The Clergyman's Second Tale Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIII JJKLMMIICCNNIIOOPPII QQQRROSTTUUVVWWIIUUU PPXXWYRRZZZA2A2MMRB2 C2D2CIE2E2F2F2LLUUG2 G2GGIICCH2H2I2I2EEII PPIIIIIJRRIIIIIIIIII J2K2L2L2L2M2M2NNN2N2 O2O2IIIII2I2D2C2RRWW IICCIICCPPOOIIIAAEEI IPPYYIIP2P2H2H2Q2Q2K KKMMIIKKKR2R2S2S2S2B J2IIIIIICCNNNIIIIT2T 2U2U2IIINNV2V2RRROOS H2H2IILKKIIO2O2KKIII ICCCNNC2D2IIIIOSXXII IIAAW2W2CCX2X2A2A2A2 IY2IIH2H2Z2RIIAXX IINNIIIIA3A3X2X2 IIB3B3C3C3GGD3D3E3E3 IIO2O2BBF3F3IIII IIIXXG3Edward and Jane a married couple were | A |
And fonder she of him or he of her | A |
Was hard to say their wedlock had begun | B |
When in one year they both were twenty one | B |
And friends who would not sanction left them free | C |
He gentle born nor his inferior she | C |
And neither rich to the newly wedded boy | D |
A great Insurance Office found employ | D |
Strong in their loves and hopes with joy they took | E |
This narrow lot and the world's altered look | E |
Beyond their home they nothing sought or craved | F |
And even from the narrow income saved | F |
Their busy days for no ennui had place | G |
Neither grew weary of the other's face | G |
Nine happy years had crowned their married state | H |
With children one a little girl of eight | H |
With nine industrious years his income grew | I |
With his employers rose his favour too | I |
Nine years complete had passed when something ailed | I |
Friends and the doctors said his health had failed | I |
He must recruit or worse would come to pass | J |
And though to rest was hard for him alas | J |
Three months of leave he found he could obtain | K |
And go they said get well and work again | L |
Just at this juncture of their married life | M |
Her mother sickening begged to have his wife | M |
Her house among the hills in Surrey stood | I |
And to be there said Jane would do the children good | I |
They let their house and with the children she | C |
Went to her mother he beyond the sea | C |
Far to the south his orders were to go | N |
A watering place whose name we need not know | N |
For climate and for change of scene was best | I |
There he was bid laborious task to rest | I |
A dismal thing in foreign lands to roam | O |
To one accustomed to an English home | O |
Dismal yet more in health if feeble grown | P |
To live a boarder helpless and alone | P |
In foreign town and worse yet worse is made | I |
If 'tis a town of pleasure and parade | I |
Dispiriting the public walks and seats | Q |
The alien faces that an alien meets | Q |
Drearily every day this old routine repeats | Q |
Yet here this alien prospered change of air | R |
Or change of scene did more than tenderest care | R |
Three weeks were scarce completed to his home | O |
He wrote to say he thought he now could come | S |
His usual work was sure he could resume | T |
And something said about the place's gloom | T |
And how he loathed idling his time away | U |
O but they wrote his wife and all to say | U |
He must not think of it 'twas quite too quick | V |
Let was their house her mother still was sick | V |
Three months were given and three he ought to take | W |
For his and her's and for his children's sake | W |
He wrote again 'twas weariness to wait | I |
This doing nothing was a thing to hate | I |
He'd cast his nine laborious years away | U |
And was as fresh as on his wedding day | U |
At last he yielded feared he must obey | U |
And now his health repaired his spirits grown | P |
Less feeble less he cared to live alone | P |
'Twas easier now to face the crowded shore | X |
And table d'h te less tedious than before | X |
His ancient silence sometimes he would break | W |
And the mute Englishman was heard to speak | Y |
His youthful colour soon his youthful air | R |
Came back amongst the crowd of idlers there | R |
With whom good looks entitle to good name | Z |
For his good looks he gained a sort of fame | Z |
People would watch him as he went and came | Z |
Explain the tragic mystery who can | A2 |
Something there is we know not what in man | A2 |
With all established happiness at strife | M |
And bent on revolution in his life | M |
