Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. You can also use the up (↑) and down (↓) arrows to move a line one place at a time, or the top (⇑) and bottom (⇓) arrows to move a line directly to the top or bottom. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,
On Linden, when the sun was low,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow;
And furious every charger neigh'd,
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
Few, few, shall part where many meet!
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Far flash'd the red artillery.
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n,
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n,
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
And every turf beneath their feet,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
And dark as winter was the flow
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Commanding fires of death to light
When the drum beat, at dead of night,
But redder yet that light shall glow,
To join the dreadful revelry.
By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
The darkness of her scenery.
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
But Linden saw another sight,
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You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd, To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n, And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow, On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few, shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet, Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.