˘·· |
| "Too late!" the stern, sad voice replied, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| "Too late!" its mournful echo sighed, | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| In low lament the answer died. | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| A rustling as of wings in flight, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| An upward gleam of lessening white, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| So passed the vision, sound and sight. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| But round me, like a silver bell | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Rung down the listening sky to tell | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Of holy help, a sweet voice fell. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "Still hope and trust," it sang; "the rod | 8 | ········ |
| Must fall, the wine-press must be trod, | 8 | ········ |
| But all is possible with God!" | 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.