Analysis of The Hunting Horn Of Chalemagne
Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton 1808 (Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Sheridan London) – 1877 (London)
SOUND not the Horn!--the guarded relic keep:
A faithful sharer of its master's sleep:
His life it gladden'd--to his life belong'd,--
Pause--ere thy lip the royal dead hath wrong'd.
Its weary weight but mocks thy feeble hand;
Its desolate note, the shrine wherein we stand.
Not such the sound it gave in days of yore,
When that rich belt a monarch's bosom wore,--
Not such the sound! Far over hill and dell
It waked the echoes with triumphant swell;
Heard midst the rushing of the torrent's fall,
From castled crag to roofless ruin'd hall,
Down the ravine's precipitous descent,
Thro' the wild forest's rustling boughs it went,
Upon the lake's blue bosom linger'd fond,
And faintly answer'd from the hills beyond:
Pause!--the free winds that joyous blast have borne:--
Dead is the hunter!--silent be the horn!
Sound not the horn! Bethink thee of the day
When to the chase an Emperor led the way;
In all the pride of manhood's noblest prime,
Untamed by sorrow, and untired by time,
Life's pulses throbbing in his eager breast,
Glad, active, vigorous,--who is now at rest:--
How he gazed round him with his eagle eye,
Leapt the dark rocks that frown against the sky,
Grasp'd the long spear, and curb'd the panting steed
(Whose fine nerves quiver with his headlong speed),
At the wild cry of danger smiled in scorn,
And firmly sounded that re-echoing horn!
Ah! let no touch the ivory tube profane
Which drank the breath of living Charlemagne;
Let not like blast by meaner lips be blown,
But by the hunter's side the horn lay down!
Or, following to his palace, dream we now
Not of the hunter's strength, or forest bough,
But woman's love! HER offering this, perchance,--
This, granted to each stranger's casual glance,
This, gazed upon with coldly curious eyes,
Was giv'n with blushes, and received with sighs!
We see her not;--no mournful angel stands
To guard her love-gift from our careless hands;
But fancy brings a vision to our view--
A woman's form, the trusted and the true:
The strong to suffer, tho' so weak to dare
Patient to watch thro' many a day of care,
Devoted, anxious, generous, void of guile,
And with her whole heart's welcome in her smile;
Even such I see! Her maidens, too, are there,
And wake, with chorus sweet, some native air;
But tho' her proud heart holds her country dear,
And tho' she loves those happy songs to hear,
She bids the tale be hush'd, the harp be still,
For one faint blast that dies along the hill.
Up, up, she springs; her young head backward thrown;
'He comes! my hunter comes!--Mine own--mine own!'
She loves, and she is loved--her gift is worn--
'Tis fancy, all!--And yet--lay down the horn!
Love--life--what are ye?--since to love and live
No surer record to our times can give!
Low lies the hero now, whose spoken name
Could fire with glory, or with love inflame;
Low lies the arm of might, the form of pride,
And dim tradition dreameth by his side.
Desolate stand those painted palace-halls,
And gradual ruin mines the massy walls,
Where frank hearts greeted many a welcome guest,
And loudly rang the beaker and the jest;--
While here, within this chapel's narrow bound,
Whose frozen silence startles to the sound
Of stranger voices ringing thro' the air,
Of faintly echoes many a humble prayer;
Here, where the window, narrow arch'd, and high,
With jealous bars shuts out the free blue sky,--
Where glimmers down, with various-painted ray,
A prison'd portion of God's glorious day,--
Where never comes the breezy breath of morn,
Here, mighty hunter, feebly wakes thy horn!
Scheme | AABBCCDDEE FFGGHH II JJKKLLMMNNII OOPX QQRRSSTTUUVVWWVVXX XXPP II XXYYZZ1 1 LL2 2 VV MMJJII |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1101010101 0101011101 111111101 1111010111 1101111101 11001010111 1101110111 111101101 1101110101 1101010101 110101011 11111101 101010001 1011010111 0101110101 0101010101 1011110111 1101010101 110111101 11011100101 010111101 11100111 1101001101 11010011111 1111111101 1011110101 1011010101 111101111 1011110101 01010111001 11110100101 110111010 1111110111 1101010111 11001110111 1101011101 11010100101 11011101001 11011101001 1111000111 1101110101 11011110101 11010101101 0101010001 0111011111 10111100111 01010100111 0101110001 10111010111 0111011101 1101110101 0111110111 1101110111 1111110101 1111011101 1111011111 1101110111 1101011101 1111111101 11001110111 1101011101 11011011101 1101110111 010101111 1001110101 0100101011 11110100101 0101010001 1101110101 1101010101 1101010101 11010100101 1101010101 1101110111 11011100101 01010111001 1101010111 1101010111 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,526 |
Words | 629 |
Sentences | 25 |
Stanzas | 10 |
Stanza Lengths | 10, 6, 2, 12, 4, 18, 4, 2, 14, 6 |
Lines Amount | 78 |
Letters per line (avg) | 35 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 270 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 61 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:16 min read
- 98 Views
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"The Hunting Horn Of Chalemagne" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/4801/the-hunting-horn-of-chalemagne>.
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