The Birds Of Cirencester Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABACCADDDDD EEFFDDGGHHIJJJJJ KKKLLLMM DDDKKKJJ NNOODDPP KKKKKKJJ DQRRKKK SSSLLTTT UUVVVWW XXYYJJOODDDid I ever tell you my dears the way | A |
That the birds of Cisseter Cisseter eh | B |
Well Ciren cester one ought to say | A |
From Castra or Caster | C |
As your Latin master | C |
Will further explain to you some day | A |
Though even the wisest err | D |
And Shakespeare writes Ci cester | D |
While every visitor | D |
Who doesn't say Cissiter | D |
Is in Ciren cester considered astray | D |
- | |
A hundred miles from London town | E |
Where the river goes curving and broadening down | E |
From tree top to spire and spire to mast | F |
Till it tumbles outright in the Channel at last | F |
A hundred miles from that flat foreshore | D |
That the Danes and the Northmen haunt no more | D |
There's a little cup in the Cotswold hills | G |
Which a spring in a meadow bubbles and fills | G |
Spanned by a heron's wing crossed by a stride | H |
Calm and untroubled by dreams of pride | H |
Guiltless of Fame or ambition's aims | I |
That is the source of the lordly Thames | J |
Remark here again that custom contemns | J |
Both Tames and Thames you must say Tems | J |
But why no matter from them you can see | J |
Cirencester's tall spires loom up o'er the lea | J |
- | |
A D Five Hundred and Fifty two | K |
The Saxon invaders a terrible crew | K |
Had forced the lines of the Britons through | K |
And Cirencester half mud and thatch | L |
Dry and crisp as a tinder match | L |
Was fiercely beleaguered by foes who'd catch | L |
At any device that could harry and rout | M |
The folk that so boldly were holding out | M |
- | |
For the streets of the town as you'll see to day | D |
Were twisted and curved in a curious way | D |
That kept the invaders still at bay | D |
And the longest bolt that a Saxon drew | K |
Was stopped ere a dozen of yards it flew | K |
By a turn in the street and a law so true | K |
That even these robbers of all laws scorners | J |
Knew you couldn't shoot arrows around street corners | J |
- | |
So they sat them down on a little knoll | N |
And each man scratched his Saxon poll | N |
And stared at the sky where clear and high | O |
The birds of that summer went singing by | O |
As if in his glee each motley jester | D |
Were mocking the foes of Cirencester | D |
Till the jeering crow and the saucy linnet | P |
Seemed all to be saying Ah you're not in it | P |
- | |
High o'er their heads the mavis flew | K |
And the ouzel cock so black of hue | K |
And the throstle with his note so true | K |
You remember what Shakespeare says he knew | K |
And the soaring lark that kept dropping through | K |
Like a bucket spilling in wells of blue | K |
And the merlin seen on heraldic panes | J |
With legs as vague as the Queen of Spain's | J |
- | |
And the dashing swift that would ricochet | D |
From the tufts of grasses before them yet | Q |
Like bold Antaeus would each time bring | R |
New life from the earth barely touched by his wing | R |
And the swallow and martlet that always knew | K |
The straightest way home Here a Saxon churl drew | K |
His breath tapped his forehead an idea had got through | K |
- | |
So they brought them some nets which straightway they filled | S |
With the swallows and martlets the sweet birds who build | S |
In the houses of man all that innocent guild | S |
Who sing at their labor on eaves and in thatch | L |
And they stuck on their feathers a rude lighted match | L |
Made of resin and tow Then they let them all go | T |
To be free As a child like diversion Ah no | T |
To work Cirencester's red ruin and woe | T |
- | |
For straight to each nest they flew in wild quest | U |
Of their homes and their fledgelings that they loved the best | U |
And straighter than arrow of Saxon e'er sped | V |
They shot o'er the curving streets high overhead | V |
Bringing fire and terror to roof tree and bed | V |
Till the town broke in flame wherever they came | W |
To the Briton's red ruin the Saxon's red shame | W |
- | |
Yet they're all gone together To day you'll dig up | X |
From mound or from barrow some arrow or cup | X |
Their fame is forgotten their story is ended | Y |
'Neath the feet of the race they have mixed with and blended | Y |
But the birds are unchanged the ouzel cock sings | J |
Still gold on his crest and still black on his wings | J |
And the lark chants on high as he mounts to the sky | O |
Still brown in his coat and still dim in his eye | O |
While the swallow or martlet is still a free nester | D |
In the eaves and the roofs of thrice built Cirencester | D |
Bret Harte (francis)
(1)
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