Analysis of The Irish Peasant to his Mistress
Thomas Moore 1779 (Dublin) – 1852 (Bromham)
Through grief and through danger thy smile hath cheer'd my way,
Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turn'd;
Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd even the sorrows that made me more dear to thee.
Thy rival was honour'd, while thou wert wrong'd and scorn'd,
Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorn'd;
She woo'd me to temples, while thou lay'st hid in caves,
Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves;
Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be,
Then wed what I loved not, or turn one thought from thee.
They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frail --
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had look'd less pale.
They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains --
That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains --
Oh! foul is the slander -- no chain could that soul subdue --
Where shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too!
Scheme | AABBCC DDEECC FFGGHH |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 110110111111 111111111111 010101001010111 1101101101111 1111101111011 01100101111111 11011111101 11111110101 1111101111101 010110110101 1100111111101 111111111111 110110111111 111011111111 1111111111001 1101111101101 1110101111101 11110110011 |
Closest metre | Iambic hexameter |
Characters | 1,068 |
Words | 202 |
Sentences | 7 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 6, 6, 6 |
Lines Amount | 18 |
Letters per line (avg) | 45 |
Words per line (avg) | 11 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 269 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 67 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:04 min read
- 69 Views
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