Analysis of Fragments
Joseph Rodman Drake 1795 (New York City) – 1820 (New York City)
Tuscara! thou art lovely now,
Thy woods, that frown'd in sullen strength
Like plumage on a giant's brow,
Have bowed their massy pride at length.
The rustling maize is green around,
The sheep is in the Congar's bed;
And clear the ploughman's whistlings sound
Where war-whoop's pealed o'er mangled dead.
Fair cots around thy breast are set,
Like pearls upon a coronet;
And in Aluga's vale below
The gilded grain is moving slow
Like yellow moonlight on the sea,
Where waves are swelling peacefully;
As beauty's breast, when quiet dreams
Come tranquilly and gently by;
When all she loves and hopes for seems
To float in smiles before her eye.
And hast thou lost the grandeur rude
That made me breathless, when at first
Upon my infant sight you burst,
The monarch of the solitude?
No; there is yet thy turret rock,
The watch-tower of the skies, the lair
Of Indian Gods, who, in the shock
Of bursting thunders, slumbered there;
And trim thy bosom is arrayed
In labour's green and glittering vest,
And yet thy forest locks of shade
Shake stormy on that turret crest.
Still hast thou left the rocks, the floods,
And nature is the loveliest then,
When first amid her caves and woods
She feels the busy tread of men;
When every tree, and bush, and flower,
Springs wildly in its native grace;
Ere art exerts her boasted power,
That brightened only to deface.
Yes! thou art lovelier now than ever;
How sweet 'twould be, when all the air
In moonlight swims, along thy river
To couch upon the grass, and hear
Niagara's everlasting voice,
Far in the deep blue west away;
That dreaming and poetic noise
We mark not in the glare of day,
Oh! how unlike its torrent-cry,
When o'er the brink the tide is driven,
As if the vast and sheeted sky
In thunder fell from heaven.
Were I but there, the daylight fled,
With that smooth air, the stream, the sky,
And lying on that minstrel bed
Of nature's own embroidery
With those long tearful willows o'er me,
That weeping fount, that solemn light,
With scenes of sighing tales before me,
And one green, maiden grave in sight;
How mournfully the strain would rise
Of that true maid, whose fate can yet
Draw rainy tears from stubborn eyes;
From lids that ne'er before were wet.
She lies not here, but that green grave
Is sacred from the plough -- and flowers,
Snow-drops, and valley-lilies, wave
Amid the grass; and other showers
Than those of heaven have fallen there.
Scheme | ABABCDCDEEFFGGHIHI JKKJLMLMNONOXPXPQRQR QMQXXSXSITIT DIDGGUGUVEVEWXWXM |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 111101 11110101 11010101 1111111 01011101 0110011 010111 111110101 11011111 11010101 001101 01011101 1101101 11110100 1111101 110101 11110111 11010101 01110011 11110111 01110111 011010 11111101 011010101 110011001 1101011 01110101 01101001 01110111 11011101 11110101 0101011 11010101 11010111 1100101010 11001101 110101010 11010101 11111110 11111101 01101110 11010101 0100101 10011101 11000101 11100111 11011101 1100101110 1101011 0101110 0111011 11110101 01011101 11010100 111101101 11011101 111101011 01110101 110111 11111111 11011101 11110101 11111111 110101010 11010101 010101010 111101101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,409 |
Words | 432 |
Sentences | 13 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 18, 20, 12, 17 |
Lines Amount | 67 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 468 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 107 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:13 min read
- 73 Views
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"Fragments" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/24546/fragments>.
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