Explain the plan of Providence who dare | R |
And tell us wherefore in this world there are | B2 |
Beings who seem for this alone to live | C2 |
Temptation to another soul to give | D2 |
A beauteous woman at the table d'h te | C |
To try this English heart at least to note | I |
This English countenance conceived the whim | E2 |
She sat exactly opposite to him | E2 |
Ere long he noticed with a vague surprise | F2 |
How every day on him she bent her eyes | F2 |
Soft and inquiring now they looked and then | L |
Wholly withdrawn unnoticed came again | L |
His shrunk aside and yet there came a day | U |
Alas they did not wholly turn away | U |
So beautiful her beauty was so strange | G2 |
And to his northern feeling such a change | G2 |
Her throat and neck Junonian in their grace | G |
The blood just mantled in her southern face | G |
Dark hair dark eyes and all the arts she had | I |
With which some dreadful power adorns the bad | I |
Bad women in their youth and young was she | C |
Twenty perhaps at the utmost twenty three | C |
And timid seemed and innocent of ill | H2 |
Her feelings went and came without her will | H2 |
You will not wish minutely to know all | I2 |
His efforts in the prospect of the fall | I2 |
He oscillated to and fro he took | E |
High courage oft temptation from him shook | E |
Compelled himself to virtuous thoughts and just | I |
And as it were in ashes and in dust | I |
Abhorred his thought But living thus alone | P |
Of solitary tedium weary grown | P |
From sweet society so long debarred | I |
And fearing in his judgment to be hard | I |
On her that he was sometimes off his guard | I |
What wonder She relentless still pursued | I |
Unmarked and tracked him in his solitude | I |
And not in vain alas | J |
The days went by and found him in the snare | R |
But soon a letter full of tenderest care | R |
Came from his wife the little daughter too | I |
In a large hand the exercise was new | I |
To her papa her love and kisses sent | I |
Into his very heart and soul it went | I |
Forth on the high and dusty road he sought | I |
Some issue for the vortex of his thought | I |
Returned packed up his things and ere the day | I |
Descended was a hundred miles away | I |
There are I know of course who lightly treat | I |
Such slips we stumble we regain our feet | I |
What can we do they say but hasten on | J2 |
And disregard it as a thing that's gone | K2 |
Many there are who in a case like this | L2 |
Would calm re seek their sweet domestic bliss | L2 |
Accept unshamed the wifely tender kiss | L2 |
And lift their little children on their knees | M2 |
And take their kisses too with hearts at ease | M2 |
Will read the household prayers to church will go | N |
And sacrament nor care if people know | N |
Such men so minded do exist God knows | N2 |
And God be thanked this was not one of those | N2 |
Late in the night at a provincial town | O2 |
In France a passing traveller was put down | O2 |
Haggard he looked his hair was turning grey | I |
His hair his clothes were much in disarray | I |
In a bedchamber here one day he stayed | I |
Wrote letters posted them his reckoning paid | I |
And went 'Twas Edward rushing from his fall | I2 |
Here to his wife he wrote and told her all | I2 |
Forgiveness yes perhaps she might forgive | D2 |
For her and for the children he must live | C2 |
At any rate but their old home to share | R |
As yet was something that he could not bear | R |
She with her mother still her home should make | W |
A lodging near the office he should take | W |
And once a quarter he would bring his pay | I |
And he would see her on the quarter day | I |
But her alone e'en this would dreadful be | C |
The children 'twas not possible to see | C |
Back to the office at this early day | I |
To see him come old looking thus and grey | I |
His comrades wondered wondered too to see | C |
How dire a passion for his work had he | C |
How in a garret too he lived alone | P |
So cold a husband cold a father grown | P |
In a green lane beside her mother's home | O |
Where in old days they had been used to roam | O |
His wife had met him on the appointed day | I |
