Analysis of Younger Brutus
Count Giacomo Leopardi 1798 (Recanati) – 1837 (Naples)
When in the Thracian dust uprooted lay,
In ruin vast, the strength of Italy,
And Fate had doomed Hesperia's valleys green,
And Tiber's shores,
The trampling of barbarian steeds to feel,
And from the leafless groves,
On which the Northern Bear looks down,
Had called the Gothic hordes,
That Rome's proud walls might fall before their swords;
Exhausted, wet with brothers' blood,
Alone sat Brutus, in the dismal night;
Resolved on death, the gods implacable
Of heaven and hell he chides,
And smites the listless, drowsy air
With his fierce cries of anger and despair.
'O foolish virtue, empty mists,
The realms of shadows, are thy schools,
And at thy heels repentance follows fast.
To you, ye marble gods
(If ye in Phlegethon reside, or dwell
Above the clouds), a mockery and scorn
Is the unhappy race,
Of whom you temples ask,
And fraudulent the law that you impose.
Say, then, does earthly piety provoke
The anger of the gods?
O Jove, dost thou protect the impious?
And when the storm-cloud rushes through the air,
And thou thy thunderbolts dost aim,
Against the _just_ dost thou impel the sacred flame?
Unconquered Fate and stern necessity
Oppress the feeble slaves of Death:
Unable to avert their injuries,
The common herd endure them patiently.
But is the ill less hard to bear,
Because it has no remedy?
Does he who knows no hope no sorrow feel?
The hero wages war with thee,
Eternal deadly war, ungracious Fate,
And knows not how to yield; and thy right hand,
Imperious, proudly shaking off,
E'en when it weighs upon him most,
Though conquered, is triumphant still,
When his sharp sword inflicts the fatal blow;
And seeks with haughty smile the shades below.
'Who storms the gates of Tartarus,
Offends the gods.
Such valor does not suit, forsooth,
Their soft, eternal bosoms; no?
Or are our toils and miseries,
And all the anguish of our hearts,
A pleasant sport, their leisure to beguile?
Yet no such life of crime and wretchedness,
But pure and free as her own woods and fields,
Nature to us prescribed; a queen
And goddess once. Since impious custom, now,
Her happy realm hath scattered to the winds,
And other laws on this poor life imposed,
Will Nature of fool-hardiness accuse
The manly souls, who such a life refuse?
'Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant,
Serene old age the beasts conducts
Unto the death they ne'er foresee.
But if, by misery impelled, they sought
To dash their heads against the rugged tree,
Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock,
Their limbs to scatter to the winds.
No law mysterious, misconception dark,
Would the sad wish refuse to grant.
Of all that breathe the breath of life,
You, only, children of Prometheus, feel
That life a burden hard to bear;
Yet, would you seek the silent shores of death,
If sluggish fate the boon delay,
To you, alone, stern Jove forbids the way.
'And thou, white moon, art rising from the sea,
That with our blood is stained;
The troubled night dost thou survey,
And field, so fatal unto Italy.
On brothers' breasts the conqueror treads;
The hills with fear are thrilled;
From her proud heights Rome totters to her fall.
And smilest thou upon the dismal scene?
Lavinia's children from their birth,
And all their prosperous years,
And well-earned laurels, hast thou seen;
And thou _wilt_ smile, with ray unchanged,
Upon the Alps, when, bowed with grief and shame,
The haughty city, desolate and lone,
Beneath the tread of Gothic hordes shall groan.
'Behold, amid the naked rocks,
Or on the verdant bough, the beast and bird,
Whose breasts are ne'er by thought or memory stirred,
Of the vast ruin take no heed,
Or of the altered fortunes of the world;
And when the humble herdsman's cot
Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn,
The one will wake the valleys with his song,
The other, o'er the cliffs, the frightened throng
Of smaller beasts before him drive.
O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all!
Nor are these blood-stained fields,
These caverns, that our groans have heard,
Regardful of our misery;
Nor shines one star less brightly in the sky.
Not the deaf kings of heaven or hell,
Or the unworthy earth,
Or night, do I in death invoke,
Or thee, last gleam the dying hour that cheers,
The voice of coming ages. I no tomb
Scheme ABCDEXXFFXXXXGG XXXHIXXXXJHXGKKBLMBGBEBXXXXXNN DHLNMXXDOCXPXQQ XXBXBXPXXXEGLAA BXABXXRCSTCXKUU XVVXXXXWWXROVBXISJTG Poetic Form Etheree (24%)
Tetractys (20%)Metre 100110101 0101011100 01111101 011 01010100111 010101 11010111 110101 1111110111 01011101 0111000101 0111010100 1100111 01010101 1111110001 11010101 0111111 0111010101 111101 11010111 0101010001 100101 111101 0100011101 1111010001 010101 1111010010 0101110101 011111 010111010101 11010100 01010111 0101011100 0101011100 11011111 01111100 1111111101 01010111 01010111 0111110111 010010101 111110111 11010101 1111010101 0111010101 110111 0101 1101111 1101011 111010100 010101101 0101110101 11111101 1101101101 10110101 01011010101 0101110101 0101111101 11011101 0101110101 11011100100 01110101 10011101 1111000111 1111010101 110110101 11110101 11010000101 10110111 11110111 11010111 11010111 1111010111 11010101 1101110101 0111110101 1110111 01011101 0111010100 110101001 011111 101111101 011010101 110111 0111001 01110111 01111101 0101111101 0101010001 0101110111 01010101 1101010101 11111111001 10110111 1101010101 0101011 11010100111 0111010111 01010010101 11010111 1101110111 111111 110110111 1110100 1111110001 101111011 100101 11110101 11110101011 01110101111 Closest metre Iambic pentameter Characters 4,316 Words 737 Sentences 29 Stanzas 6 Stanza Lengths 15, 30, 15, 15, 15, 20 Lines Amount 110 Letters per line (avg) 30 Words per line (avg) 7 Letters per stanza (avg) 550 Words per stanza (avg) 123 Font size:Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:43 min read
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"Younger Brutus" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 5 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/7329/younger-brutus>.
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