Analysis of An Exile's Death
Victor Marie Hugo 1802 (Besançon) – 1885 (Paris)
Of what does this poor exile dream?
His garden plot, his dewy mead,
Perchance his tools, perchance his team,—
But ever of murdered France indeed;
Her memory makes his sad heart bleed.
While those that slew her clutch their pay,
The exile pleads with bitter cry:
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
The workman sees his workshop still,
And the poor peasant his loved cot;
Sweet homely flowers on the window-sill,
Or the bright hearth (when flowers bloom not)
Smiling on all things unforgot,—
E'en flickering on that nook whence aye
His grandmam's bed erst met his eye.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
In springtime swarm the honey bees;
Pert sparrows, quick heaven's gifts to share.
Blithe 'mong the barley crop one sees;
Sad little rogues, sans though, or care
They rob, as though they eagles were.
An old-world chateau, ivied, grey,
Crumbles the snug farmstead anigh.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
With file and mallet one can live
And keep one's wife and youngster's bright;
One works from faintest dawn till eve,
And in the toil finds true delight.
O sacred labour! life and light!
Our fathers toiled till, wearied, they
Resigned the tools with a smile or sigh.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
On holidays, the artisan,
His tools and cares all cheerily stowing,
Singing brave songs which bless or ban,
Cap jaunty on brow, blouse loosely flowing,
Forth to some festal haunt is going.
One eats a rabbit (so they say!)
And quaffs sour wine of Hungary.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
On Sundays aye the peasant strong
Sings out for Jeanne or Jacqueline:
'Now sweetheart, quickly come along,—
I warrant me, with ribbons fine,—
To dance on the hill till stars bright shine.'
The sabot hath a tricksy way
Of making music in July.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
Mournfully aye the exiles muse,
With spirit,—alas! nigh broken down.
Still they regard the darkling yews
That on green peaceful graves still frown.
One dreams of Germany, and one
Of poor bruised Poland, hapless prey,
And one of beauteous Italy.
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
An exile, tired of hopeless pain,
Lay dying; calm, scarce sad, looked he.
'Why die?' I gently asked him then.
He answered, 'Is life sweet to thee?'
Then smiled, 'I shall at length be free!
Farewell, I die. O France, for aye
Thee shall the tyrant crucify?'
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
'I die because I see no longer
The fields, erewhile the world to me.
I die, because I hear no longer
The birds, my whole world's melody.
My soul is where I cannot be.
'Twixt four rough planks my body lay,
And bury me,—I care not, I!'
One cannot live with bread away;
Afar from home, one's fain—how fain!—to die.
Scheme | ababbcdCD efefbddCD ghghicjCD jkjkkcdCD lmxmmcnCD mxmoocdCD xpgplcnCD xnxnnddCD ininncdCD |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111 11011101 01110111 110110101 010011111 11110111 0111101 11011101 0111111111 0101111 00110111 1101010101 101111011 101111 1110011111 1111111 11011101 0111111111 0110101 110110111 11010111 11011111 11111100 1110111 100111 11011101 0111111111 11010111 01110101 11110111 00011101 1101101 101011101 010110111 11011101 0111111111 1100100 1101111 10111111 1101111010 11111110 11010111 011011100 11011101 0111111111 1110101 11111100 1110101 11011101 111011111 011011 1101001 11011101 0111111111 11011 110011101 1101011 11110111 11110001 11110101 0111100 11011101 0111111111 11101101 11011111 11110111 11011111 11111111 1111111 1101010 11011101 0111111111 110111110 0110111 110111110 01111100 11111101 11111101 01011111 11011101 0111111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,985 |
Words | 546 |
Sentences | 49 |
Stanzas | 9 |
Stanza Lengths | 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9, 9 |
Lines Amount | 81 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 256 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 58 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 14, 2023
- 2:46 min read
- 64 Views
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