Analysis of The Last Song Of Camoens
William Lisle Bowles 1762 (King's Sutton) – 1850
The morning shone on Tagus' rocky side,
And airs of summer swelled the yellow tide,
When, rising from his melancholy bed,
And faint, and feebly by Antonio led,
Poor Camoens, subdued by want and woe,
Along the winding margin wandered slow,
His harp, that once could each warm feeling move
Of patriot glory or of tenderest love,
His sole and sable friend (while a faint tone
Rose from the wires) placed by a mossy stone.
How beautiful the sun ascending shines
From ridge to ridge, along the purple vines!
How pure the azure of the opening skies!
How resonant the nearer rock replies
To call of early mariners! and, hark!
The distant whistle from yon parting bark,
That down the channel as serene she strays,
Her gray sail mingles with the morning haze,
Bound to explore, o'er ocean's stormy reign,
New lands that lurk amid the lonely main!
A transient fervour touched the old man's breast;
He raised his eyes, so long by care depressed,
And while they shone with momentary fire,
Ardent he struck the long-forgotten lyre.
From Tagus' yellow-sanded shore,
O'er the billows, as they roar,
O'er the blue sea, waste and wide,
Our bark threw back the burning tide,
By northern breezes cheer'ly borne,
On to the kingdoms of the morn.
Blanco, whose cold shadow vast
Chills the western wave, is past!
Huge Bojador, frowning high,
Thy dismal terrors we defy!
But who may violate the sleep
And silence of the sultry deep;
Where, beneath the intenser sun,
Hot showers descend, red lightnings run;
Whilst all the pale expanse beneath
Lies burning wide, without a breath;
And at mid-day from the mast,
No shadow on the deck is cast!
Night by night, still seen the same,
Strange lights along the cordage flame,
Perhaps, the spirits of the good,
That wander this forsaken flood
Sing to the seas, as slow we float,
A solemn and a holy note!
Spectre of the southern main,
Thou barr'st our onward way in vain,
Wrapping the terrors of thy form,
In the thunder's rolling storm!
Fearless o'er the indignant tide,
On to the east our galleys ride.
Triumph! for the toil is o'er--
We kiss the far-sought Indian shore!
Glittering to the orient ray,
The banners of the Cross display!
Does my heart exulting bound?
Alas, forlorn, I gaze around:
Feeble, poor, and old, I stand,
A stranger in my native land!
My sable slave (ah, no! my only friend,
Whose steps upon my rugged path attend)
Sees, but with tenderness that fears to speak,
The tear that trickles down my aged cheek!
My harp is silent,--famine shrinks mine eye,--
'Give me a little food for charity!'
Scheme | AABBCCDEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMNOOAAPPQQRRSSTTUVQQWWXYZZKK1 1 AAMO2 2 3 3 4 4 5 5 6 6 R7 |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 010111101 0111010101 110111001 01010101001 11011101 0101010101 1111111101 1100101111 1101011011 1101011011 1100010101 1111010101 11010101001 1100010101 1111010001 0101011101 1101010111 0111010101 11011010101 1111010101 010110111 1111111101 0111110010 1011010101 1110101 10010111 10011101 101110101 11010111 11010101 101111 1010111 11101 11010101 11110001 01010101 101011 110011101 11010101 11010101 0111101 1110111 1111101 11010101 01010101 11010101 11011111 01000101 1010101 1111010101 10010111 001101 101000101 110110101 10101110 110111001 10010101 01010101 1110101 01011101 1010111 01001101 1101111101 1101110101 1111001111 011101111 1111010111 1101011100 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,477 |
Words | 450 |
Sentences | 23 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 68 |
Lines Amount | 68 |
Letters per line (avg) | 29 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 1,970 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 445 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 03, 2023
- 2:17 min read
- 101 Views
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"The Last Song Of Camoens" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/40949/the-last-song-of-camoens>.
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