Analysis of The Troubadour. Canto 3 A (Lord Amirald)
Letitia Elizabeth Landon 1802 (Chelsea) – 1838 (Cape Coast)
LAND of the olive and the vine,
The saint and soldier, sword and shrine!
How glorious to young RAYMOND'S eye
Swell'd thy bold heights, spread thy clear sky,
When first he paused upon the height
Where, gather'd, lay the Christian might.
Amid a chesnut wood were raised
Their white tents, and the red cross blazed
Meteor-like, with its crimson shine,
O'er many a standard's scutcheon'd line.
On the hill opposite there stood
The warriors of the Moorish blood,--
With their silver crescents gleaming,
And their horse-tail pennons streaming;
With cymbals and the clanging gong,
The muezzin's unchanging song,
The turbans that like rainbows shone,
The coursers' gay caparison,
As if another world had been
Where that small rivulet ran between.
And there was desperate strife next day:
The little vale below that lay
Was like a slaughter-pit, of green
Could not one single trace be seen;
The Moslem warrior stretch'd beside
The Christian chief by whom he died;
And by the broken falchion blade
The crooked scymeter was laid.
And gallantly had RAYMOND borne
The red cross through the field that morn,
When suddenly he saw a knight
Oppress'd by numbers in the fight:
Instant his ready spear was flung,
Instant amid the band he sprung;--
They fight, fly, fall,--and from the fray
He leads the wounded knight away!
Gently he gain'd his tent, and there
He left him to the leech's care;
Then sought the field of death anew,--
Little was there for knight to do.
That field was strewn with dead and dying;
And mark'd he there DE VALENCE lying
Upon the turbann'd heap, which told
How dearly had his life been sold.
And yet on his curl'd lip was worn
The impress of a soldier's scorn;
And yet his dark and glazed eye
Glared its defiance stern and high:
His head was on his shield, his hand
Held to the last his own red brand.
Felt RAYMOND all too proud for grief
In gazing on the gallant chief:
So, thought he, should a warrior fall,
A victor dying last of all.
But sadness moved him when he gave
DE VALENCE to his lowly grave,--
The grave where the wild flowers were sleeping,
And one pale olive-tree was weeping,--
And placed the rude stone cross to show
A Christian hero lay below.
With the next morning's dawning light
Was RAYMOND by the wounded knight.
He heard strange tales,--none knew his name,
And none might say from whence he came;
He wore no cognizance, his steed
Was raven black, and black his weed.
All owned his fame, but yet they deem'd
More desperate than brave he seem'd;
Or as he only dared the field
For the swift death that it might yield.
Leaning beside the curtain, where
Came o'er his brow the morning air,
He found the stranger chief; his tone,
Surely 'twas one RAYMOND had known!
He knew him not, what chord could be
Thus waken'd on his memory?
At first the knight was cold and stern,
As that his spirit shunn'd to learn
Aught of affection; as it brought
To him some shaft of venom'd thought:
When one eve RAYMOND chanced to name
Durance's castle, whence he came;
And speak of EVA , and her fate,
So young and yet so desolate,
So beautiful! Then heard he all
Her father's wrongs, her mother's fall:
For AMIRALD was the knight whose life
RAYMOND had saved amid the strife;
And now he seem'd to find relief
In pouring forth his hidden grief,
Which had for years been as the stream
Cave-lock'd from either air or beam.
LORD AMIRALD'S HISTORY.
I LOVED her! ay, I would have given
A death-bed certainty of heaven
If I had thought it could confer
The least of happiness on her!
How proudly did I wait the hour
When hid no more in lowly bower,
She should shine, loveliest of all,
The lady of my heart and hall;--
And soon I deem'd the time would be,
For many a chief stood leagued with me.
It was one evening we had sate
In my tower's secret council late,
Our bands were number'd, and we said
That the pale moon's declining head
Should shed her next full light o'er bands
With banners raised, and sheathless brands.
We parted; I to seek the shade
Where my heart's choicest gem was laid;
I flung me on my fleetest steed,
I urged it to its utmost speed,--
On I went, like the hurrying wind,
Hill, dale, and plain were left behind,
And yet I thought my courser slow--
Even when the forest lay below.
As my wont, in a secret nook
I left my horse,--I may not tell
With what delight my way I took
Till I had reach'd the oak-hid dell.
The trees which hitherto had made
A more than night, with lighten'd shade
Now let the stars and sky shine through,
Rejoicing, calm, and bright, and blue.
There did not move a leaf that night
That I cannot remember now,
Nor yet a single star whose light
Was on the royal midnight's brow:
Wander'd no cloud, sigh'd not a flower,
That is not present at this hour.
No marvel memory thus should press
Round its last light of happiness!
I paused one moment where I stood,
In all a very miser's mood,
As if that thinking of its store
Could make my bosom's treasure more.
I saw the guiding lamp which shone
From the wreath'd lattice, pale and lone;
Another moment I was there,
To pause, and look—upon despair.
Scheme | Text too long |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11010001 01010101 11001111 11111111 11110101 11010101 0101101 11100111 100111101 101001011 10110011 010010101 11101010 0111110 11000101 010101 0101111 0111 11010111 1111101 01110111 01010111 11010111 11110111 010100101 01011111 0101011 010111 01001101 01110111 11001101 01110001 10110111 10010111 11110101 11010101 10111101 1111011 11011101 10111111 111111010 011111010 0101111 11011111 01111111 00110101 0111011 11010101 11111111 11011111 11011111 01010101 111101001 01010111 11011111 11011101 0110110010 011101110 01011111 01010101 10110101 11010101 11111111 01111111 11110011 11010111 11111111 1101111 11110101 10111111 10010101 110110101 11010111 10111011 11111111 1111100 11011101 11110111 11010111 1111111 11110111 110111 01110001 11011100 11001111 01010101 1110111 10110101 01111101 01011101 11111101 11110111 11100 110111110 011100110 11111101 01110010 110111010 111101010 111111 01011101 01110111 110011111 11110111 011010101 101010011 10110101 110111101 1101011 11011101 11110111 1111111 1111111 111101001 11010101 01111101 101010101 11100101 11111111 11011111 11110111 0111111 01111101 11010111 01010101 11110111 11100101 11010111 1101011 101111010 111101110 110100111 11111100 11110111 0101011 11110111 1111101 11010111 10110101 01010111 11010101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,984 |
Words | 930 |
Sentences | 30 |
Stanzas | 13 |
Stanza Lengths | 10, 10, 8, 12, 14, 6, 10, 6, 16, 1, 10, 22, 16 |
Lines Amount | 141 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 301 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 71 |
Font size:
Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 4:51 min read
- 88 Views
Citation
Use the citation below to add this poem analysis to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"The Troubadour. Canto 3 A (Lord Amirald)" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/25734/the-troubadour.-canto-3-a-%28lord-amirald%29>.
Discuss this Letitia Elizabeth Landon poem analysis with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In