On William Francis Bartlett Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD EFEF GHIH JKJK LMLM NONO PQPQ RSRS TUTU| O poor Romancer thou whose printed page | A |
| Filled with rude speech and ruder forms of strife | B |
| Was given to heroes in whose vulgar rage | A |
| No trace appears of gentler ways and life | B |
| - | |
| Thou who wast wont of commoner clay to build | C |
| Some rough Achilles or some Ajax tall | D |
| Thou whose free brush too oft was wont to gild | C |
| Some single virtue till it dazzled all | D |
| - | |
| What right hast thou beside this laureled bier | E |
| Whereon all manhood lies whereon the wreath | F |
| Of Harvard rests the civic crown and here | E |
| The starry flag and sword and jeweled sheath | F |
| - | |
| Seest thou these hatchments Knowest thou this blood | G |
| Nourished the heroes of Colonial days | H |
| Sent to the dim and savage haunted wood | I |
| Those sad eyed Puritans with hymns of praise | H |
| - | |
| Look round thee Everywhere is classic ground | J |
| There Greylock rears Beside yon silver Bowl | K |
| Great Hawthorne dwelt and in its mirror found | J |
| Those quaint strange shapes that filled his poet's soul | K |
| - | |
| Still silent Stranger Thou who now and then | L |
| Touched the too credulous ear with pathos canst not speak | M |
| Hast lost thy ready skill of tongue and pen | L |
| What Jester Tears upon that painted cheek | M |
| - | |
| Pardon good friends I am not here to mar | N |
| His laureled wreaths with this poor tinseled crown | O |
| This man who taught me how 'twas better far | N |
| To be the poem than to write it down | O |
| - | |
| I bring no lesson Well have others preached | P |
| This sword that dealt full many a gallant blow | Q |
| I come once more to touch the hand that reached | P |
| Its knightly gauntlet to the vanquished foe | Q |
| - | |
| O pale Aristocrat that liest there | R |
| So cold so silent Couldst thou not in grace | S |
| Have borne with us still longer and so spare | R |
| The scorn we see in that proud placid face | S |
| - | |
| Hail and farewell So the proud Roman cried | T |
| O'er his dead hero Hail but not farewell | U |
| With each high thought thou walkest side by side | T |
| We feel thee touch thee know who wrought the spell | U |
Bret Harte
(1)
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