Fell on his neck said all that love could say | I |
And wept he put the loving arms away | I |
At dusk they met for so was his desire | A |
She felt his cheeks and forehead all on fire | A |
The kisses which she gave he could not brook | E |
Once in her face he gave a sidelong look | E |
Said but for them he wished that he were dead | I |
And put the money in her hand and fled | I |
Sometimes in easy and familiar tone | P |
Of sins resembling more or less his own | P |
He heard his comrades in the office speak | Y |
And felt the colour tingling in his cheek | Y |
Lightly they spoke as of a thing of nought | I |
He of their judgment ne'er so much as thought | I |
I know not in his solitary pains | P2 |
Whether he seemed to feel as in his veins | P2 |
The moral mischief circulating still | H2 |
Racked with the torture of the double will | H2 |
And like some frontier land where armies wage | Q2 |
The mighty wars engage and yet engage | Q2 |
All through the summer in the fierce campaign | K |
March counter march gain lose and yet regain | K |
With battle reeks the desolated plain | K |
So felt his nature yielded to the strife | M |
Of the contending good and ill of life | M |
But a whole year this penance he endured | I |
Nor even then would think that he was cured | I |
Once in a quarter in the country lane | K |
He met his wife and paid his quarter's gain | K |
To bring the children she besought in vain | K |
He has a life small happiness that gives | R2 |
Who friendless in a London lodging lives | R2 |
Dines in a dingy chop house and returns | S2 |
To a lone room while all within him yearns | S2 |
For sympathy and his whole nature burns | S2 |
With a fierce thirst for some one is there none | B |
To expend his human tenderness upon | J2 |
So blank and hard and stony is the way | I |
To walk I wonder not men go astray | I |
Edward whom still a sense that never slept | I |
On the strict path undeviating kept | I |
One winter evening found himself pursued | I |
Amidst the dusky thronging multitude | I |
Quickly he walked but strangely swift was she | C |
And pertinacious and would make him see | C |
He saw at last and recognising slow | N |
Discovered in this hapless thing of woe | N |
The occasion of his shame twelve wretched months ago | N |
She gaily laughed she cried and sought his hand | I |
And spoke sweet phrases of her native land | I |
Exiled she said her lovely home had left | I |
Not to forsake a friend of all but her bereft | I |
Exiled she cried for liberty for love | T2 |
She was still limpid eyes she turned above | T2 |
So beauteous once and now such misery in | U2 |
Pity had all but softened him to sin | U2 |
But while she talked and wildly laughed and cried | I |
And plucked the hand which sadly he denied | I |
A stranger came and swept her from his side | I |
He watched them in the gas lit darkness go | N |
And a voice said within him Even so | N |
So midst the gloomy mansions where they dwell | V2 |
The lost souls walk the flaming streets of hell | V2 |
The lamps appeared to fling a baleful glare | R |
A brazen heat was heavy in the air | R |
And it was hell and he some unblest wanderer there | R |
For a long hour he stayed the streets to roam | O |
Late gathering sense he gained his garret home | O |
There found a telegraph that bade him come | S |
Straight to the country where his daughter still | H2 |
His darling child lay dangerously ill | H2 |
The doctor would he bring Away he went | I |
And found the doctor to the office sent | I |
A letter asking leave and went again | L |
And with a wild confusion in his brain | K |
Joining the doctor caught the latest train | K |
The train swift whirled them from the city light | I |
Into the shadows of the natural night | I |
'Twas silent starry midnight on the down | O2 |
Silent and chill when they straight come from town | O2 |
Leaving the station walked a mile to gain | K |
The lonely house amid the hills where Jane | K |
Her mother and her children should be found | I |
Waked by their entrance but of sleep unsound | I |
The child not yet her altered father knew | I |
Yet talked of her papa in her delirium too | I |
