Analysis of Tasso Dying
Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov 1787 (Vologda) – 1855 (Vologda)
What festival is ancient Rome preparing?
Where flow the crowds in noisy waves?
Why these aromas, myrrh's sweet smoke
And censers all around abrim with fragrant herbs?
From Capitoline Hill to Tiber's waves,
Above universal city's streets,
Why are the priceless rugs and purple stuffs
Spread among garlands, laurels?
Why all this noise? The crash and thump of timpani?
Are these heralds of joy or triumph?
Why wearing the miter hastes the holy father
With gonfalon to the prayer house?
For whom doth thankful Rome's most valued gift,
The crown, in his hands shimmer?
For whom this triumph? - 'tis for you, o blessed bard!
For you this gift... Jerusalem's bard!
And now the joyful noise has reached the cell,
Where Death joins battle with Torquatto,
Where death's winged spirit swoops
Above the sufferer's blessed head.
Not weeping friends, nor praying monks,
Nor honor's late rewards
Can tame the iron hand of fate,
Which knows no mercy for the great.
Half-dead, he sees the horrid hour,
And blesses it with joy,
And parting with life, one final time,
The wondrous swan exclaims:
"My friends, O let me catch a glimpse of splendid Rome,
Where a too early grave awaits the bard!
Allow my glance to meet your hills and smoke,
O, ancient sepulcher of citizens!
O blessed land of heroes and of wonders!
Dust eloquent and ruins!
Azure and purple of cloudless skies,
You, poplars; and you, ancient olives.
Eternal Tiber, you, who slake the thirst of every tribe,
Sown with a universe of bones.
Doomed to an early end.
I greet you from within these dreary walls!
It's done! I stand before the fatal borne
To wild applause I won't step on Capitoline,
And glory's laurels on my feeble head
Won't sweeten the bard's frightful lot.
From youth I have been everybody's puppet.
I was an exile as a child,
I wandered, a poor traveler
Under the sweet Italian sky,
What turns of fate did I not suffer?
Where did the waves not toss my bark?
Where was I safe? Where was my daily bread
Not spattered with the tears of sorrow?
Sorrento! Cradle of my woe-filled days,
Where once at night, like a trembling Askania
Fate tore me from my mother's breast,
From her embraces sweet and kisses, -
Do you recall what tears I spilled in childhood
Alas! Since then, a plaything of cruel fate,
I've known great suffering, the poverty of life.
The depths by Fortune quarried.out
Beneath me, and the thunder never ceased!
Driven from place to place, from land to land,
In vain I sought a harbor on the earth:
I felt her hand relentless everywhere!
Her lightning everywhere harassed the bard!
Not in a peasant's meager hut,
Nor e'en protected by Alphonso's palace,
Nor under an obscure and silent roof,
Nor in the wilds, nor in the hills was my head safe.
Embittered by glory and ignominy alike,
An exile's head, from cradle consigned
Into the hands of an avenging goddess...
But friends! what clutches terribly my breast?
Why does my heart lament and tremble?
Whence do I come? What awful path have I been following,
And what behind me in the darkness gleams?
Ferrara...Furies...envy's serpent!..
Whither? O, whither, murderers of my gift!
I am in harbor. Here is Rome. My brothers and my kin!
Here are their tears and sweet embrace...
And Virgil's wreath upon the Capitoline hill.
Thus, I fulfilled Appollo's task.
From my first youth, his dedicated priest,
Through lightning, under raging skies,
I sang the grandeur glorious of bygone days,
In bondage I did not betray my soul,
It harbors still the muses' sweet delight,
And torments only reinforced my gift.
It lived in wonderland, by Zion's walls,
On Jordan's flowering shores;
It questioned you, impatient Cedron,
And you serene asylum of Lebanon!
It raised you from the dead, o heroes hoary,
To awesome glory's dazzle and grandeur:
It gazed upon you, Gottfried, ruler, king of kings,
Magnificent and calm 'midst whistling arrows;
On you, o young Rinaldo, ardent as Achilles,
In love and battle a blessed victor.
It watched you fly above the corpses of your foes,
Like fire, like death, like an avenging angel...
And Tartarus is vanquished by a shining cross!
O models of extraordinary valor!
O holy triumph of our ancestors,
Long laid to rest! Pure faith victorious!
Torquato has invoked you from the depths of time:
Scheme ABCXBXXXDXEXFEGGXFXHXXIIEXXX XGCJKJLXXXXM XXHXNXEXEXHXODPXXIXFQXXXGNRXXXXR PSAXXFXXXXQLOXXFMXDXDXXTXETS XEKRE Poetic Form Metre 11001101010 11010101 11010111 0110111101 1101111 01010101 1101010101 101110 11110101110 111011110 110010101010 111011 1111011101 0101110 11110111111 111101001 0101011101 1111011 111101 010111 11011101 110101 11010111 11110101 111101010 010111 010111101 010101 111111011101 1011010101 0111111101 11011100 1111100110 1100010 100101101 11011010 010101110111001 1101011 111101 1111011101 1111010101 1101111110 011011101 11001101 1111110010 1111101 11001100 10010101 111111110 11011111 1111111101 110101110 11011111 1111101001 11111101 100101010 111111101 0111011101 111100010011 011101 0110010101 1011111111 0111010101 110101010 010100101 1001101 1110101110 1101010101 100110011111 010110010001 11111001 01011101010 1111010011 111101010 11111101111100 0101100101 110 10110100111 11010111110011 11110101 011010101 110111 1111110001 11010101 11001100111 0101110111 1101010101 01100111 11010111 1101001 11010101 01010101100 11110111010 110110001 110111010111 01000111010 1111010101010 010100110 111101010111 110111101010 0111010101 1101010010 1101011010 1111110100 11011101111 Closest metre Iambic pentameter Characters 4,347 Words 737 Sentences 64 Stanzas 5 Stanza Lengths 28, 12, 32, 28, 5 Lines Amount 105 Letters per line (avg) 32 Words per line (avg) 7 Letters per stanza (avg) 662 Words per stanza (avg) 147 Font size:Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:48 min read
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"Tasso Dying" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/25320/tasso-dying>.
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»The repetition of vowel sounds is an example of _______.
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