Analysis of Death Of Archbishop Turpin. (From The French)
The Archbishop, whom God loved in high degree,
Beheld his wounds all bleeding fresh and free;
And then his cheek more ghastly grew and wan,
And a faint shudder through his members ran.
Upon the battle-field his knee was bent;
Brave Roland saw, and to his succor went,
Straightway his helmet from his brow unlaced,
And tore the shining hauberk from his breast.
Then raising in his arms the man of God,
Gently he laid him on the verdant sod.
Rest, Sire,' he cried,--'for rest thy suffering needs.'
The priest replied, 'Think but of warlike deeds!
The field is ours; well may we boast this strife!
But death steals on,--there is no hope of life;
In paradise, where Almoners live again,
There are our couches spread, there shall we rest from pain.
Sore Roland grieved; nor marvel I, alas!
That thrice he swooned upon the thick green grass.
When he revived, with a loud voice cried he,
'O Heavenly Father! Holy Saint Marie!
Why lingers death to lay me in my grave!
Beloved France! how have the good and brave
Been torn from thee, and left thee weak and poor!'
Then thoughts of Aude, his lady-love, came o'er
His spirit, and he whispered soft and slow,
'My gentle friend!--what parting full of woe!
Never so true a liegeman shalt thou see;--
Whate'er my fate, Christ's benison on thee!
Christ, who did save from realms of woe beneath,
The Hebrew Prophets from the second death.'
Then to the Paladins, whom well he knew,
He went, and one by one unaided drew
To Turpin's side, well skilled in ghostly lore;--
No heart had he to smile, but, weeping sore,
He blessed them in God's name, with faith that He
Would soon vouchsafe to them a glad eternity.
The Archbishop, then, on whom God's benison rest,
Exhausted, bowed his head upon his breast;--
His mouth was full of dust and clotted gore,
And many a wound his swollen visage bore.
Slow beats his heart, his panting bosom heaves,
Death comes apace,--no hope of cure relieves.
Towards heaven he raised his dying hands and prayed
That God, who for our sins was mortal made,
Born of the Virgin, scorned and crucified,
In paradise would place him by His side.
Then Turpin died in service of Charlon,
In battle great and eke great orison;--
'Gainst Pagan host alway strong champion;
God grant to him His holy benison.
Scheme | AABXCCCDEEFFGGXX HHAAIIXXJJAAXXKKLLAA DDLLMMNNOO BBXB |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Etheree (20%) |
Metre | 01101110101 111110101 0111110101 0011011101 0101011111 1101011101 11101111 010101111 1100110111 1011110101 110111111001 010111111 01110111111 1111111111 01011101 1110101111111 1101110101 1111010111 1101101111 11001010101 1101111011 011110101 1111011101 11111101110 1100110101 1101110111 101101111 10111111 1111111101 0101010101 11011111 1101110101 111110101 1111111101 1110111111 11111010100 0110111111 0101110111 1111110101 01001110101 1111110101 1101111101 011011110101 11111011101 110101010 010111111 110101011 01010111 110111100 11111101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,262 |
Words | 416 |
Sentences | 24 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 16, 20, 10, 4 |
Lines Amount | 50 |
Letters per line (avg) | 35 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 435 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 101 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:05 min read
- 95 Views
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"Death Of Archbishop Turpin. (From The French)" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/18559/death-of-archbishop-turpin.-%28from-the-french%29>.
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