Analysis of Beer
Charles Stuart Calverley 1831 (Martley) – 1884
1 In those old days which poets say were golden --
2 (Perhaps they laid the gilding on themselves:
3 And, if they did, I'm all the more beholden
4 To those brown dwellers in my dusty shelves,
5 Who talk to me 'in language quaint and olden'
6 Of gods and demigods and fauns and elves,
7 Pan with his pipes, and Bacchus with his leopards,
8 And staid young goddesses who flirt with shepherds:)
9 In those old days, the Nymph called Etiquette
10 (Appalling thought to dwell on) was not born.
11 They had their May, but no Mayfair as yet,
12 No fashions varying as the hues of morn.
13 Just as they pleased they dressed and drank and ate,
14 Sang hymns to Ceres (their John Barleycorn)
15 And danced unchaperoned, and laughed unchecked,
16 And were no doubt extremely incorrect.
17 Yet do I think their theory was pleasant:
18 And oft, I own, my 'wayward fancy roams'
19 Back to those times, so different from the present;
20 When no one smoked cigars, nor gave At-homes,
21 Nor smote a billiard-ball, nor winged a pheasant,
22 Nor 'did' her hair by means of long-tailed combs,
23 Nor migrated to Brighton once a year,
24 Nor -- most astonishing of all -- drank Beer.
25 No, they did not drink Beer, 'which brings me to'
26 (As Gilpin said) 'the middle of my song.'
27 Not that 'the middle' is precisely true,
28 Or else I should not tax your patience long:
29 If I had said 'beginning,' it might do;
30 But I have a dislike to quoting wrong:
31 I was unlucky -- sinned against, not sinning --
32 When Cowper wrote down 'middle' for 'beginning.'
33 So to proceed. That abstinence from Malt
34 Has always struck me as extremely curious.
35 The Greek mind must have had some vital fault,
36 That they should stick to liquors so injurious --
37 (Wine, water, tempered p'raps with Attic salt) --
38 And not at once invent that mild, luxurious,
39 And artful beverage, Beer. How the digestion
40 Got on without it, is a startling question.
41 Had they digestions? and an actual body
42 Such as dyspepsia might make attacks on?
43 Were they abstract ideas -- (like Tom Noddy
44 And Mr. Briggs) -- or men, like Jones and Jackson?
45 Then nectar -- was that beer, or whisky-toddy?
46 Some say the Gaelic mixture, I the Saxon:
47 I think a strict adherence to the latter
48 Might make some Scots less pigheaded, and fatter.
49 Besides, Bon Gaultier definitely shows
50 That the real beverage for feasting gods on
51 Is a soft compound, grateful to the nose
52 And also to the palate, known as 'Hidgson.'
53 I know a man -- a tailor's son -- who rose
54 To be a peer: and this I would lay odds on,
55 (Though in his Memoirs it may not appear,)
56 That that man owed his rise to copious Beer.
57 O Beer! O Hodgson, Guinness, Allsopp, Bass!
58 Names that should be on every infant's tongue!
59 Shall days and months and years and centuries pass,
60 And still your merits be unrecked, unsung?
61 Oh! I have gazed into my foaming glass,
62 And wished that lyre could yet again be strung
63 Which once rang prophet-like through Greece, and taught her
64 Misguided sons that the best drink was water.
65 How would he now recant that wild opinion,
66 And sing -- as would that I could sing -- of you!
67 I was not born (alas!) the 'Muses' minion,'
68 I'm not poetical, not even blue:
69 And he, we know, but strives with waxen pinion,
70 Whoe'er he is that entertains the view
71 Of emulating Pindar, and will be
72 Sponsor at last to some now nameless sea.
73 Oh! when the green slopes of Arcadia burned
74 With all the lustre of the dying day,
75 And on Cithæron's brow the reaper turned,
76 (Humming, of course, in his delightful way,
77 How Lycidas was dead, and how concerned
78 The Nymphs were when they saw his lifeless clay;
79 And how rock told to rock the dreadful story
80 That poor young Lycidas was gone to glory:)
81 What would that lone and labouring soul have given,
82 At that soft moment for a pewter pot!
83 How had the mists that dimmed his eye been riven,
84 And Lycidas and sorrow all forgot!
85 If his own grandmother had died unshriven,
86 In two short seconds he'd have recked it not;
87 Such power hath Beer. The heart which Grief hath cankered
88 Hath one unfailing remedy -
Scheme | ABABABCC DEXEXAFF GHGHGHII JKJKJKLL MNMNMNAA OPDADAQQ RPRARPII STSTSTQQ AJAJAJOO UVUVUVOO AWAWAWDO |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 01111101010 0111010101 01111101010 1111001101 11110101010 11010101 11110101110 01110011110 0111011100 0101111111 111111111 11010010111 1111110101 11110111 0110101 0011010001 1111110110 0111110101 111111001010 1111011111 11010111010 1101111111 110110101 1101001111 1111111111 1101010111 1101010101 1111111101 1111010111 1110011101 11010101110 11011101010 1101110011 11111010100 0111111101 111111010100 11010111101 011101110100 010100110010 11011101010 1110110010 11111011 0101010111 01011111010 1101111101 11010101010 11010101010 111111010 0111010001 10110011011 1011010101 0101010111 110101111 11010111111 101111101 11111111001 111101011 11111100101 11010101001 011101101 1111011101 0111110111 11110111010 01011011110 11110111010 0111111111 11110101010 1111101 0111111110 11110101 11001011 1011111101 11011101001 1101010101 011110101 1011010101 11110101 0101111101 01111101010 111111110 1111011110 1111010101 11011111110 01010101 11110111 0111011111 11011011111 11010100 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 4,419 |
Words | 810 |
Sentences | 32 |
Stanzas | 11 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 88 |
Letters per line (avg) | 36 |
Words per line (avg) | 13 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 290 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 102 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 03, 2023
- 4:04 min read
- 124 Views
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"Beer" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/5443/beer>.
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