Analysis of The Martyr
Not only on cross and gibbet,
By sword, and fire, and flood,
Have perished the world’s sad martyrs
Whose names are writ in blood.
A woman lay in a hovel,
Mean, dismal, gasping for breath;
One friend alone was beside her—
The name of him was—Death.
For the sake of her orphan children,
For money to buy them food,
She had slaved in the dismal hovel
And wasted her womanhood.
Winter and Spring and Summer
Came each with a load of cares;
And Autumn to her brought only
A harvest of gray hairs.
Far out in the blessèd country,
Beyond the smoky town,
The winds of God were blowing
Evermore up and down;
The trees were waving signals
Of joy from the bush beyond;
The gum its blue-green banner,
The fern its dark green frond;
Flower called to flower in whispers
By sweet caressing names,
And young gum shoots sprang upward
Like woodland altar-flames;
And, deep in the distant ranges,
The magpie’s fluting song
Roused musical, mocking echoes
In the woods of Dandenong;
And riders were galloping gaily
With loose-held flowing reins,
Through dim and shadowy gullies,
Across broad, treeless plains;
And winds through the Heads came wafting
A breath of life from the sea,
And over the blue horizon
The ships sailed silently;
And out of the sea at morning
The sun rose, golden bright,
And in crimson, and gold, and purple
Sank in the sea at night;
But in dreams alone she saw them,
Her hours of toil between;
For life to her was only
A heartless dead machine.
Her heart was in the graveyard
Where lay her children three,
Nor work nor prayer could save them,
Nor tears of agony.
On the lips of her last and dearest
Pressing a farewell kiss,
She cried aloud in her anguish—
“Can God make amends for this?”
Dull, desperate, ceaseless slaving
Bereft her of power to pray,
And Man was careless and cruel,
And God was far away.
But who shall measure His mercies!
His ways are in the deep;
And, after a life of sorrow,
He gave her His gift of sleep.
Rest comes at last to the weary,
And freedom to the slave;
Her tired and worn-out body
Sleeps well in its pauper grave.
But His angel bore her soul up
To that Bright Land and Fair,
Where Sorrow enters never,
Nor any cloud of Care.
They came to a lovely valley,
Agleam with asphodel,
And the soul of the woman speaking
Said—“Here I fain would dwell!”
The Angel answered gently:
“O Soul most pure and dear,
O Soul most tried and truest,
They dwelling is not here!
“Behold thy place appointed—
Long kept, long waiting—come!—
Where bloom on the hills of heaven
The roses of Martyrdom!’
Scheme | AABA CDED FACA EGHG HIJI XAEA BKAK XXXJ HLML JHFH JACA NOHO AHNH APXP JQCQ MRXR HSAS XTET HCJX HXAX AUFU |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain (81%) |
Metre | 1101101 1101001 11001110 111101 01010010 1101011 11011010 011111 101101010 1101111 111001010 010010 1001010 1110111 01010110 010111 11001110 010101 0111010 10101 0101010 1110101 0111110 011111 101110010 110101 0111110 11101 01001010 0111 11001010 00111 010010010 111101 11010010 011101 01101110 0111101 01001010 011100 01101110 011101 001001010 100111 10101111 0101101 1110110 010101 011001 110101 1111111 111100 101101010 10011 11010010 1110111 110101 01011011 01110010 011101 11110110 111001 01001110 1101111 11111010 010101 01001110 1101101 11101011 111101 1101010 110111 11101010 0111 001101010 111111 0101010 111101 1111010 110111 0111010 111101 11101110 0101100 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,615 |
Words | 465 |
Sentences | 17 |
Stanzas | 21 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 84 |
Letters per line (avg) | 23 |
Words per line (avg) | 5 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 93 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 22 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:19 min read
- 80 Views
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"The Martyr" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/37538/the-martyr>.
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