Analysis of The Legend of La Brea
Charles Kingsley 1819 – 1875
Down beside the loathly Pitch Lake,
In the stately Morichal,
Sat an ancient Spanish Indian,
Peering through the columns tall.
Watching vainly for the flashing
Of the jewelled colibris;
Listening vainly for their humming
Round the honey-blossomed trees.
'Few,' he sighed, 'they come, and fewer,
To the cocorite bowers;
Murdered, madly, through the forests
Which of yore were theirs-and ours
By there came a negro hunter,
Lithe and lusty, sleek and strong,
Rolling round his sparkling eyeballs,
As he loped and lounged along.
Rusty firelock on his shoulder;
Rusty cutlass on his thigh;
Never jollier British subject
Rollicked underneath the sky.
British law to give him safety,
British fleets to guard his shore,
And a square of British freehold-
He had all we have, and more.
Fattening through the endless summer,
Like his own provision ground,
He had reached the summum bonum
Which our latest wits have found.
So he thought; and in his hammock
Gnawed his junk of sugar-cane,
Toasted plantains at the fire-stick,
Gnawed, and dozed, and gnawed again.
Had a wife in his ajoupa -
Or, at least, what did instead;
Children, too, who died so early,
He'd no need to earn their bread.
Never stole, save what he needed,
From the Crown woods round about;
Never lied, except when summoned-
Let the warden find him out.
Never drank, except at market;
Never beat his sturdy mate;
She could hit as hard as he could,
And had just as hard a pate.
Had no care for priest nor parson,
Hope of heaven nor fear of hell;
And in all his views of nature
Held with Comte and Peter Bell.
Healthy, happy, silly, kindly,
Neither care nor toil had he,
Save to work an hour at sunrise,
And then hunt the colibri.
Not a bad man; not a good man:
Scarce a man at all, one fears,
If the Man be that within us
Which is born of fire and tears.
Round the palm-stems, round the creepers,
Flashed a feathered jewel past,
Ruby-crested, topaz-throated,
Plucked the cocorite bast,
Plucked the fallen ceiba-cotton,
Whirred away to build his nest,
Hung at last, with happy humming,
Round some flower he fancied best.
Up then went the rusty muzzle,
'Dat de tenth I shot to-day:'
But out sprang the Indian shouting,
Balked the negro of his prey.
'Eh, you Senor Trinidada!
What dis new ondacent plan?
Spoil a genl'man's chance ob shooting?
I as good as any man.
'Dese not your woods; dese de Queen's woods:
You seem not know whar you ar,
Gibbin' yuself dese buckra airs here,
You black Indian Papist! Dar!'
Stately, courteous, stood the Indian;
Pointed through the palm-tree shade:
'Does the gentleman of colour
Know how yon Pitch Lake was made?'
Grinned the negro, grinned and trembled-
Through his nerves a shudder ran-
Saw a snake-like eye that held him;
Saw-he'd met an Obeah man.
Saw a fetish-such a bottle-
Buried at his cottage door;
Toad and spider, dirty water,
Rusty nails, and nine charms more.
Saw in vision such a cock's head
In the path-and it was white!
Saw Brinvilliers in his pottage:
Faltered, cold and damp with fright.
Fearful is the chance of poison:
Fearful, too, the great unknown:
Magic brings some positivists
Humbly on their marrow-bone.
Like the wedding-guest enchanted,
There he stood, a trembling cur;
While the Indian told his story,
Like the Ancient Mariner.
Told how-'Once that loathly Pitch Lake
Was a garden bright and fair;
How the Chaymas off the mainland
Built their palm ajoupas there.
'How they throve, and how they fattened,
Hale and happy, safe and strong;
Passed the livelong days in feasting;
Passed the nights in dance and song.
'Till they cruel grew, and wanton:
Till they killed the colibris.
Then outspake the great Good Spirit,
Who can see through all the trees,
'Said-'And what have I not sent you,
Wanton Chaymas, many a year?
Lapp, agouti, cachicame,
Quenc and guazu-pita deer.
''Fish I sent you, sent you turtle,
Chip-chip, conch, flamingo red,
Woodland paui, horned screamer,
And blue ramier overhead.
''Plums from balata and mombin,
Tania, manioc, water-vine;
Let you fell my slim manacques,
Tap my sweet moriche wine.
''Sent rich plantains, food of angels;
Rich ananas, food of kings;
Grudged you none of all my treasures:
Save these lovely useless things.'
Scheme | ABCB DEDE FEEE FGEG FHIH JKXK FLML XXXX XNBN XOPO QRXR CBFB BJEF SEEE ETUT CVDV BWDW ISDS EXXX CYFY XSXS BKFK NZXZ C1 E1 UFJF A2 X2 PGDG CEQE X3 M3 BNFN C4 E4 EEEE |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain (88%) |
Metre | 1010111 00101 111010100 1010101 10101010 1011 100101110 1010101 11111010 10110 10101010 11101010 11101010 1010101 1011101 1110101 1011110 1010111 101001001 10101 10111110 1011111 0011101 1111101 100101010 1110101 11101010 11010111 11100110 1111101 101010101 1010101 101011 1111101 10111110 1111111 10111110 1011101 10101110 1010111 10101110 1011101 11111111 0111101 11111110 11101111 00111110 1110101 10101010 1011111 11111011 01101 10111011 1011111 10111011 11111001 1011101 1010101 1010110 1011 1010110 1011111 11111010 11101101 11101010 1111111 111010010 1010111 1111 11111 1011110 1111101 11111111 1111111 111111 1110011 1010010100 1010111 1010011 1111111 10101010 1110101 10111111 111111 10101010 1011101 10101010 1010111 10101011 0010111 11011 1010111 10101110 1010101 10111 1011101 10101010 11101001 101001110 1010100 1111111 1010101 101101 11111 11101110 1010101 1011010 1010101 11101010 11101 1101110 1111101 11111111 1011001 111 101101 11111110 1110101 11110 011101 1110001 1010101 111111 11111 11101110 11111 11111110 1110101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 4,040 |
Words | 722 |
Sentences | 37 |
Stanzas | 32 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 128 |
Letters per line (avg) | 25 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 101 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 22 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 14, 2023
- 3:37 min read
- 145 Views
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"The Legend of La Brea" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 19 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/5288/the-legend-of-la-brea>.
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