Analysis of The Dead Ship Of Harpswell
John Greenleaf Whittier 1807 (Haverhill) – 1892 (Hampton Falls)
What flecks the outer gray beyond
The sundown's golden trail?
The white flash of a sea-bird's wing,
Or gleam of slanting sail?
Let young eyes watch from Neck and Point,
And sea-worn elders pray,--
The ghost of what was once a ship
Is sailing up the bay.
From gray sea-fog, from icy drift,
From peril and from pain,
The home-bound fisher greets thy lights,
O hundred-harbored Maine!
But many a keel shall seaward turn,
And many a sail outstand,
When, tall and white, the Dead Ship looms
Against the dusk of land.
She rounds the headland's bristling pines;
She threads the isle-set bay;
No spur of breeze can speed her on,
Nor ebb of tide delay.
Old men still walk the Isle of Orr
Who tell her date and name,
Old shipwrights sit in Freeport yards
Who hewed her oaken frame.
What weary doom of baffled quest,
Thou sad sea-ghost, is thine?
What makes thee in the haunts of home
A wonder and a sign?
No foot is on thy silent deck,
Upon thy helm no hand;
No ripple hath the soundless wind
That smites thee from the land!
For never comes the ship to port,
Howe'er the breeze may be;
Just when she nears the waiting shore
She drifts again to sea.
No tack of sail, nor turn of helm,
Nor sheer of veering side;
Stern-fore she drives to sea and night,
Against the wind and tide.
In vain o'er Harpswell Neck the star
Of evening guides her in;
In vain for her the lamps are lit
Within thy tower, Seguin!
In vain the harbor-boat shall hail,
In vain the pilot call;
No hand shall reef her spectral sail,
Or let her anchor fall.
Shake, brown old wives, with dreary joy,
Your gray-head hints of ill;
And, over sick-beds whispering low,
Your prophecies fulfil.
Some home amid yon birchen trees
Shall drape its door with woe;
And slowly where the Dead Ship sails,
The burial boat shall row!
From Wolf Neck and from Flying Point,
From island and from main,
From sheltered cove and tided creek,
Shall glide the funeral train.
The dead-boat with the bearers four,
The mourners at her stern,--
And one shall go the silent way
Who shall no more return!
And men shall sigh, and women weep,
Whose dear ones pale and pine,
And sadly over sunset seas
Await the ghostly sign.
They know not that its sails are filled
By pity's tender breath,
Nor see the Angel at the helm
Who steers the Ship of Death!
'Chill as a down-east breeze should be,'
The Book-man said. 'A ghostly touch
The legend has. I'm glad to see
Your flying Yankee beat the Dutch.'
'Well, here is something of the sort
Which one midsummer day I caught
In Narragansett Bay, for lack of fish.'
'We wait,' the Traveller said;
'serve hot or cold your dish.'
Scheme | ABXBCDXD XEXEFAXG XDXDHIXI XJXJXGXG KLHLMNXN XXXXBOBO XXPBQPXP CEXEHFDF XJQJXRMR LSLSKXTXT |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11010101 01101 01110111 111101 11111101 011101 01111101 110101 11111101 110011 01110111 110101 110011101 010011 11010111 010111 11011001 110111 11111101 111101 11110111 110101 111011 11011 11011101 111111 11100111 010001 11111101 011111 1101011 111101 11010111 100111 11110101 110111 11111111 111101 11111101 010101 01101101 110100 01100111 0111001 01010111 010101 1111011 110101 11111101 111111 010111001 11001 1101111 111111 01010111 0100111 11101101 110011 1101011 1101001 01110101 010101 01110101 111101 01110101 111101 0101011 010101 11111111 11101 11010101 110111 11011111 01110101 01011111 11010101 11110101 11110111 001011111 1101001 111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,525 |
Words | 488 |
Sentences | 31 |
Stanzas | 10 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 9 |
Lines Amount | 81 |
Letters per line (avg) | 25 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 200 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 48 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:27 min read
- 86 Views
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"The Dead Ship Of Harpswell" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/23082/the-dead-ship-of-harpswell>.
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