The Old Man's Relapse Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B C DDEEFFGG HHIIJJKK BBLLBBMM BBNNOOPP BBBBQQNN RRBBBBCC BBHHSSBB TPHHDDUQ EERRVVJJ| Verses Occasioned by the Foregoing Epistle | A |
| - | |
| - | |
| Sopitos suscita ignes | B |
| - | |
| VIRG | C |
| - | |
| - | |
| From man's too curious and impatient sight | D |
| The future Heaven involves in thickest night | D |
| Credit gray hairs though freedom much we boast | E |
| Some least perform what they determine most | E |
| What sudden changes our resolves betray | F |
| To morrow is the satire on to day | F |
| And shows its weakness Whom shall men believe | G |
| When constantly themselves themselves deceive | G |
| - | |
| Long had I bid my once loved muse adieu | H |
| You warm old age my passion burns anew | H |
| How sweet your verse how great your force of mind | I |
| What power of words what skill in dark mankind | I |
| Polite the conduct generous the design | J |
| And beauty files and strength sustains each line | J |
| Thus Mars and Venus are once more beset | K |
| Your wit has caught them in its golden net | K |
| - | |
| But what strikes home with most exalted grace | B |
| Is haughty genius taught to know its place | B |
| And where worth shines its humbled crest to bend | L |
| With zeal devoted to that godlike end | L |
| When we discern so rich a vein of sense | B |
| Through the smooth flow of purest eloquence | B |
| 'Tis like the limpid streams of Tagus roll'd | M |
| O'er boundless wealth o'er shining beds of gold | M |
| - | |
| But whence so finish'd so refin'd a piece | B |
| The tongue denies it to old Rome and Greece | B |
| The genius bids the moderns doubt their claim | N |
| And slowly take possession of the fame | N |
| But I nor know nor care by whom 'twas writ | O |
| Enough for me that 'tis from human wit | O |
| That soothes my pride all glory in the pen | P |
| Which has done honour to the race of men | P |
| - | |
| But this have others done a like applause | B |
| An ancient and a modern Horace draws | B |
| But they to glory by degrees arose | B |
| Meridian lustre you at once disclose | B |
| 'Tis continence of mind unknown before | Q |
| To write so well and yet to write no more | Q |
| More bright renown can human nature claim | N |
| Than to deserve and fly immortal fame | N |
| - | |
| Next to the godlike praise of writing well | R |
| Is on that praise with just delight to dwell | R |
| O for some God my drooping soul to raise | B |
| That I might imitate as well as praise | B |
| For all commend e'en foes your fame confess | B |
| Nor would Augustus' age have priz'd it less | B |
| An age which had not held its pride so long | C |
| But for the want of so complete a song | C |
| - | |
| A golden period shall from you commence | B |
| Peace shall be sign'd 'twixt wit and manly sense | B |
| Whether your genius or your rank they view | H |
| The muses find their Halifax in you | H |
| Like him succeed nor think my zeal is shown | S |
| For you 'tis Britain's interest not your own | S |
| For lofty stations are but golden snares | B |
| Which tempt the great to fall in love with cares | B |
| - | |
| I would proceed but age has chill'd my vein | T |
| 'Twas a short fever and I'm cool again | P |
| Though life I hate methinks I could renew | H |
| Its tasteless painful course to sing of you | H |
| When such the subject who shall curb his flight | D |
| When such your genius who shall dare to write | D |
| In pure respect I give my rhyming o'er | U |
| And to commend you most commend no more | Q |
| - | |
| Adieu whoe'er thou art on death's pale coast | E |
| Erelong I'll talk thee o'er with Dryden's ghost | E |
| The bard will smile A last a long farewell | R |
| Henceforth I hide me in my dusky cell | R |
| There wait the friendly stroke that sets me free | V |
| And think of immortality and thee | V |
| My strains are number'd by the tuneful Nine | J |
| Each maid presents her thanks and all present thee mine | J |
Edward Young
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
<< Love Of Fame, The Universal Passion. Satire Vii Poem
Love Of Fame, The Universal Passion. Satire I. To His Grace The Duke Of Dorset Poem>>
Write your comment about The Old Man's Relapse poem by Edward Young
Best Poems of Edward Young