Analysis of By the Camp Fire
Ada Cambridge 1844 (St Germans, Norfolk) – 1926 (Melbourne)
Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;
The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;
And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!
Those mountain ranges, far and near, enclasp me,— sharply pencilled there,
Like blackest sea-waves,—outlined here, like phantoms in the luminous air,
Between that cold and quiet sky, and the calm river running by.
The gum-trees whisper overhead, and, delicately dark and fine,
Their lovely shadow-patterns shed across the paths of white moonshine.
The golden wattles glimmer bright, scenting this cool, transparent night.
What spirits wake when earth is still? I hear wild wood-notes softly swell.
There's the strange clamour, hoarse and shrill, that drowns the bull-frogs' hollow
bell;
And there's the plaintive rise and fall of the lone mopoke's cuckoo-call.
And nearer, an opossum flits above the firelight, pauses, peers—
I see a round ball where he sits, with pendant tail and pointed ears;
And two are gruffly snarling now in hollows of yon upper bough.
Hark! that's the curlew's thrilling scream. What mountain echoes it has stirred!
The sound goes crying down the stream, the wildest bird-note ever heard.
And there's a crane, with legs updrawn, gone sailing out to meet the dawn.
It croaks its farewell, like a crow, beating the air with soft, wide wings.
On the white water down below its vague grey shadow-shape it flings,
And, dream-like, passes out of sight, a lonely vision of the night.
Ah me! how weird the undertones that thrill my wake-ful fancy through!
The river softly creeps and moans; the wind seems faintly crying too.
Such whisperings seem to come and pass across the orchis-flower'd grass.
The darkness gather'd all around is full of rustlings, strange and low,
The dead wood crackles on the ground, and shadowy shapes flit to and fro;
I think they are my own dim dreams, wandering amongst the woods and streams.
The tangled trees seem full of eyes,—still eyes that watch me as I sit;
A flame begins to fall and rise, their glances come and go with it.
And on the torn bark, rough and brown, I hear soft scratchings up and down.
Sometimes I hear a sound of feet,—a slow step through the darkness steals;
And then I think of yours, my sweet, in spirit following at my heels;
For leagues before, around, behind, part me from all my human-kind.
Coo-ey!—the long vibration throbs in countless echoes through the hills.
The lonely forest wakes and sobs, and then no sound the silence fills,—
Only the night-frogs' bubbling shriek in every water-hole and creek;
Only a rush of wind in flight, as startled wild-ducks flutter past,
Quivering and twinkling in the light, skimming the shining water fast;
And ripples from a black swan's breast, darting from out its rushy nest.
How is't in England?—Sunday morn, and organ-music, love, with you.
That breath of memory, idly born, like a great storm-wind shakes me through.
Ah, darling! bend your head and pray,—it cannot touch you far away.
Why do I care? My house of God, beyond all thought, is grand and great!
My prayerful knees, upon the sod, its flowers and grasses consecrate.
And I can see Him in the stars, undimmed by walls and window-bars.
Great Nature spreads her wondrous book, and shows me all her pages fair;
To me the language, when I look, seems but a letter here and there—
The very stones beneath me teach a lore beyond my utmost reach.
For all my pain, and toil, and strife, I see so dimly what is true!
O Art! O Science! O great Life! I grasp thee by so faint a clue!
No more of ocean tides I dream than minnows in their shallow stream.
Sea without bottom, without shore, where is the plumb to fathom thee?
O mystery! as I learn thee more, the more thy deeps are dark to me!
But who am I, that I should scan the Divine Maker's mighty plan?
And yet, oh yet, if I could hear that organ-music once again,
My soul, methinks, would lose its fear; and on this troubled heart and brain
Some light of knowledge would be shed, and some few riddles would be read.
Scheme | AAX BBX CCD EFEX GGX HHX IID JJX FFX KKX LLXMMX NNX JJX OOX BBX JJX PPX XXX |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111110111110101 010111110101010 011101111101101 11010101111011 1101111110001001 0111010100110101 0111010101000101 11011010101111 010101011110101 1101111111111101 10111011101110 1 01010101101111 010101010101101 1101111111010101 0111010101011101 110110111010111 0111010101011101 010111111011101 111110110011111 101101011111111 0111011101010101 111101011111101 0101010101110101 11111010101101 010101011111101 01110101010011101 11111111100010101 0101111111111111 0101110111010111 010111011111101 0111011101110101 01111111010100111 1101010111111101 1101010101010101 0101010101110101 100111001010010101 1001110111011101 100010000110010101 010101111011111 1110101101010111 11110010110111111 1101110111011101 1111111101111101 1101010111001010 011110011110101 1101010101110101 1101011111010101 010101110101111 1111010111110111 1111011111111101 1111011111001101 1011001111011101 11001111101111111 1111111100110101 0111111111010101 111111101110101 1111011101110111 |
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 4,017 |
Words | 721 |
Sentences | 48 |
Stanzas | 18 |
Stanza Lengths | 3, 3, 3, 4, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 6, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, 3 |
Lines Amount | 58 |
Letters per line (avg) | 54 |
Words per line (avg) | 12 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 175 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 40 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:39 min read
- 90 Views
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"By the Camp Fire" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/48/by-the-camp-fire>.
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