Analysis of A Son of the Soil
James Brunton Stephens 1835 (Scotland) – 1902
Said the Preacher “All is Vanity!”—appending as a reason
That the things we find our pleasure in are bound to pass and pall;
But it seems to me that whatso'er endureth for a season
Isn't half as vain as whatso'er hath never been at all.
When you find that what you've hitherto been wont to make a boast of
Must be numbered with the ejects that from muddled brains proceed—
When you find that in respect thereof there isn't ev'n a ghost of
Fact to back it up—ah, then, you may cry “Vanity,” indeed.
From my tend'rest years I've plumed myself on being an Australian—
An Australian pure and simple, of the most authentic brand;
Scotchman, Englishman, and Irishman alike to me were alien;
I was sibber to King Billy through our common mother-land.
To the pride of local genesis my being was surrendered,
The worthiest of immigrants I looked upon with scorn
As exotic interlopers under foreign skies engendered,
Though transplanted to my country fifty years ere I was born.
What although they wove the fabric of Australia's starry banner
From the fibre of their being till the tissue was complete,—
'Twas for us, the young, to wave it in our own emphatic manner
In the face of all things ancient, European and effete!
“Ours the fitter hand to hold the reins,” I sedulously boasted;
And whenever at the festal board occasion would allow,
“Australia for the Australians!” with a hip-hooray I toasted . . . .
And to-day I learn I'm no more an Australian than a Chow.
Would to heav'n I'd been content to play the “Native” single-handed,
Nor sought to be enrolled in that accursèd A.N.A., *
But the vain ambition seized me to be registered and branded
As an organised Australian—and I gave myself away.
Not long to crush my fondest pride the ruthless Council tarried;
Yester eve I made my overtures, the answer came at morn—
“Dear Sir, at last night's meeting 'twas unanimously carried
“That a person born at Battersea is not Australian-born.”
“At Battersea?” “At Battersea?”—Unwitting of objection
I had hardly even looked at my certificate of birth,
Which, now “Returned herewith,” brought dimly back to recollection
A tale of my nativity on t'other side the earth.
How my mother (rest her soul) by wayward appetences fretted
Cried aloud for the Old Country and a breath of English air;
How my father, ripe for holiday, her last caprice abetted. . . . .
And I, a mere expectancy, went them unaware.
And though the self-same year in shining dells of myrtle found me,
Where the wattle shed its perfume and the lories flashed their gems,
And the white acacia blossoms flaked the verdure allaround me—
I had been born in London, on the Surrey side of Thames.
Oh, vanity of vanities, the birth I made a boast of!
Oh, unsubstantial eject of an inadvertent brain!
And the self-confounding sentiment I made so brave a toast of
Gr-r. I danced on my certificate—and even that was vain.
* * * * *
I have slept upon the question. I have faced the problem squarely
At the favoured hour of wisdom when the darkness turns to grey.
I have reckoned up “nativity” impartially and fairly,
And I've come to the conclusion they are fools, the A.N.A.
If begotten of and from the soil, what lack I to be native?
What matters where my skin first felt the chill of mundane airs,
If my origin was here, in this alluvium procreative
Whose substance reached me through two generations of forbears?
That an accidental deviousness in time of incubation
Should make my whence irrelevant, and pin me to Whereat—
Do they really mean to play on me with calm deliberation
A pyramidal, orbicular absurdity like that!
But no matter. Let them hug their narrow canons of admission:
The A.N.A. are not the only natives in the land.
There is yet another outlet for my dominant ambition;
I will hie me to King Billy; he will take me by the hand.
He will lead me to his tribe, on slight preliminary payment;
As a resurrected ancestor my status shall be fixed;
As a native of the natives I will rid me of my raiment;
I will rub me with goanna grease and charcoal intermixed.
I'll adorn my head with feathers, and to decorate my body
I will grave it o'er with diagrams, and fill the grooves with clay.
I will capture me a lubra by the suasion of a waddy—
And who'll be native, then, my high and mighty A.N.A.?
* Australian Natives' Association.
Scheme | ABAB CDCD AEAE FGFG HIHI JKJK JLJM DGDGANAN JO JO PQPQ CRCR PMPL XXCQ ADAX AEAE XSDS PMPL A |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 10101110011010 1011110100111101 111111111010 1011111110111 111111111111011 111010011110101 1111001111011011 111111111110001 111111111101010 101010101010101 1100010001110100 111111011010101 1011101001101010 01001100110111 101010010101010 101011101011111 111101010101010 10101110101101 11101111010101010 00111110010001 10010111011110 00101011010101 0101001010101110 011111111010101 1111110110101010 111101011110 1010101111100010 111010011101 11111101010101 1111110010111 111111010100010 1010111110101 11110101010 111010111010011 11011111011010 011101001110101 1110101110110 101101100011101 111011100101010 010101001101 010111010111011 10101101001111 0010101010111 11110101010111 110011000111011 1101110101 0010101001111011 1111110100010111 1 1110101011101010 101101101010111 1110101000100010 01110010111010 1010101011111110 11011111011011 1110011011001 110111101011 110101011010 1111010001111 111011111110010 001001010011 1110111110101010 0101101010001 111010111100010 111111101111101 111111111010010 1001010110111 101010101111111 11111110101 101111100110110 111110110010111 111010110101010 0111011101010 010100010 |
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 4,311 |
Words | 778 |
Sentences | 52 |
Stanzas | 19 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 8, 2, 2, 4, 4, 5, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 1 |
Lines Amount | 74 |
Letters per line (avg) | 45 |
Words per line (avg) | 11 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 176 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 41 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 28, 2023
- 3:59 min read
- 149 Views
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