Run To Death Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BBCDCEFGFGHIJ KAKALBLBMNM OPOP QEQEGRGRSTUT VWVXYB BKZKZA2B2A2AFC2FC2D2 ND2

A True Incident of Pre Revolutionary French HistoryA
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Now the lovely autumn morning breathes its freshness in earth's faceB
In the crowned castle courtyard the blithe horn proclaims the chaseB
And the ladies on the terrace smile adieux with rosy lipsC
To the huntsmen disappearing down the cedar shaded grovesD
Wafting delicate aromas from their scented finger tipsC
And the gallants wave in answer with their gold embroidered glovesE
On they rode past bush and bramble on they rode past elm and oakF
And the hounds with anxious nostril sniffed the heather scented airG
Till at last within his stirrups up Lord Gaston rose and spokeF
He the boldest and the bravest of the wealthy nobles thereG
'Friends ' quoth he 'the time hangs heavy for it is not as we thoughtH
And these woods tho' fair and shady will afford I fear no sportI
Shall we hence then worthy kinsmen and desert the hunter's trackJ
For the chateau where the wine cup and the dice cup tempt us back '-
'Ay ' the nobles shout in chorus 'Ay ' the powder'd lacquey criesK
Then they stop with eager movement reining in quite suddenlyA
Peering down with half contemptuous half with wonder opened eyesK
At a 'something' which is crawling with slow step from tree to treeA
Is't some shadow phantom ghastly No a woman and a childL
Swarthy woman with the 'gipsy' written clear upon her faceB
Gazing round her with her wide eyes dark and shadow fringed and wildL
With the cowed suspicious glances of a persecuted raceB
Then they all with unasked question in each other's faces peerM
For a common thought has struck them one their lips dare scarcely sayN
Till Lord Gaston cries impatient 'Why regret the stately deerM
When such sport as yonder offers quick unleash the dogs away '-
Then they breath'd a shout of cheering grey haired man and stripling boyO
And the gipsy roused to terror stayed her step and turned her headP
Saw the faces of those huntsmen lit with keenest cruel joyO
Sent a cry of grief to Heaven closer clasped her child and fledP
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O ye nobles of the palace O ye gallant hearted lordsQ
Who would stoop for Leila's kerchief or for Clementina's glovesE
Who would rise up all indignant with your shining sheathless swordsQ
At the breathing of dishonour to your languid lady lovesE
O I tell you daring nobles with your beauty loving stareG
Who ne'er long the coy coquetting of the courtly dames withstoodR
Tho' a woman be the lowest and the basest and least fairG
In your manliness forget not to respect her womanhoodR
And thou gipsy that hast often the pursuer fled beforeS
That hast felt ere this the shadow of dark death upon thy browT
That hast hid among the mountains that hast roamed the forest o'erU
Bred to hiding watching fleeing may thy speed avail thee nowT
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Still she flees and ever fiercer tear the hungry hounds behindV
Still she flees and ever faster follow there the huntsmen onW
Still she flees her black hair streaming in a fury to the windV
Still she flees tho' all the glimmer of a happy hope is goneX
'Eh what baffled by a woman Ah sapristi she can runY
Should she 'scape us it would crown us with dishonour and disgraceB
It is time' Lord Gaston shouted 'such a paltry chase were done '-
And the fleeter grew her footsteps so the hotter grew the chaseB
Ha at last the dogs are on her will she struggle ere she diesK
See she holds her child above her all forgetful of her painZ
While a hundred thousand curses shoot out darkly from her eyesK
And a hundred thousand glances of the bitterest disdainZ
Ha the dogs are pressing closer they have flung her to the groundA2
Yet her proud lips never open with the dying sinner's cryB2
Till at last unto the Heavens just two fearful shrieks resoundA2
When the soul is all forgotten in the body's agonyA
Let them rest there child and mother in the shadow of the oakF
On the tender mother bosom of that earth from which they cameC2
As they slow rode back those huntsmen neither laughed nor sang nor spokeF
Hap there lurked unowned within them throbbings of a secret shameC2
But before the flow'ry terrace where the ladies smiling satD2
With their graceful nothings trifling all the weary time awayN
Low Lord Gaston bowed and raising high his richly 'broider'd hatD2
'Fairest ladies give us welcome 'Twas a famous hunt to day '-

Amy Levy



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