Analysis of The Transmigrations Of A Soul
Ambrose Bierce 1842 (Meigs County) – 1914 (Chihuahua)
What! Pixley, must I hear you call the roll
Of all the vices that infest your soul?
Was't not enough that lately you did bawl
Your money-worship in the ears of all?
Still must you crack your brazen cheek to tell
That though a miser you're a sot as well?
Still must I hear how low your taste has sunk
From getting money down to getting drunk?
Who worships money, damning all beside,
And shows his callous knees with pious pride,
Speaks with half-knowledge, for no man e'er scorns
His own possessions, be they coins or corns.
You've money, neighbor; had you gentle birth
You'd know, as now you never can, its worth.
You've money; learning is beyond your scope,
Deaf to your envy, stubborn to your hope.
But if upon your undeserving head
Science and letters had their glory shed;
If in the cavern of your skull the light
Of knowledge shone where now eternal night
Breeds the blind, poddy, vapor-fatted naughts
Of cerebration that you think are thoughts
Black bats in cold and dismal corners hung
That squeak and gibber when you move your tongue
You would not write, in Avarice's defense,
A senseless eulogy on lack of sense,
Nor show your eagerness to sacrifice
All noble virtues to one loathsome vice.
You've money; if you'd manners too you'd shame
To boast your weakness or your baseness name.
Appraise the things you have, but measure not
The things denied to your unhappy lot.
He values manners lighter than a cork
Who combs his beard at table with a fork.
Hare to seek sin and tortoise to forsake,
The laws of taste condemn you to the stake
To expiate, where all the world may see,
The crime of growing old disgracefully.
Religion, learning, birth and manners, too,
All that distinguishes a man from you,
Pray damn at will: all shining virtues gain
An added luster from a rogue's disdain.
But spare the young that proselyting sin,
A toper's apotheosis of gin.
If not our young, at least our pigs may claim
Exemption from the spectacle of shame!
Are you not he who lately out of shape
Blew a brass trumpet to denounce the grape?
Who led the brave teetotalers afield
And slew your leader underneath your shield?
Swore that no man should drink unless he flung
Himself across your body at the bung?
Who vowed if you'd the power you would fine
The Son of God for making water wine?
All trails to odium you tread and boast,
Yourself enamored of the dirtiest most.
One day to be a miser you aspire,
The next to wallow drunken in the mire;
The third, lo! you're a meritorious liar!
Pray, in the catalogue of all your graces,
Have theft and cowardice no honored places?
Yield thee, great Satan-here's a rival name
With all thy vices and but half thy shame!
Quick to the letter of the precept, quick
To the example of the elder Nick;
With as great talent as was e'er applied
To fool a teacher and to fog a guide;
With slack allegiance and boundless greed,
To paunch the profit of a traitor deed,
He aims to make thy glory all his own,
And crowd his master from the infernal throne!
Scheme | AABBCCDD EEFFGG HHIIJJFXKKLLMM NNOOPPQQXA RRSSTTNN UUVVKKWW XXYYXXX NNZZEE1 1 2 2 |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1101111101 1101010111 11101110111 1101000111 1111110111 1101010111 1111111111 1101011101 1101010101 0111011101 11110111101 1101011111 1101011101 1111110111 1101010111 1111010111 110110101 1001011101 1001011101 1101110101 10111011 1111111 1101010101 110111111 11110101 0101001111 111100110 1101011101 1101110111 111101111 0101111101 0101110101 1101010101 1111110101 1111010101 0111011101 110110111 0111011 0101010101 1101000111 1111110101 1101010101 1101111 01001011 111011110111 0101010011 1111110111 1011010101 1101101 011100111 1111110111 0101110101 1111010111 0111110101 11111101 01010101001 1111010101 0111010001 01110010010 1001011110 11010011010 1111010101 1111001111 110101011 1001010101 11110111001 1101001101 110100101 1101010101 1111110111 01110100101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 2,911 |
Words | 544 |
Sentences | 27 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 6, 14, 10, 8, 8, 7, 10 |
Lines Amount | 71 |
Letters per line (avg) | 33 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 293 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 68 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:48 min read
- 114 Views
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"The Transmigrations Of A Soul" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 9 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/1979/the-transmigrations-of-a-soul>.
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