Analysis of Ode On The Insurrection In Candia



I laid my laurel-leaf
           At the white feet of grief,
  Seeing how with covered face and plumeless wings,
           With unreverted head
           Veiled, as who mourns his dead,
  Lay Freedom couched between the thrones of kings,
     A wearied lion without lair,
And bleeding from base wounds, and vexed with alien air.

Who was it, who, put poison to thy mouth,
  Who lulled with craft or chant thy vigilant eyes,
O light of all men, lamp to north and south,
  Eastward and westward, under all men's skies?
For if thou sleep, we perish, and thy name
  Dies with the dying of our ephemeral breath;
And if the dust of death o'ergrows thy flame,
  Heaven also is darkened with the dust of death.
If thou be mortal, if thou change or cease,
If thine hand fail, or thine eyes turn from Greece,
Thy firstborn, and the firstfruits of thy fame,
God is no God, and man is moulded out of shame.

Is there change in the secret skies,
  In the sacred places that see
     The divine beginning of things,
        The weft of the web of the world?
Is Freedom a worm that dies,
  And God no God of the free?
     Is heaven like as earth with her kings
        And time as a serpent curled
           Round life as a tree?

From the steel-bound snows of the north,
  From the mystic mother, the east,
     From the sands of the fiery south,
        From the low-lit clouds of the west,
A sound of a cry is gone forth;
  Arise, stand up from the feast,
     Let wine be far from the mouth,
        Let no man sleep or take rest,
           Till the plague hath ceased.

Let none rejoice or make mirth
  Till the evil thing be stayed,
     Nor grief be lulled in the lute,
        Nor hope be loud on the lyre;
Let none be glad upon earth.
  O music of young man and maid,
     O songs of the bride, be mute.
        For the light of her eyes, her desire,
           Is the soul dismayed.

It is not a land new-born
  That is scourged of a stranger's hand,
     That is rent and consumed with flame.
        We have known it of old, this face,
With the cheeks and the tresses torn,
  With shame on the brow as a brand.
     We have named it of old by name,
        The land of the royallest race,
           The most holy land.

Had I words of fire,
        Whose words are weak as snow;
     Were my heart a lyre
        Whence all its love might flow
In the mighty modulations of desire,
In the notes wherewith man's passion worships woe;

Could my song release
        The thought weak words confine,
     And my grief, O Greece,
        Prove how it worships thine;
It would move with pulse of war the limbs of peace,
Till she flushed and trembled and became divine.

(Once she held for true
        This truth of sacred strain;
     Though blood drip like dew
        And life run down like rain,
It is better that war spare but one or two
Than that many live, and liberty be slain.)

Then with fierce increase
        And bitter mother's mirth,
     From the womb of peace,
        A womb that yearns for birth,
As a man-child should deliverance come to Greece,
As a saviour should the child be born on earth.

O that these my days had been
Ere white peace and shame were wed
Without torch or dancers' din
Round the unsacred marriage-bed!
For of old the sweet-tongued law,
Freedom, clothed with all men's love,
Girt about with all men's awe,
With the wild war-eagle mated
The white breast of peace the dove,
And his ravenous heart abated
And his windy wings were furled
In an eyrie consecrated
Where the snakes of strife uncurled,
And her soul was soothed and sated
With the welfare of the world.

ANT.  1

But now, close-clad with peace,
  While war lays hand on Greece,
The kingdoms and their kings stand by to see;
  "Aha, we are strong," they say,
  "We are sure, we are well," even they;
"And if we serve, what ails ye to be free?
  We are warm, clothed round with peace and shame;
But ye lie dead and naked, dying for a name."

O kings and queens and nations miserable,
  O fools and blind, and full of sins and fears,
With these it is, with you it is not well;
  Ye have one hour, but these the immortal years.
These for a pang, a breath, a pulse of pain,
  Have honour, while that honour on earth shall be:


Scheme AABCCBDD EFEFGHGHIIGG FJBKFJBKJ LMENLMENM OPQROPQSP TUGVTUGVU SWRWSW IXIXIX YZYZYZ IOIOIO 1 C1 CX2 X3 2 3 CXC3 K X IIJ4 4 JGG X5 X5 ZD
Poetic Form Etheree  (25%)
Metre 111101 101111 1011101011 111 111111 1101010111 01010011 0101110111001 1111110111 11111111001 1111111101 1001010111 1111110011 1101011001001 010111111 101011010111 1111011111 1111111111 111001111 11110111111 11100101 00101011 00101011 01101101 1100111 0111101 110111101 0110101 11101 10111101 10101001 101101001 10111101 01101111 0111101 1111101 1111111 10111 1101111 1010111 1111001 1111101 1111011 11011101 1110111 1011010010 10101 1110111 11110101 11100111 11111111 10100101 11101101 11111111 011011 01101 111110 111111 01101 111111 001011010 0011110101 11101 011101 01111 111101 11111110111 11101000101 11111 111101 11111 011111 11101111111 11101010011 11101 010101 10111 011111 101110100111 1011011111 1111111 1110101 0111101 101101 1110111 1011111 1011111 10111010 0111101 011001010 0110101 0110100 101111 00111010 101101 1 111111 111111 0100111111 111111 111111101 0111111111 111111101 111101010101 11010101000 1101011101 1111111111 111101100101 1101010111 1111111111
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 4,166
Words 770
Sentences 30
Stanzas 14
Stanza Lengths 8, 12, 9, 9, 9, 9, 6, 6, 6, 6, 15, 1, 8, 6
Lines Amount 110
Letters per line (avg) 27
Words per line (avg) 7
Letters per stanza (avg) 214
Words per stanza (avg) 54
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:51 min read
112

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Algernon Charles Swinburne was an English poet, playwright, novelist, and critic. He wrote several novels and collections of poetry such as Poems and Ballads, and contributed to the famous Eleventh Edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica. Swinburne wrote about many taboo topics, such as lesbianism, cannibalism, sado-masochism, and anti-theism. His poems have many common motifs, such as the ocean, time, and death. Several historical people are featured in his poems, such as Sappho ("Sapphics"), Anactoria ("Anactoria"), Jesus ("Hymn to Proserpine": Galilaee, La. "Galilean") and Catullus ("To Catullus"). more…

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