The Statue Of The Dying Gladiator Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDCCEEFG HHIIJJ KKLLMMNNLLOO LLPPCCOOQREESSTT

COMMANDING pow'r whose hand with plastic artA
Bids the rude stone to grace and being startA
Swell to the waving line the polish'd formB
And only want Promethean fire to warmB
Sculpture exult thy triumph proudly seeC
The Roman slave immortalized by theeC
No suppliant sighs no terrors round him waitD
But vanquish'd valor soars above his fateD
In that fix'd eye still proud defiance low'rsC
In that stern look indignant grandeur tow'rsC
He sees e'en death with javelin barb'd in painE
A foe but worthy of sublime disdainE
Too firm too lofty for one parting tearF
A quiv'ring pulse a struggle or a fearG
-
Oh fire of soul by servitude disgrac'dH
Perverted courage energy debas'dH
Lost Rome thy slave expiring in the dustI
Tow'rs far above Patrician rank augustI
While that proud rank insatiate could surveyJ
Pageants that stain'd with blood each festal dayJ
-
Oh had that arm which grac'd thy deathful showK
With many a daring feat and nervous blowK
Wav'd the keen sword and rear'd the patriot shieldL
Firm in thy cause on Glory's laureate fieldL
Then like the marble form from age to ageM
His name had liv'd in history's brightest pageM
While death had but secur'd the victor's crownN
And seal'd the suffrage of deserv'd renownN
That gen'rous pride that spirit unsubdu'dL
That soul with honor's high wrought sense imbu'dL
Had shone recorded in the song of fameO
A beam as now a blemish on thy nameO
-
Yet here so well has art majestic wroughtL
Sublimed expression and ennobled thoughtL
A dying Hero we behold aloneP
And Mind's bright grandeur animates the stoneP
'Tis not th' Arena's venal champion bleedsC
No 'tis some warrior fam'd for matchless deedsC
Admiring rapture kindles into flameO
Nature and art the palm divided claimO
Nature exulting in her spirit's pow'rQ
To rise victorious in the dreaded hourR
Triumphs that death and all his shadowy trainE
Assail a mortal's constancy in vainE
And Art rejoicing in the work sublimeS
Unhurt by all the sacrilege of timeS
Smiles o'er the marble her divine controlT
Moulded to symmetry and fir'd with soulT

Felicia Dorothea Hemans



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