Analysis of Banty Tim.
John Milton Hay 1838 (Salem, Indiana) – 1905 ( Newbury, New Hampshire)
REMARKS OF SERGEANT TILMON JOY TO THE WHITE MAN'S COMMITTEE OF SPUNKY POINT, ILLINOIS.
I reckon I git your drift, gents, -
You 'low the boy sha'n't stay;
This is a white man's country;
You're Dimocrats, you say;
And whereas, and seein', and wherefore,
The times bein' all out o' j'int,
The nigger has got to mosey
From the limits o' Spunky P'int!
Le's reason the thing a minute:
I'm an old-fashioned Dimocrat too,
Though I laid my politics out o' the way
For to keep till the war was through.
But I come back here, allowin'
To vote as I used to do,
Though it gravels me like the devil to train
Along o' sich fools as you.
Now dog my cats ef I kin see,
In all the light of the day,
What you've got to do with the question
Ef Tim shill go or stay.
And furder than that I give notice,
Ef one of you tetches the boy,
He kin check his trunks to a warmer clime
Than he'll find in Illanoy.
Why, blame your hearts, jest hear me!
You know that ungodly day
When our left struck Vicksburg Heights, how ripped
And torn and tattered we lay.
When the rest retreated I stayed behind,
Fur reasons sufficient to me, -
With a rib caved in, and a leg on a strike,
I sprawled on that cursed glacee.
Lord! how the hot sun went for us,
And br'iled and blistered and burned!
How the Rebel bullets whizzed round us
When a cuss in his death-grip turned!
Till along toward dusk I seen a thing
I couldn't believe for a spell:
That nigger - that Tim - was a crawlin' to me
Through that fire-proof, gilt-edged hell!
The Rebels seen him as quick as me,
And the bullets buzzed like bees;
But he jumped for me, and shouldered me,
Though a shot brought him once to his knees;
But he staggered up, and packed me off,
With a dozen stumbles and falls,
Till safe in our lines he drapped us both,
His black hide riddled with balls.
So, my gentle gazelles, thar's my answer,
And here stays Banty Tim:
He trumped Death's ace for me that day,
And I'm not goin' back on him!
You may rezoloot till the cows come home,
But ef one of you tetches the boy,
He'll wrastle his hash to-night in hell,
Or my name's not Tilmon Joy!
Scheme | A ABCBCBCB XDBDEDED CBEBFAGE CBXBXCXA FHFHXICI CJCJXKXK XGBGGAIA |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 01110111011010110101 11011111 11011111 1101110 1111 0010101 0111111 01011110 10101101 11001010 1111011 1111101101 11110111 111111 1111111 1111101011 0111111 11111111 0101101 111111010 111111 01111110 1111101 1111110101 11101 1111111 1110101 1101110111 0101011 1010101101 11001011 10110001101 111111 11011111 0101001 101010111 10101111 1010111101 11001101 1101110111 11101111 010111111 0010111 111110101 101111111 111010111 10101001 1101011111 1111011 1110011110 01111 11111111 0111111 11110111 11111101 11111101 111111 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,044 |
Words | 413 |
Sentences | 16 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 1, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 57 |
Letters per line (avg) | 28 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 197 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 51 |
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Submitted on August 03, 2020
Modified on April 29, 2023
- 2:09 min read
- 7 Views
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"Banty Tim." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/55970/banty-tim.>.
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