Hic Vir, Hic Est Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFBF GHBHHBBB IJBJKHIH CBHBBLHL JJMJHIHI JBBBNOJO HHPHHHCH BBHBOHBH JQBQBLK

Often when o'er tree and turretA
Eve a dying radiance flingsB
By that ancient pile I lingerC
Known familiarly as 'King's 'D
And the ghosts of days departedE
Rise and in my burning breastF
All the undergraduate wakensB
And my spirit is at restF
-
What but a revolting fictionG
Seems the actual resultH
Of the Census's enquiriesB
Made upon the th ultH
Still my soul is in its boyhoodH
Nor of year or changes recksB
Though my scalp is almost hairlessB
And my figure grows convexB
-
Backward moves the kindly dialI
And I'm numbered once againJ
With those noblest of their speciesB
Called emphatically 'Men'J
Loaf as I have loafed aforetimeK
Through the streets with tranquil mindH
And a long backed fancy mongrelI
Trailing casually behindH
-
Past the Senate house I saunterC
Whistling with an easy graceB
Past the cabbage stalks that carpetH
Still the beefy market placeB
Poising evermore the eye glassB
In the light sarcastic eyeL
Lest by chance some breezy nursemaidH
Pass without a tribute byL
-
Once an unassuming FreshmanJ
Through these wilds I wandered onJ
Seeing in each house a CollegeM
Under every cap a DonJ
Each perambulating infantH
Had a magic in its squallI
For my eager eye detectedH
Senior Wranglers in them allI
-
By degrees my educationJ
Grew and I became as othersB
Learned to court delirium tremensB
By the aid of Bacon BrothersB
Bought me tiny boots of MortlockN
And colossal prints of RoeO
And ignored the propositionJ
That both time and money goO
-
Learned to work the wary dogcartH
Artfully through King's ParadeH
Dress and steer a boat and sport withP
Amaryllis in the shadeH
Struck at Brown's the dashing hazardH
Or more curious sport than thatH
Dropped at Callaby's the terrierC
Down upon the prisoned ratH
-
I have stood serene on Fenner'sB
Ground indifferent to blistersB
While the Buttress of the periodH
Bowled me his peculiar twistersB
Sung 'We won't go home till morning'O
Striven to part my backhair straightH
Drunk not lavishly of Miller'sB
Old dry wines atH
-
When within my veins the blood ranJ
And the curls were on my browQ
I did oh ye undergraduatesB
Much as ye are doing nowQ
Wherefore bless ye O beloved onesB
Now unto mine inn must IL
Your 'poor moralist ' a betake meK
In my 'solitary fly '-

Charles Stuart Calverley



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