Pro Patria. An Ode To Swinburne Poem Rhyme Scheme

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We have not alack an ally to befriend us	A
And the season is ripe to extirpate and end us	A
Let the German touch hands with the Gaul	B
And the fortress of England must fall	B
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Louder and louder the noise of defiance	C
Rings rage from the grave of a trustless alliance	C
And bids us beware and be warn'd	D
As abhorr'd of all nations and scorn'd	D
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A Word for the Nation by A C Swinburne	E
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I	-
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Nay good Sir Poet read thy rhymes again	E
And curb the tumults that are born in thee	F
That now thy hand relentful may refrain	E
To deal the blow that Abel had of Cain	E
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II	-
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Are we not Britons born when all is said	G
And thou the offspring of the knightly souls	H
Who fought for Charles when fears were harvested	I
And Cromwell rose to power on Charles's head	G
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III	-
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O reckless roystering bard that in a breath	J
Did'st find the way to flout thy fathers' flag	K
Is't well unheeding what thy Reason saith	J
To seem to triumph in thy country's death	J
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IV	L
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If none will speak for us if none will say	M
How far thy muse has wrong'd us in its thought	N
'Tis I will do it I will say thee nay	M
And hurl thee back the ravings of thy lay	M
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V	L
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We own thy prowess for we've learnt by rote	O
Song after song of thine and thou art great	P
But why this malice Why this wanton note	O
Which seems to come like lava from thy throat	O
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VI	L
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When Hugo spoke we owned his master spell	Q
We knew he feared us more than he contemned	O
He fleck'd with fire each sentence as it fell	Q
And tolled his rancours like a wedding bell	Q
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VII	L
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And we were proud of him as France was proud	O
Ay call'd him brother though he lov'd us not	O
And we were thrill'd when ruthless from a cloud	O
The bolt of death outstretch'd him for a shroud	O
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VIII	L
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Thou'rt great as he by fame and force of song	R
But less than he as spokesman of his Land	O
For thou hast rail'd at thine to do it wrong	R
And call'd it coward though its faith is strong	R
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IX	M
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England a coward O thou five foot five	L
Of flesh and blood and sinew and the rest	O
Is she not girt with glory and alive	L
To hear thee buzz thy scorn of all the hive	L
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X	M
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Thou art a bee a bright a golden thing	S
With too much honey and the taste thereof	L
Is sometimes rough and somewhat of a sting	S
Dwells in the music that we hear thee sing	S
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XI	M
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Oh thou hast wrong'd us thou hast said of late	O
More than is good for listeners to repeat	O
Nay I have marvell'd at thy words of hate	O
For friends and foes alike have deem'd us great	O
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XII	M
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We are not vile We too have hearts to feel	T
And not in vain have men remember'd this	M
Our hands are quick at times to clasp the steel	T
And strike the blows that centuries cannot heal	T
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XIII	M
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The sea ward rocks are proud to be assail'd	O
By wave and wind for bluster kills itself	L
But rocks endure And England has prevail'd	O
Times out of number when her foes have failed	O
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XIV	L
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And once thou know'st a giant here was found	O
Not bred in France or elsewhere under sun	E
And he was Shakespeare of the whole world round	O
And he was king of men though never crown'd	O
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XV	L
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He lov'd the gracious earth from east to west	O
And all the seas thereof and all its shores	M
But most he lov'd the home that he possess'd	O
And right or wrong his country seem'd the best	O
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XVI	L
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He was content with Albion's classic land	O
He lov'd its flag He veil'd its every fault	O
Yes he was proud to let its honour stand	O
And bring to light the wonders it had plann'd	O
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XVII	L
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Do thou thus much and deal no further pain	E
But sooner tear the tongue from out thy mouth	J
And sooner let the life in thee be slain	E
Than strike at One who strikes thee not again	E
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XVIII	L
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Thy land and mine our England is erect	O
And like a lordly thing she looks on thee	M
And sees thee number'd with her bards elect	O
And will not harm the brow that she has deck'd	O
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XIX	M
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She lets thee live She knows how rich and rare	U
Are songs like thine and how the smallest bird	O
May make much music in the summer air	U
And how a curse may turn into a prayer	U
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XX	M
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Take back thy taunt I say and with the same	V
Accept our pardon or if this offend	O
Why then no pardon e'en in England's name	V
We have our country still and thou thy fame	V

Eric Mackay

Pro Patria. An Ode To Swinburne Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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