Analysis of The Island: Canto II.
George Gordon Lord Byron 1788 (London) – 1824 (Missolonghi, Aetolia)
I.
How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai,
When Summer's Sun went down the coral bay!
Come, let us to the islet's softest shade,
And hear the warbling birds I the damsels said:
The wood-dove from the forest depth shall coo,
Like voices of the Gods from Bolotoo;
We'll cull the flowers that grow above the dead,
For these most bloom where rests the warrior's head;
And we will sit in Twilight's face, and see
The sweet Moon glancing through the Tooa tree, to
The lofty accents of whose sighing bough
Shall sadly please us as we lean below;
Or climb the steep, and view the surf in vain
Wrestle with rocky giants o'er the main,
Which spurn in columns back the baffled spray.
How beautiful are these! how happy they,
Who, from the toil and tumult of their lives,
Steal to look down where nought but Ocean strives!
Even He too loves at times the blue lagoon,
And smooths his ruffled mane beneath the Moon.
II.
Yes-from the sepulchre we'll gather flowers,
Then feast like spirits in their promised bowers,
Then plunge and revel in the rolling surf
Then lay our limbs along the tender turf,
And, wet and shining from the sportive toil,
Anoint our bodies with the fragrant oil,
And plait our garlands gathered from the grave,
And wear the wreaths that sprung from out the brave.
But lo I night comes, the Mooa woos us back,
The sound of mats are heard along our track;
Anon the torchlight dance shall fling its sheen
In flashing mazes o'er the Marly's green;
And we too will be there; we too recall
The memory bright with many a festival,
Ere Fiji blew the shell of war, when foes
For the first time were wafted in canoes.
Alas! for them the flower of manhood bleeds;
Alas! for them our fields are rank with, weeds:
Forgotten is the rapture, or unknown,
Of wandering with the Moon and Love alone.
But be it so:-they taught us how to wield
The club, and rain our arrows o'er the field:
Now let them reap the harvest of their art!
But feast to-night! to-morrow we depart.
Strike up the dance! the Cava bowl fill high!
Drain every drop!-to-morrow we may die.
In summer garments be our limbs arrayed;
Around our waists the Tappa's white displayed;
Thick wreaths shall form our coronal, like Spring's,
And round our necks shall glance the Hooni strings;
So shall their brighter hues contrast the glow
Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below.
III.
But now the dance is o'er-yet stay awhile;
Ah, pause! nor yet put out the social smile.
To-morrow for the Mooa we depart,
But not to-night-to-night is for the heart.
Again bestow the wreaths we gently woo,
Ye young Enchantresses of gay Licoo
How lovely are your forms! how every sense
Bows to your beauties, softened, but intense,
Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep,
Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep!-
We too will see Licoo; but-oh! my heart!-
What do I say?- to-morrow we depart!
IV.
Thus rose a song-the harmony of times
Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes.
True, they had vices-such are Nature's growth-
But only the barbarian's- we have both;
The sordor of civilisation, mixed
With all the savage which Man's fall hath fixed.
Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign,
The prayers of Abel linked to deeds of Cain?
Who such would see may from his lattice view
The Old World more degraded than the New,-
Now new no more, save where Columbia rears
Twin giants, born by Freedom to her spheres,
Where Chimborazo, over air,- earth,- wave,-
Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave.
V.
Such was this ditty of Tradition's days,
Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys
In song, where Fame as yet hath left no sign
Beyond the sound whose charm is half divine;
Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye,
But yields young History all to Harmony;
A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre
In hand, to teach him to surpass his sire.
For one long-cherished ballad's simple stave,
Rung from the rock, or mingled with the wave,
Or from the bubbling streamlet's grassy side,
Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide,
Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear,
Than all the columns Conquest's minions rear;
Invites, when Hieroglyphics are a theme
For sages' labours, or the student's dream;
Attracts, when History's volumes are a toil,-
The first, the freshest bud of Feeling's soil.
Such was this rude rhyme- rhyme is of the rude-
But such inspired the Norseman's solitude,
Who came and conquered; such, wherever rise
Lands which no foes destroy or civilise,
Exist: and what can
Scheme | ABCDEFDEEGFXHBBCCXXBB AIIJJKKLLMMBBXXXXNNBBOOPPAADDQQHH ARRPPFFSSTTPP JUUVVWWBBFBXXLL GYYBBABXXLLZZXX1 1 KK2 2 XGB |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1 11000111 1101110101 111101101 01010011011 0111010111 11010111 11010110101 111111011 011101101 0111010111 0101011101 1101111101 1101010101 10110101001 1101010101 1100111101 1101010111 1111111101 10111110101 0111010101 1 110111010 11110011010 1101000101 11101010101 010101011 01101010101 0110110101 0101111101 1111101111 01111101101 10111111 0101010011 011111111 010011100100 1101011111 1011010001 0111010111 01111011111 0101010101 11001010101 1111111111 010110101001 1111010111 1111110101 1101010111 11001110111 01010110101 0110101101 111110111 0110111011 1111011001 101111101 1 11011101101 1111110101 110101101 1111111101 0101011101 111111 11011111001 1111010101 11010111 1111010101 111111111 1111110101 1 1101010011 01011101011 1111011101 11001111 01111 1101011111 111111 0111011111 1111111101 0111010101 11111101001 1101110101 1110111 1111010111 1 11110111 11010100101 0111111111 0101111101 111011011 11110011100 010101011 01111101110 111101101 1101110101 1101001101 11001010111 110101011101 1101010101 011010101 110110101 01110010101 010101111 1111111101 110100110 1101010101 11110111 01011 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,346 |
Words | 801 |
Sentences | 39 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 21, 33, 13, 15, 24 |
Lines Amount | 106 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 693 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 158 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:09 min read
- 51 Views
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"The Island: Canto II." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 1 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/15235/the-island%3A-canto-ii.>.
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