A JACOBITE'S EXILE by Algernon Charles Swinburne: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A Jacobite soldier, exiled in France after the devastating loss at Culloden in 1746, longs for his home in Northumberland.
The poem
1746 The weary day rins down and dies, The weary night wears through: And never an hour is fair wi' flower, And never a flower wi' dew. I would the day were night for me, I would the night were day: For then would I stand in my ain fair land, As now in dreams I may. O lordly flow the Loire and Seine, And loud the dark Durance: But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne Than a' the fields of France; And the waves of Till that speak sae still Gleam goodlier where they glance. O weel were they that fell fighting On dark Drumossie's day: They keep their hame ayont the faem, And we die far away. O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep, But night and day wake we; And ever between the sea-banks green Sounds loud the sundering sea. And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep, But sweet and fast sleep they; And the mool that haps them roun' and laps them Is e'en their country's clay; But the land we tread that are not dead Is strange as night by day. Strange as night in a strange man's sight, Though fair as dawn it be: For what is here that a stranger's cheer Should yet wax blithe to see? The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep, The fields are green and gold: The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring, As ours at home of old. But hills and flowers are nane of ours, And ours are oversea: And the kind strange land whereon we stand, It wotsna what were we Or ever we came, wi' scathe and shame, To try what end might be. Scathe, and shame, and a waefu' name, And a weary time and strange, Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing Can die, and cannot change. Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn, Though sair be they to dree: But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide, Mair keen than wind and sea. Ill may we thole the night's watches, And ill the weary day: And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep, A waefu' gift gie they; For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us, The morn blaws all away. On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw, The burn rins blithe and fain: There's nought wi' me I wadna gie To look thereon again. On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide; There sounds nae hunting-horn That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat Round banks where Tyne is born. The Wansbeck sings with all her springs, The bents and braes give ear; But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings I may not see nor hear; For far and far thae blithe burns are, And strange is a' thing near. The light there lightens, the day there brightens, The loud wind there lives free: Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me That I wad hear or see. But O gin I were there again, Afar ayont the faem, Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed That haps my sires at hame! We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair, And the sweet grey gleaming sky, And the lordly strand of Northumberland, And the goodly towers thereby: And none shall know but the winds that blow The graves wherein we lie.
A Jacobite soldier, exiled in France after the devastating loss at Culloden in 1746, longs for his home in Northumberland. He gazes at the French countryside, which he finds beautiful yet entirely foreign — the rivers, hills, and winds don’t belong to him, and that stark difference feels like a slow death. In the end, he declares he would prefer to be a cold corpse buried in Scottish or English soil than to be alive, breathing in foreign air.
Line-by-line
The weary day rins down and dies, / The weary night wears through:
I would the day were night for me, / I would the night were day:
O lordly flow the Loire and Seine, / And loud the dark Durance:
O weel were they that fell fighting / On dark Drumossie's day:
O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep, / But night and day wake we;
And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep, / But sweet and fast sleep they;
Strange as night in a strange man's sight, / Though fair as dawn it be:
The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep, / The fields are green and gold:
But hills and flowers are nane of ours, / And ours are oversea:
Scathe, and shame, and a waefu' name, / And a weary time and strange,
Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn, / Though sair be they to dree:
Ill may we thole the night's watches, / And ill the weary day:
On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw, / The burn rins blithe and fain:
On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide; / There sounds nae hunting-horn
The Wansbeck sings with all her springs, / The bents and braes give ear;
The light there lightens, the day there brightens, / The loud wind there lives free:
But O gin I were there again, / Afar ayont the faem,
We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair, / And the sweet grey gleaming sky,
Tone & mood
The tone is mournful and steady—grief simmering quietly instead of erupting dramatically. The Scots dialect adds an intimate, conversational feel, as if the exile is reflecting inwardly rather than putting on a show. A thread of bitter irony runs through the piece: France is beautiful, the dead are fortunate, dreams are a gift—and each of these thoughts feels like a fresh wound. By the end, the tone shifts toward resignation, yet it avoids slipping into self-pity. The speaker remains too clear-eyed for that.
Symbols & metaphors
- The sundering sea — The sea between France and Britain is the poem's most significant physical element. It's more than just water; it's the barrier that makes home feel out of reach. The term "sundering" has a dual meaning of separating and injuring, which means the sea represents both geography and a wound.
