Analysis of The Souls of the Slain.
Thomas Hardy 1840 (Stinsford) – 1928 (Dorchester, Dorset)
The thick lids of Night closed upon me
Alone at the Bill
Of the Isle by the Race -
Many-caverned, bald, wrinkled of face -
And with darkness and silence the spirit was on me
To brood and be still.
No wind fanned the flats of the ocean,
Or promontory sides,
Or the ooze by the strand,
Or the bent-bearded slope of the land,
Whose base took its rest amid everlong motion
Of criss-crossing tides.
Soon from out of the Southward seemed nearing
A whirr, as of wings
Waved by mighty-vanned flies,
Or by night-moths of measureless size,
And in softness and smoothness well-nigh beyond hearing
Of corporal things.
And they bore to the bluff, and alighted -
A dim-discerned train
Of sprites without mould,
Frameless souls none might touch or might hold -
On the ledge by the turreted lantern, farsighted
By men of the main.
And I heard them say "Home!" and I knew them
For souls of the felled
On the earth's nether bord
Under Capricorn, whither they'd warred,
And I neared in my awe, and gave heedfulness to them
With breathings inheld.
Then, it seemed, there approached from the northward
A senior soul-flame
Of the like filmy hue:
And he met them and spake: "Is it you,
O my men?" Said they, "Aye! We bear homeward and hearthward
To list to our fame!"
"I've flown there before you," he said then:
"Your households are well;
But--your kin linger less
On your glory arid war-mightiness
Than on dearer things."--"Dearer?" cried these from the dead then,
"Of what do they tell?"
"Some mothers muse sadly, and murmur
Your doings as boys -
Recall the quaint ways
Of your babyhood's innocent days.
Some pray that, ere dying, your faith had grown firmer,
And higher your joys.
"A father broods: 'Would I had set him
To some humble trade,
And so slacked his high fire,
And his passionate martial desire;
Had told him no stories to woo him and whet him
To this due crusade!"
"And, General, how hold out our sweethearts,
Sworn loyal as doves?"
--"Many mourn; many think
It is not unattractive to prink
Them in sables for heroes. Some fickle and fleet hearts
Have found them new loves."
"And our wives?" quoth another resignedly,
"Dwell they on our deeds?"
--"Deeds of home; that live yet
Fresh as new--deeds of fondness or fret;
Ancient words that were kindly expressed or unkindly,
These, these have their heeds."
--"Alas! then it seems that our glory
Weighs less in their thought
Than our old homely acts,
And the long-ago commonplace facts
Of our lives--held by us as scarce part of our story,
And rated as nought!"
Then bitterly some: "Was it wise now
To raise the tomb-door
For such knowledge? Away!"
But the rest: "Fame we prized till to-day;
Yet that hearts keep us green for old kindness we prize now
A thousand times more!"
Thus speaking, the trooped apparitions
Began to disband
And resolve them in two:
Those whose record was lovely and true
Bore to northward for home: those of bitter traditions
Again left the land,
And, towering to seaward in legions,
They paused at a spot
Overbending the Race -
That engulphing, ghast, sinister place -
Whither headlong they plunged, to the fathomless regions
Of myriads forgot.
And the spirits of those who were homing
Passed on, rushingly,
Like the Pentecost Wind;
And the whirr of their wayfaring thinned
And surceased on the sky, and but left in the gloaming
Sea-mutterings and me.
Scheme | ABCCAB DEFFDE GHIIGH FJKKXJ LXFFLF XMNNFM OPXCOP QRSSQR TUQQTU VWXGVW BXYYBX AXZZAF 1 2 3 3 1 2 4 FNN4 F 4 5 CC4 5 GBXXGA |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 011111011 01101 101101 10111011 0110010010111 11011 111011010 111 101101 101101101 1111101110 11101 1111010110 01111 111011 1111111 0010010110110 11001 01110101 01011 11011 11111111 10110110110 11101 0111110111 11101 101101 101001011 01101101111 111 1111011010 01011 10111 011101111 111111111001 111101 111011111 1111 111101 11101011 1110110111011 11111 110110010 11011 1011 1111001 111110111110 01011 010111111 11101 0111110 0110010010 111110111011 11101 0100111101 11011 101101 11101011 1010110110011 11111 010110101 111101 111111 111111011 10110100111 11111 0111111010 11011 1101101 00101101 110111111111010 01011 110011111 11011 111001 101111111 1111111110111 01011 11001010 01101 001101 110111001 1110111110010 01101 0100110010 11101 101 1111001 1011110110 1101 0010111010 111 10101 0011111 011010110010 110001 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,689 |
Words | 619 |
Sentences | 29 |
Stanzas | 16 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6 |
Lines Amount | 96 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 161 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 37 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:03 min read
- 155 Views
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"The Souls of the Slain." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/36564/the-souls-of-the-slain.>.
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