Analysis of A Hyde Park Larrikin
Henry Kendall 1839 (Australia) – 1882 (Sydney)
You may have heard of Proclus, sir,
If you have been a reader;
And you may know a bit of her
Who helped the Lycian leader.
I have my doubts -- the head you "sport"
(Now mark me, don't get crusty)
Is hardly of the classic sort --
Your lore, I think, is fusty.
Most likely you have stuck to tracts
Flushed through with flaming curses --
I judge you, neighbour, by your acts --
So don't you damn my verses.
But to my theme. The Asian sage,
Whose name above I mention,
Lived in the pitchy Pagan age,
A life without pretension.
He may have worshipped gods like Zeus,
And termed old Dis a master;
But then he had a strong excuse --
He never heard a pastor.
However, it occurs to me
That, had he cut Demeter
And followed you, or followed me,
He wouldn't have been sweeter.
No doubt with "shepherds" of this time
He's not the "clean potato",
Because -- excuse me for my rhyme --
He pinned his faith to Plato.
But these are facts you can't deny,
My pastor, smudged and sooty,
His mind was like a summer sky --
He lived a life of beauty --
To lift his brothers' thoughts above
This earth he used to labour:
His heart was luminous with love --
He didn't wound his neighbour.
To him all men were just the same --
He never foamed at altars,
Although he lived ere Moody came --
Ere Sankey dealt in psalters.
The Lycian sage, my "reverend" sir,
Had not your chances ample;
But, after all, I must prefer
His perfect, pure example.
You, having read the Holy Writ --
The Book the angels foster --
Say have you helped us on a bit,
You overfed impostor?
What have you done to edify,
You clammy chapel tinker?
What act like his of days gone by --
The grand old Asian thinker?
Is there no deed of yours at all
With beauty shining through it?
Ah, no! your heart reveals its gall
On every side I view it.
A blatant bigot with a big
Fat heavy fetid carcass,
You well become your greasy "rig" --
You're not a second Arcas.
What sort of "gospel" do you preach?
What "Bible" is your Bible?
There's worse than wormwood in your speech,
You livid, living libel!
How many lives are growing gray
Through your depraved behaviour!
I tell you plainly -- every day
You crucify the Saviour!
Some evil spirit curses you --
Your actions never vary:
You cannot point your finger to
One fact to the contrary.
You seem to have a wicked joy
In your malicious labour,
Endeavouring daily to destroy
The neighbour's love for neighbour.
The brutal curses you eject
Make strong men dread to hear you.
The world outside your petty sect
Feels sick when it is near you.
No man who shuns that little hole
You call your tabernacle
Can have, you shriek, a ransomed soul --
He wears the devil's shackle.
And, hence the "Papist" by your clan
Is dogged with words inhuman,
Because he loves that friend of man
The highest type of woman --
Because he has that faith which sees
Before the high Creator
A Virgin pleading on her knees --
A shining Mediator!
God help the souls who grope in night --
Who in your ways have trusted!
I've said enough! the more I write,
The more I feel disgusted.
The warm, soft air is tainted through
With your pernicious leaven.
I would not live ~one hour~ with you
In your peculiar heaven!
Now mount your musty pulpit -- thump,
And muddle flat clodhoppers;
And let some long-eared booby "hump"
The plate about for coppers.
At priest and parson spit and bark,
And shake your "church" with curses,
You bitter blackguard of the dark --
With this I close my verses.
Scheme | AAAABCBB DEDF GHGH IAIA CACA JKJK LCLC MNMA OPOP AQAQ RARA LALA SRSRTXTDUQUQ VAVA WCWC XNXA YWYW ZQZQ 1 H1 H 2 A2 A 3 X3 X WHWH 4 D4 P 5 E5 F |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111 1111010 01110110 110110 11110111 1111110 11010101 111111 11011111 1111010 1111111 1111110 11110101 1101110 1001101 0101010 11110111 0111010 11110101 1101010 1010111 1111010 01011101 1101110 11110111 110101 01011111 1111110 11111101 1101010 11110101 1101110 11110101 111111 11110011 110111 11110101 1101110 1111101 1101010 01111001 1111010 11011101 1011010 11010101 0101010 11111101 101010 1111110 1101010 11111111 0111010 11111111 1101011 11110111 11001111 01010101 1101010 11011101 110101 11110111 1101110 1111011 1101010 11011101 11011 111101001 11001 11010101 1101010 11011101 1110100 11110101 010101 110101 01111 01010101 1111111 01111101 1111111 11111101 111100 1111011 1101010 0101111 1111010 01111111 0101110 01111111 0101010 01010101 010100 11011101 1011110 11010111 0111010 01111101 1101010 111111011 0101010 11110101 01011 01111101 0101110 11010101 0111110 1101101 1111110 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 3,493 |
Words | 650 |
Sentences | 37 |
Stanzas | 24 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 12, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 108 |
Letters per line (avg) | 24 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 109 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 27 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 3:18 min read
- 38 Views
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"A Hyde Park Larrikin" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/17429/a-hyde-park-larrikin>.
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