Analysis of Adventure of a Poet
As I was walking down the street
A week ago,
Near Henderson's I chanced to meet
A man I know.
His name is Alexander Bell,
His home, Dundee;
I do not know him quite so well
As he knows me.
He gave my hand a hearty shake,
Discussed the weather,
And then proposed that we should take
A stroll together.
Down College Street we took our way,
And there we met
The beautiful Miss Mary Gray,
That arch coquette,
Who stole last spring my heart away
And has it yet.
That smile with which my bow she greets,
Would it were fonder!
Or else less fond-since she its sweets
On all must squander.
Thus, when I meet her in the streets,
I sadly ponder,
And after her, as she retreats,
My thoughts will wander.
And so I listened with an air
Of inattention,
While Bell described a folding-chair
Of his invention.
And when we reached the Swilcan Burn,
'It looks like rain,'
Said I, 'and we had better turn.'
'Twas all in vain,
For Bell was weather-wise, and knew
The signs aerial;
He bade me note the strip of blue
Above the Imperial,
Also another patch of sky,
South-west by south,
Which meant that we might journey dry
To Eden's mouth.
He was a man with information
On many topics:
He talked about the exploration
Of Poles and Tropics,
The scene in Parliament last night,
Sir William's letter;
'And do you like the electric light,
Or gas-lamps better?'
The strike among the dust-heap pickers
He said was over;
And had I read about the liquors
Just seized at Dover?
Or the unhappy printer lad
At Rothesay drowned?
Or the Italian ironclad
That ran aground ?
He told me stories (lately come)
Of town society,
Some slightly tinged with truth, and some
With impropriety.
He spoke of duelling in France,
Then lightly glanced at
Mrs. Mackenzie's monster dance,
Which he had danced at.
So he ran on, till by-and-by
A silence came,
For which I greatly fear that I
Was most to blame.
Then neither of us spoke a word
For quite a minute
When presently a thought occurred
With promise in it.
'How did you like the Shakespeare play
The students read
By this, the Eden like a bay
Before us spread.
Near Eden many softer plots
Of sand there be;
Our feet, like Pharaoh's chariots,
Drave heavily.
And ere an answer I could frame,
He said that Irving
Of his extraordinary fame
Was undeserving,
And for his part he thought more highly
Of Ellen Terry;
Although he knew a girl named Riley
At Broughty Ferry,
Who might be, if she only chose,
As great a star,
She had a part in the tableaux
At the bazaar.
If I had said but little yet,
I now said less,
And smoked a home-made cigarette
In mute distress.
The smoke into his face was blown
By the wind's action,
And this afforded me, I own,
Some satisfaction;
But still his tongue received no check
Till, coming home,
We stood beside the ancient wreck
And watched the foam
Wash in among the timbers, now
Sunk deep in sand,
Though I can well remember how
I used to stand
On windy days and hold my hat,
And idly turn
To read 'Lovise, Frederikstad'
Upon her stern.
Her stern long since was buried quite,
And soon no trace
The absorbing sand will leave in sight
To mark her place.
This reverie was not permitted
To last too long.
Bell's mind had left the stage, and flitted
To fields of song.
And now he spoke of Marmion
And Lewis Morris;
The former he at school had done,
Along with Horace.
His maiden aunts, no longer young,
But learned ladies,
Had lately sent him Songs Unsung,
Epic of Hades,
Gycia, and Gwen. He thought them fine;
Not like that Browning,
Of whom he would not read a line,
He told me, frowning.
Talking of Horace -- very clever
Beyond a doubt,
But what the Satires meant, he never
Yet could make out.
I said I relished Satire Nine
Of the First Book;
But he had skipped to the divine
Eliza Cook.
He took occasion to declare,
In tones devoted,
How much he loved her old Arm-chair,
Which now he quoted.
And other poets he reviewed,
Some two or three,
Till, having touched on Thomas Hood
Scheme | Text too long |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 11110101 0101 111111 0111 1110101 1101 11111111 1111 11110101 01010 01011111 01010 110111101 0111 01001101 111 11111101 0111 11111111 11010 11111111 11110 11110001 11010 01001101 11110 01110111 10010 11010101 11010 0111011 1111 11011101 1101 11110101 01100 11110111 0100100 10010111 1111 11111101 111 11011010 11010 11010010 11010 01010011 11010 011100101 11110 010101110 11110 011101010 11110 10010101 111 1001010 1101 11110101 110100 11011101 10100 111101 11011 101101 11111 11111101 0101 11110111 1111 11011101 11010 11000101 11001 1111011 0101 11010101 0111 11010101 1111 10111100 1100 01110111 11110 1101001 1010 011111110 11010 11101110 1110 11111101 1101 11010001 1001 11111101 1111 0101101 0101 01011111 10110 01010111 1010 11110111 1101 11010101 0101 10010101 1101 11110101 1111 11010111 0101 1111 0101 01111101 0111 001011101 1101 110011010 1111 11110101 1111 01111100 01010 01011111 01110 11011101 1110 11011101 10110 1011111 11110 11111101 11110 101101010 0101 110101110 1111 11110101 1011 11111001 0101 11010101 01010 11110111 11110 01010101 1111 11011101 |
Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 3,902 |
Words | 730 |
Sentences | 34 |
Stanzas | 36 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 6, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 8, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 3 |
Lines Amount | 149 |
Letters per line (avg) | 20 |
Words per line (avg) | 5 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 84 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 20 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 05, 2023
- 3:40 min read
- 131 Views
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"Adventure of a Poet" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/30975/adventure-of-a-poet>.
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