Analysis of To The Apennines

William Cullen Bryant 1794 (Cummington) – 1878 (New York City)



Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines!
In the soft light of these serenest skies;
From the broad highland region, black with pines,
Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise,
Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold
In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.

There, rooted to the aerial shelves that wear
The glory of a brighter world, might spring
Sweet flowers of heaven to scent the unbreathed air,
And heaven's fleet messengers might rest the wing,
To view the fair earth in its summer sleep,
Silent, and cradled by the glimmering deep.

Below you lie men's sepulchres, the old
Etrurian tombs, the graves of yesterday;
The herd's white bones lie mixed with human mould--
Yet up the radiant steeps that I survey
Death never climbed, nor life's soft breath, with pain,
Was yielded to the elements again.

Ages of war have filled these plains with fear;
How oft the hind has started at the clash
Of spears, and yell of meeting, armies here,
Or seen the lightning of the battle flash
From clouds, that rising with the thunder's sound,
Hung like an earth-born tempest o'er the ground!

Ah me! what armed nations--Asian horde,
And Libyan host--the Scythian and the Gaul,
Have swept your base and through your passes poured,
Like ocean-tides uprising at the call
Of tyrant winds--against your rocky side
The bloody billows dashed, and howled, and died.

How crashed the towers before beleaguering foes,
Sacked cities smoked and realms were rent in twain;
And commonwealths against their rivals rose,
Trode out their lives and earned the curse of Cain!
While in the noiseless air and light that flowed
Round your far brows, eternal Peace abode.

Here pealed the impious hymn, and altar flames
Rose to false gods, a dream-begotten throng,
Jove, Bacchus, Pan, and earlier, fouler names;
While, as the unheeding ages passed along,
Ye, from your station in the middle skies,
Proclaimed the essential Goodness, strong and wise.

In you the heart that sighs for freedom seeks
Her image; there the winds no barrier know,
Clouds come and rest and leave your fairy peaks;
While even the immaterial Mind, below,
And thought, her winged offspring, chained by power,
Pine silently for the redeeming hour.


Scheme AAAABB CDCDEE BFBFGX XHXHII JKJKLL AGAGMM ANANAA AOAOPP
Poetic Form
Metre 11110011 00111111 1011010111 110111011 10010100101 0101010101 11010100111 0101010111 11011011011 01011001101 1101101101 1001101001 01111101 1101110 0111111101 11010011101 1101111111 1101010001 1011111111 1101110101 1101110101 1101010101 111101011 11111101001 111110101 010010100001 1111011101 1101010101 1101011101 0101010101 110100101001 1101010101 01011101 1111010111 100110111 1111010101 11001010101 1111010101 1101010011 110110101 1111000101 01001010101 0101111101 01010111001 1101011101 11000100101 010111110 11001001010
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 2,136
Words 370
Sentences 12
Stanzas 8
Stanza Lengths 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6
Lines Amount 48
Letters per line (avg) 36
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 216
Words per stanza (avg) 46
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 24, 2023

1:52 min read
77

William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. more…

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