Saint Monica Poem Rhyme Scheme

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AMONG deep woods is the dismantled scite	A
Of an old Abbey where the chaunted rite	A
By twice ten brethren of the monkish cowl	B
Was duly sung and requiems for the soul	C
Of the first founder For the lordly chief	D
Who flourish'd paramount of many a fief	D
Left here a stipend yearly paid that they	E
The pious monks for his repose might say	E
Mass and orisons to Saint Monica	F
	-
Beneath the falling archway overgrown	G
With briars a bench remains a single stone	G
Where sat the indigent to wait the dole	C
Given at the buttery that the baron's soul	C
The poor might intercede for there would rest	A
Known by his hat of straw with cockles drest	A
And staff and humble weed of watchet gray	E
The wandering pilgrim who came there to pray	E
The intercession of Saint Monica	F
Stern Reformation and the lapse of years	H
Have reft the windows and no more appears	H
Abbot or martyr on the glass anneal'd	A
And half the falling cloisters are conceal'd	A
	-
By ash and elder the refectory wall	I
Oft in the storm of night is heard to fall	I
When wearied by the labours of the day	A
The half awaken'd cotters starting say	A
'It is the ruins of Saint Monica '	-
Now with approaching rain is heard the rill	J
Just trickling thro' a deep and hollow gill	J
By osiers and the alder's crowding bush	K
Reeds and dwarf elder and the pithy rush	L
Choak'd and impeded to the lower ground	A
Slowly it creeps there traces still are found	A
Of hollow squares embank'd with beaten clay	A
Where brightly glitter'd in the eye of day	A
The peopled waters of Saint Monica	F
	-
The chapel pavement where the name and date	A
Or monkish rhyme had mark'd the graven plate	A
With docks and nettles now is overgrown	G
And brambles trail above the dead unknown	G
Impatient of the heat the straggling ewe	M
Tinkles her drowsy bell as nibbling slow	N
She picks the grass among the thistles gray	A
Whose feather'd seed the light air bears away	A
O'er the pale relicks of Saint Monica	F
Reecho'd by the walls the owl obscene	O
Hoots to the night as thro' the ivy green	O
Whose matted tods the arch and buttress bind	A
Sobs in low gusts the melancholy wind	A
	-
The Conium there her stalks bedropp'd with red	A
Rears with Circea neighbour of the dead	A
Atropa too that as the beldams say	A
Shews her black fruit to tempt and to betray	A
Nods by the mouldering shrine of Monica	F
Old tales and legends are not quite forgot	A
Still Superstition hovers o'er the spot	A
And tells how here the wan and restless sprite	A
By some way wilder'd peasant seen at night	A
Gibbers and shrieks among the ruins drear	A
And how the friar's lanthorn will appear	A
Gleaming among the woods with fearful ray	A
And from the church yard take its wavering way	A
To the dim arches of Saint Monica	F
	-
The antiquary comes not to explore	A
As once the unrafter'd roof and pathless floor	A
For now no more beneath the vaulted ground	A
Is crosier cross or sculptur'd chalice found	A
Nor record telling of the wassail ale	P
What time the welcome summons to regale	P
Given by the matin peal on holiday	A
The villagers rejoicing to obey	A
Feasted in honour of Saint Monica	F
Yet often still at eve or early morn	Q
Among these ruins shagg'd with fern and thorn	Q
A pensive stranger from his lonely seat	A
Observes the rapid martin threading fleet	A
	-
The broken arch or follows with his eye	R
The wall creeper that hunts the burnish'd fly	R
Sees the newt basking in the sunny ray	A
Or snail that sinuous winds his shining way	A
O'er the time fretted walls of Monica	F
He comes not here from the sepulchral stone	G
To tear the oblivious pall that Time has thrown	G
But meditating marks the power proceed	A
From the mapped lichen to the plumed weed	A
From thready mosses to the veined flower	A
The silent slow but ever active power	A
Of Vegetative Life that o'er Decay	A
Weaves her green mantle when returning May	A
Dresses the ruins of Saint Monica	F
	-
Oh Nature ever lovely ever new	M
He whom his earliest vows has paid to you	M
Still finds that life has something to bestow	N
And while to dark Forgetfulness they go	N
Man and the works of man immortal Youth	S
Unfading Beauty and eternal Truth	S
Your Heaven indited volume will display	A
While Art's elaborate monuments decay	A
Even as these shatter'd aisles deserted Monica	F

Charlotte Smith

Saint Monica Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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