Analysis of Prayer Of Columbus

Walt Whitman 1819 (West Hills) – 1892 (Camden)



IT was near the close of his indomitable and pious life--on his last voyage
when nearly 70 years of age--that Columbus, to save his two remaining ships
from foundering in the Caribbean Sea in a terrible storm, had to run them
ashore on the Island of Jamaica--where, laid up for a long and miserable
year--1503--he was taken very sick, had several relapses, his men revolted,
and death seem'd daily imminent; though he was eventually rescued, and sent
home to Spain to die, unrecognized, neglected and in want......It is only
ask'd, as preparation and atmosphere for the following lines, that the bare
authentic facts be recall'd and realized, and nothing contributed by the
fancy. See, the Antillean Island, with its florid skies and rich foliage
and scenery, the waves beating the solitary sands, and the hulls of the
ships in the distance. See, the figure of the great Admiral, walking the
beach, as a stage, in this sublimest tragedy--for what tragedy, what poem,
so piteous and majestic as the real scene?--and hear him uttering--as his
mystical and religious soul surely utter'd, the ideas following--perhaps,
in their equivalents, the very words.

A BATTER'D, wreck'd old man,
   Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
   Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
   Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd, and nigh to death,
   I take my way along the island's edge,
   Venting a heavy heart.

I am too full of woe!
   Haply, I may not live another day;
   I can not rest, O God--I can not eat or drink or sleep,
   Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee,             10
   Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee--commune with Thee,
   Report myself once more to Thee.

Thou knowest my years entire, my life,
   (My long and crowded life of active work--not adoration merely;)
   Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth;
   Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations;
   Thou knowest how, before I commenced, I devoted all to come to Thee;
   Thou knowest I have in age ratified all those vows, and strictly kept
         them;
   Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee;
   (In shackles, prison'd, in disgrace, repining not,                 20
   Accepting all from Thee--as duly come from Thee.)

All my emprises have been fill'd with Thee,
   My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee,
   Sailing the deep, or journeying the land for Thee;
   Intentions, purports, aspirations mine--leaving results to Thee.

O I am sure they really come from Thee!
   The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will,
   The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words,
   A message from the Heavens, whispering to me even in sleep,
   These sped me on.                                                  30

By me, and these, the work so far accomplish'd (for what has been,
         has been;)
   By me Earth's elder, cloy'd and stifled lands, uncloy'd, unloos'd;
   By me the hemispheres rounded and tied--the unknown to the known.

The end I know not--it is all in Thee;
   Or small, or great, I know not--haply, what broad fields, what lands;
   Haply, the brutish, measureless human undergrowth I know,
   Transplanted there, may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee;
   Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turn'd to reaping-tools;
   Haply the lifeless cross I know--Europe's dead cross--may bud and
         blossom there.

One effort more--my altar this bleak sand:                         40
   That Thou, O God, my life hast lighted,
   With ray of light, steady, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee,
   (Light rare, untellable--lighting the very light!
   Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages!)
   For that, O God--be it my latest word--here on my knees,
   Old, poor, and paralyzed--I thank Thee.

My terminus near,
   The clouds already closing in upon me,
   The voyage balk'd--the course disputed, lost,
   I yield my ships to Thee.                                          50

Steersman unseen! henceforth the helms are Thine;
   Take Thou command--(what to my petty skill Thy navigation?)
   My hands, my limbs grow nerveless;
   My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd; Let the old timbers part--I will
         not part!
   I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me;
   Thee, Thee, at least, I know.

Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
   What do I know of life? what of myself?
   I know not even my own work, past or present;                    


Scheme XABXCXDEFXFFXXXG XXXXXH IXJDDD XDXXDXBDXD DDDD DKGJX LLCX DXIDXXE XXDXXXD XDXD XXAKHDI XXX
Poetic Form
Metre 111011101000010111110 110111101011110101 110000010010010011111 011010101011110101000 1111010111001011010 01110100111010001001 11111010010001110 11010010101001101 0101101010010010010 1010110111010110 010001100100100110 100101010101100100 110101110011100110 110010101101110011 100001011010001010001 0101000101 010111 1111011111 11010101011101 111101100111 1111010101 100101 111111 111110101 11111111111111 11111111111 11111011011 0111111 111101011 1101011101101010 1101010111 1111100100010 11101101101011111 111101101110101 1 111111111110001 0101000111 010111110111 11111111 101010101010111 100111000111 01010101100111 1111110111 01010011 01010100011011 0101010100111001 1111 110101110101111 11 111101010111 11011001001101 0111111101 1111111111111 10101101011 01011111010101 101111101111101 10101111011110 101 1101110111 111111110 1111100100111 111100101 0111010100 11111111011111 11010111 111 01010100011 0101010101 111111 101110111 110111110111010 111111 111101010110111 11 11111111101101 111111 110111111110 111111111 111101111110
Closest metre Iambic hexameter
Characters 4,466
Words 719
Sentences 26
Stanzas 12
Stanza Lengths 16, 6, 6, 10, 4, 5, 4, 7, 7, 4, 7, 3
Lines Amount 79
Letters per line (avg) 41
Words per line (avg) 11
Letters per stanza (avg) 267
Words per stanza (avg) 71
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 26, 2023

3:42 min read
154

Walt Whitman

Walter "Walt" Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist. more…

All Walt Whitman poems | Walt Whitman Books

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