Danger there was yet hope there was and he | C |
To attend the crisis and the changes see | C |
And take the steps at hand should surely be | C |
Said Jane the following day 'Edward you know | N |
Over and over I have told you so | N |
As in a better world I seek to live | C2 |
As I desire forgiveness I forgive | D2 |
Forgiveness does not feel the word to say | I |
As I believe in One who takes away | I |
Our sin and gives us righteousness instead | I |
You to this sin I do believe are dead | I |
'Twas I you know who let you leave your home | O |
And bade you stay when you so wished to come | S |
My fault was that I've told you so before | X |
And vainly told but now 'tis something more | X |
Say is it right without a single friend | I |
Without advice to leave me to attend | I |
Children and mother both Indeed I've thought | I |
Through want of you the child her fever caught | I |
Chances of mischief come with every hour | A |
It is not in a single woman's power | A |
Alone and ever haunted more or less | W2 |
With anxious thoughts of you and your distress | W2 |
'Tis not indeed I'm sure of it in me | C |
All things with perfect judgment to foresee | C |
This weight has grown too heavy to endure | X2 |
And you I tell you now and I am sure | X2 |
Neglect your duty both to God and man | A2 |
Persisting thus in your unnatural plan | A2 |
This feeling you must conquer for you can | A2 |
And after all you know we are but dust | I |
What are we in ourselves that we should trust ' | Y2 |
He scarcely answered her but he obtained | I |
A longer leave and quietly remained | I |
Slowly the child recovered long was ill | H2 |
Long delicate and he must watch her still | H2 |
To give up seeing her he could not near | Z2 |
To leave her less attended did not dare | R |
The child recovered slowly slowly too | I |
Recovered he and more familiar drew | I |
Home's happy breath and apprehension o'er | A |
Their former life he yielded to restore | X |
And to his mournful garret went no more | X |
- | |
Midnight was dim and hazy overhead | I |
When the tale ended and we turned to bed | I |
On the companion way descending slow | N |
The artillery captain as we went below | N |
Said to the lawyer life could not be meant | I |
To be so altogether innocent | I |
What did the atonement show he for the rest | I |
Could not he thought have written and confessed | I |
Weakness it was and adding crime to crime | A3 |
To leave his family that length of time | A3 |
The lawyer said the American was sure | X2 |
Each nature knows instinctively its cure | X2 |
- | |
Midnight was in the cabin still and dead | I |
Our fellow passengers were all in bed | I |
We followed them and nothing further spoke | B3 |
Out of the sweetest of my sleep I woke | B3 |
At two and felt we stopped amid a dream | C3 |
Of England knew the letting off of steam | C3 |
And rose 'Twas fog and were we off Cape Race | G |
The captain would be certain of his place | G |
Wild in white vapour flew away the force | D3 |
And self arrested was the eager course | D3 |
That had not ceased before But shortly now | E3 |
Cape Race was made to starboard on the bow | E3 |
The paddles plied I slept The following night | I |
In the mid seas we saw a quay and light | I |
And peered through mist into an unseen town | O2 |
And on scarce seeming land set one companion down | O2 |
And went With morning and a shining sun | B |
Under the bright New Brunswick coast we run | B |
And visible discern to every eye | F3 |
Rocks pines and little ports and passing by | F3 |
The boats and coasting craft When sunk the night | I |
Early now sunk the northern streamers bright | I |
Floated and flashed the cliffs and clouds behind | I |
With phosphorus the billows all were lined | I |
- | |
That evening while the arctic streamers bright | I |
Rolled from the clouds in waves of airy light | I |
The lawyer said 'I laid by for to night | I |
A story that I would not tell before | X |
For the last time a confidential four | X |
We meet Receive in your elected ears | G3 |
A tale of human suffering and tears ' | - |
Arthur Hugh Clough
(1)
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