- The graves of the fallen at Culloden — The dead buried at Drumossie Moor offer the exiles their only chance at homecoming. Their graves in Scottish soil are seen as a privilege — dying at home, even in defeat, is preferable to living abroad. The grave transforms into a symbol of belonging.
- Named rivers and places (Tyne, Wansbeck, Keilder, Aikenshaw) — The specific Northumbrian place-names aren't just for show. They represent the unique essence of life in that particular landscape. No grand French river can take the place of a stream you grew up next to.
- Dreams — Dreams are often referred to as a "waefu' gift" — they bring the exile back to their homeland each night, only to have the morning snatch it away once more. They embody the harshness of memory: offering both comfort and loss at the same time.
- The mool (earth) that covers the dead — The soil that covers the fallen soldiers is clearly "their country's clay." Here, the earth symbolizes identity — being buried in your own land means staying connected to it. The exiles, treading on foreign ground, are already feeling half-forgotten.
- Wind — At home, the wind is wild, loud, and full of life. In exile, there’s no wind that the speaker wants to feel. Wind represents the vibrant spirit of a place — and its absence in France indicates that the exile is disconnected from life itself, not just from a location.
Historical context
The poem takes place in 1746, the year of the Battle of Culloden — the devastating end of the Jacobite rising that aimed to restore the Stuart dynasty to the British throne. After Culloden, many Jacobite supporters fled to France, which had supported the uprising and provided a safe haven. A significant number of these exiles came from the Scottish Borders and northern England, including Northumberland, a landscape that Swinburne cherished and knew well. He penned the poem in the 1880s, over a century after these events, yet he felt a strong connection to the Jacobite cause, seeing it as a romanticized lost world. By using a Scots dialect, he adds authenticity and intimacy to the speaker's voice. While the poem fits into the tradition of Jacobite exile poetry, Swinburne shifts the focus toward something more personal and landscape-oriented rather than political, making the true subject the profound loss of specific terrain — the rivers and hills of Northumberland.
FAQ
Jacobites were supporters of the exiled Stuart royal family, who believed that James II and his descendants were the rightful kings of Britain. Following the unsuccessful rising in 1745 led by Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Jacobite army was defeated at the Battle of Culloden on April 16, 1746. Those supporters who survived faced execution or imprisonment in Britain, prompting many to flee to France, which had supported the uprising.
Drumossie Moor is the name given to the site of the Battle of Culloden. There, the Jacobite army was defeated in less than an hour by government forces led by the Duke of Cumberland. Swinburne uses this name to anchor the poem in a specific historical context and to provide the speaker's grief with a clear source.
The men who died at Culloden were buried in the soil of Scotland — their own country's earth. The exile views this as a type of homecoming that the living are denied. Dying at home seems preferable to living in a foreign land where no one knows your name or what you’ve lost.
The dialect provides the speaker with a voice that feels authentically regional and working-class—it's not just a literary act but rather a person from the Borders speaking to himself. It also fosters a sense of emotional closeness: words like "waefu'" (woeful), "sair" (sore), and "thole" (endure) resonate more deeply than their standard English counterparts. Swinburne was English, not Scottish, but he was familiar with the Border landscape and used the dialect to embody the speaker's identity.
Aikenshaw, Keilder-side, the Wansbeck, and the Tyne are all actual places in Northumberland and the Scottish Borders. Swinburne was familiar with this landscape. By naming them directly instead of resorting to vague "homeland" imagery, he emphasizes the exile's loss in a concrete and specific way—you can't simply replace one river with another when it's that particular river you cherish.
It is a Scots phrase that refers to a fate that must be accepted. Here, "weird" signifies destiny or doom, while "dree" means to suffer or undergo. The line conveys that those who can clearly see their doom endure it and find themselves unable to change it — this captures the exile's condition. He understands precisely what has transpired and knows he cannot reverse it.
Not quite. The speaker hails from Northumberland, located in England, not Scotland. His yearning is for a particular landscape, not a political agenda. Swinburne was attracted to the Jacobites as a romantic and tragic movement rather than a nationalistic one. The poem explores themes of exile and belonging, with distance being the true adversary, not England.
The last stanza acknowledges that the exiles will never return home. They will pass away in France, and only the wind will know the locations of their graves. It's a subdued ending—there's no anger, no final act of defiance, just a straightforward recognition of loss. The depiction of the wind as the sole witness to their graves is both haunting and oddly beautiful, which reflects Swinburne's style.