Analysis of Robin Hood, A Child.



It was the pleasant season yet,
   When the stones at cottage doors
Dry quickly, while the roads are wet,
   After the silver showers.

The green leaves they looked greener still,
   And the thrush, renewing his tune,
Shook a loud note from his gladsome bill
   Into the bright blue noon.

Robin Hood's mother looked out, and said
   "It were a shame and a sin
For fear of getting a wet head
   To keep such a day within,
Nor welcome up from his sick bed
   Your uncle Gamelyn."

And Robin leaped, and thought so too;
   And so he has grasped her gown,
And now looking back, they have lost the view
    Of merry sweet Locksley town.

Robin was a gentle boy,
   And therewithal as bold;
To say he was his mother's joy,
   It were a phrase too cold.

His hair upon his thoughtful brow
   Came smoothly clipped, and sleek,
But ran into a curl somehow
   Beside his merrier cheek.

Great love to him his uncle too
   The noble Gamelyn bare,
And often said, as his mother knew,
   That he should be his heir.

Gamelyn's eyes, now getting dim,
   Would twinkle at his sight,
And his ruddy wrinkles laugh at him
   Between his locks so white:

For Robin already let him see
   He should beat his playmates all
At wrestling, running, and archery,
   Yet he cared not for a fall.

Merriest he was of merry boys,
   And would set the old helmets bobbing;
If his uncle asked about the noise,
   'Twas "If you please, Sir, Robin."

And yet if the old man wished no noise,
   He'd come and sit at his knee,
And be the gravest of grave-eyed boys;
   And not a word spoke he.

So whenever he and his mother came
   To brave old Gamelyn Hall,
'Twas nothing there but sport and game,
   And holiday folks all:
The servants never were to blame,
   Though they let the physic fall.

And now the travellers turn the road,
   And now they hear the rooks;
And there it is, — the old abode,
   With all its hearty looks.

Robin laughed, and the lady too,
   And they looked at one another;
Says Robin, "I'll knock, as I'm used to do,
   At uncle's window, mother."

And so he pick'd up some pebbles and ran,
   And jumping higher and higher,
He reach'd the windows with tan a ran tan,
   And instead of the kind old white-haired man,
There looked out a fat friar.

"How now," said the fat friar angrily,
   "What is this knocking so wild?"
But when he saw young Robin's eye,
   He said "Go round, my child.

"Go round to the hall, and I'll tell you all."
   "He'll tell us all!" thought Robin;
And his mother and he went quietly,
   Though her heart was set a throbbing.

The friar stood in the inner door,
   And tenderly said, "I fear
You know not the good squire's no more,
   Even Gamelyn de Vere.

"Gamelyn de Vere is dead,
   He changed but yesternight:"
"Now make us way," the lady said,
   "To see that doleful sight."

"Good Gamelyn de Vere is dead,
   And has made us his holy heirs:"
The lady stayed not for all he said,
   But went weeping up the stairs.

Robin and she went hand in hand,
   Weeping all the way,
Until they came where the lord of that land
   Dumb in his cold bed lay.

His hand she took, and saw his dead look,
   With the lids over each eye-ball;
And Robin and she wept as plenteously,
   As though he had left them all.

"I will return, Sir Abbot of Vere,
   I will return as is meet,
And see my honoured brother dear
   Laid in his winding sheet.

And I will stay, for to go were a sin,
   For all a woman's tears,
And see the noble Gamelyn
   Laid low with the De Veres."

The lady went with a sick heart out
   Into the kind fresh air,
And told her Robin all about
   The abbot whom he saw there:

And how his uncle must have been
   Disturbed in his failing sense,
To leave his wealth to these artful men,
   At her's and Robin's expense.

Sad was the stately day for all
   But the Vere Abbey friars,
When the coffin was stript of its hiding pall,
   Amidst the hushing choirs.

Sad was the earth-dropping "dust to dust,"
   And "our brother here departed;"
The lady shook at them, as shake we must,
   And Robin he felt strange-hearted.

That self-same evening, nevertheless,
   They returned to Locksley


Scheme Text too long
Poetic Form
Metre 11010101 1011101 11010111 1001010 01111101 00101011 10111111 010111 101101101 1001001 11110011 1110101 11011111 1101 01010111 0111101 0110111101 110111 1010101 0111 11111101 100111 11011101 110101 1101011 0111001 11111101 01011 010111101 111111 111101 110111 011010111 011111 110010111 111111 110100100 1111101 1111101 011011010 111010101 1111110 011011111 1101111 010101111 010111 1010101101 11111 11011101 01011 01010011 111011 010100101 011101 01110101 111101 10100101 01111010 1101111111 1101010 0111111001 01010010 1101011011 0011011111 1110110 1110110100 1111011 11111101 111111 1110101111 1111110 0110011100 10111010 010100101 0100111 11101111 10111 11111 1111 11110101 111101 111111 01111101 010111111 1110101 10011101 10101 0111101111 101111 111101111 10110111 01001111 1111111 110111011 1101111 0111101 101101 0111111001 110101 010101 111011 010110111 010111 01010101 0101111 01110111 0101101 111111101 1101001 11010111 1011010 10101111101 01011 110110111 010101010 0101111111 01011110 11110001 10111
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 3,976
Words 761
Sentences 30
Stanzas 29
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 6, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 6, 4, 4, 5, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 2
Lines Amount 119
Letters per line (avg) 25
Words per line (avg) 6
Letters per stanza (avg) 103
Words per stanza (avg) 26
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

3:49 min read
34

James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt, best known as Leigh Hunt, was an English critic, essayist, poet and writer. more…

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