Analysis of Merlin I
Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803 (Boston) – 1882 (Concord)
Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor tinkle of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smite the chords rudely and hard,
As with hammer or with mace,
That they may render back
Artful thunder that conveys
Secrets of the solar track,
Sparks of the supersolar blaze.
Merlin's blows are strokes of fate,
Chiming with the forest-tone,
When boughs buffet boughs in the wood;
Chiming with the gasp and moan
Of the ice-imprisoned flood;
With the pulse of manly hearts,
With the voice of orators,
With the din of city arts,
With the cannonade of wars.
With the marches of the brave,
And prayers of might from martyrs' cave.
Great is the art,
Great be the manners of the bard!
He shall not his brain encumber
With the coil of rhythm and number,
But, leaving rule and pale forethought,
He shall aye climb
For his rhyme:
Pass in, pass in, the angels say,
In to the upper doors;
Nor count compartments of the floors,
But mount to Paradise
By the stairway of surprise.
Blameless master of the games,
King of sport that never shames;
He shall daily joy dispense
Hid in song's sweet influence.
Things more cheerly live and go,
What time the subtle mind
Plays aloud the tune whereto
Their pulses beat,
And march their feet,
And their members are combined.
By Sybarites beguiled
He shall no task decline;
Merlin's mighty line,
Extremes of nature reconciled,
Bereaved a tyrant of his will,
And made the lion mild.
Songs can the tempest still,
Scattered on the stormy air,
Mould the year to fair increase,
And bring in poetic peace.
He shall not seek to weave,
In weak unhappy times,
Efficacious rhymes;
Wait his returning strength,
Bird, that from the nadir's floor,
To the zenith's top could soar,
The soaring orbit of the muse exceeds that journey's length!
Nor, profane, affect to hit
Or compass that by meddling wit,
Which only the propitious mind
Publishes when 'tis inclined.
There are open hours
When the god's will sallies free,
And the dull idiot might see
The flowing fortunes of a thousand years;
Sudden, at unawares,
Self-moved fly-to the doors,
Nor sword of angels could reveal
What they conceal.
Scheme | AXAXBCBCDDXEFEFXGXGXHIHJKK BDLLXMMXJJXX NNXXXOBPPO QRRQSQSXTT XUUVWWV XXOOIYYXXJZZ |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110011101 111101 11111101 101001 1111 11010101 110111 01101 0101 11011001 1110111 111101 1010101 1010101 11011 111111 110101 11101001 110101 1010101 1011101 1011100 1011101 10111 1010101 01111101 1101 11010101 11111010 101110010 1101011 1111 111 10100101 010101 11010101 11110 101101 1010101 1111101 1110101 1011100 111101 110101 101011 1101 0111 0110101 1101 111101 1101 0111010 01010111 010101 110101 1010101 1011101 0100101 111111 010101 0101 110101 111011 1010111 0101010101111 1010111 110111001 11000101 1001101 111010 1011101 00110011 0101010101 10101 111101 11110101 1101 |
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 2,195 |
Words | 397 |
Sentences | 15 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 26, 12, 10, 10, 7, 12 |
Lines Amount | 77 |
Letters per line (avg) | 23 |
Words per line (avg) | 5 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 298 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 66 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on May 03, 2023
- 2:01 min read
- 106 Views
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