Analysis of Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807 (Portland) – 1882 (Cambridge)
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;
I myself was young!
There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid;
Fair words gladden so many a heart.
Together were they for seven years,
And together children six were theirs.
Then came Death abroad through the land,
And blighted the beautiful lily-wand.
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade,
And again hath he wooed him another maid,
He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a bride,
But she was bitter and full of pride.
When she came driving into the yard,
There stood the six children weeping so hard.
There stood the small children with sorrowful heart;
From before her feet she thrust them apart.
She gave to them neither ale nor bread;
'Ye shall suffer hunger and hate,' she said.
She took from them their quilts of blue,
And said: 'Ye shall lie on the straw we strew.'
She took from them the great waxlight;
'Now ye shall lie in the dark at night.'
In the evening late they cried with cold;
The mother heard it under the mould.
The woman heard it the earth below:
'To my little children I must go.'
She standeth before the Lord of all:
'And may I go to my children small?'
She prayed him so long, and would not cease,
Until he bade her depart in peace.
'At cock-crow thou shalt return again;
Longer thou shalt not there remain!'
She girded up her sorrowful bones,
And rifted the walls and the marble stones.
As through the village she flitted by,
The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky.
When she came to the castle gate,
There stood her eldest daughter in wait.
'Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine?
How fares it with brothers and sisters thine?'
'Never art thou mother of mine,
For my mother was both fair and fine.
'My mother was white, with cheeks of red,
But thou art pale, and like to the dead.'
'How should I be fair and fine?
I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine.
'How should I be white and red,
So long, so long have I been dead?'
When she came in at the chamber door,
There stood the small children weeping sore.
One she braided, another she brushed,
The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed.
The fifth she took on her lap and pressed,
As if she would suckle it at her breast.
Then to her eldest daughter said she,
'Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me.'
Into the chamber when he came
She spake to him in anger and shame.
'I left behind me both ale and bread;
My children hunger and are not fed.
'I left behind me quilts of blue;
My children lie on the straw ye strew.
'I left behind me the great waxlight;
My children lie in the dark at night.
'If I come again unto your hall,
As cruel a fate shall you befall!
'Now crows the cock with feathers red;
Back to the earth must all the dead.
'Now crows the cock with feathers swart;
The gates of heaven fly wide apart.
'Now crows the cock with feathers white;
I can abide no longer to-night.'
Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail,
They gave the children bread and ale.
Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay,
They feared lest the dead were on their way.
Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark;
I myself was young!
They feared the dead out there in the dark.
Fair words gladden so many a heart.
Scheme | ABaCdefgAahhiiccjjkkalmmnnooppqrssttuuvvvvjjvvjjwwxxyyzz1 1 jjkkaloojj2 cll3 3 4 4 5 b5 c |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Etheree (25%) Tetractys (20%) |
Metre | 1111101 1111 1111111001 111011001 010011101 001010101 11101101 0100100101 1111101 00111110101 11110101101 111100111 111100101 1101101011 11011011001 1010111101 111110111 1110100111 11111111 0111110111 1111011 111100111 001011111 010111001 010110101 111010111 11010111 011111101 111110111 011100101 111110101 10111101 11101001 010100101 11010111 011101101 11110101 110101001 11111101 1111100101 10111011 111011101 110111111 111101101 1111101 11111111 1111101 11111111 111010101 110110101 111001011 011100111 011110101 1111101101 110101011 1111111011 01010111 111101001 110111101 110100111 11011111 110110111 11011011 110100111 111011011 110011101 11011101 11011101 11011101 011101101 11011101 110111011 010110111 11010101 010110111 111010111 010110111 1111 110111001 111011001 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,085 |
Words | 601 |
Sentences | 43 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 80 |
Lines Amount | 80 |
Letters per line (avg) | 30 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 2,406 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 588 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:57 min read
- 83 Views
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"Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/18801/tales-of-a-wayside-inn-%3A-part-3.-the-musician%27s-tale%3B-the-mother%27s-ghost>.
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