Elegy On The Death Of A Young Man. [5] Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABABCDEDFGFG HIHIJKJKLMLM NNNGONNNFNNF PQPQRGRGNNNN NSNTUGPGFGFG VNWNGUGUNFNF FNFNPPPPNNNN PXPXYUYPNZNZ OGOGPPPPNONO

Mournful groans as when a tempest lowersA
Echo from the dreary house of woeB
Death notes rise from yonder minster's towersA
Bearing out a youth they slowly goB
Yes a youth unripe yet for the bierC
Gathered in the spring time of his daysD
Thrilling yet with pulses strong and clearE
With the flame that in his bright eye playsD
Yes a son the idol of his motherF
Oh her mournful sigh shows that too wellG
Yes my bosom friend alas my brotherF
Up each man the sad procession swellG
-
Do ye boast ye pines so gray and oldH
Storms to brave with thunderbolts to sportI
And ye hills that ye the heavens upholdH
And ye heavens that ye the suns supportI
Boasts the graybeard who on haughty deedsJ
As on billows seeks perfection's heightK
Boasts the hero whom his prowess leadsJ
Up to future glory's temple brightK
If the gnawing worms the floweret blastL
Who can madly think he'll ne'er decayM
Who above below can hope to lastL
If the young man's life thus fleets awayM
-
Joyously his days of youth so gladN
Danced along in rosy garb becladN
And the world the world was then so sweetN
And how kindly how enchantinglyG
Smiled the future with what golden eyeO
Did life's paradise his moments greetN
While the tear his mother's eye escapedN
Under him the realm of shadows gapedN
And the fates his thread began to severF
Earth and Heaven then vanished from his sightN
From the grave thought shrank he in affrightN
Sweet the world is to the dying everF
-
Dumb and deaf 'tis in that narrow placeP
Deep the slumbers of the buried oneQ
Brother Ah in ever slackening raceP
All thy hopes their circuit cease to runQ
Sunbeams oft thy native hill still laveR
But their glow thou never more canst feelG
O'er its flowers the zephyr's pinions waveR
O'er thine ear its murmur ne'er can stealG
Love will never tinge thine eye with goldN
Never wilt thou embrace thy blooming brideN
Not e'en though our tears in torrents rolledN
Death must now thine eye forever hideN
-
Yet 'tis well for precious is the restN
In that narrow house the sleep is calmS
There with rapture sorrow leaves the breastN
Man's afflictions there no longer harmT
Slander now may wildly rave o'er theeU
And temptation vomit poison fellG
O'er the wrangle on the PhariseeP
Murderous bigots banish thee to hellG
Rogues beneath apostle masks may leerF
And the bastard child of justice playG
As it were with dice with mankind hereF
And so on until the judgment dayG
-
O'er thee fortune still may juggle onV
For her minions blindly look aroundN
Man now totter on his staggering throneW
And in dreary puddles now be foundN
Blest art thou within thy narrow cellG
To this stir of tragi comedyU
To these fortune waves that madly swellG
To this vain and childish lotteryU
To this busy crowd effecting naughtN
To this rest with labor teeming o'erF
Brother to this heaven with devils fraughtN
Now thine eyes have closed forevermoreF
-
Fare thee well oh thou to memory dearF
By our blessings lulled to slumbers sweetN
Sleep on calmly in thy prison drearF
Sleep on calmly till again we meetN
Till the loud Almighty trumpet soundsP
Echoing through these corpse encumbered hillsP
Till God's storm wind bursting through the boundsP
Placed by death with life those corpses fillsP
Till impregnate with Jehovah's blastN
Graves bring forth and at His menace dreadN
In the smoke of planets melting fastN
Once again the tombs give up their deadN
-
Not in worlds as dreamed of by the wiseP
Not in heavens as sung in poet's songX
Not in e'en the people's paradiseP
Yet we shall o'ertake thee and ere longX
Is that true which cheered the pilgrim's gloomY
Is it true that thoughts can yonder beU
True that virtue guides us o'er the tombY
That 'tis more than empty phantasyP
All these riddles are to thee unveiledN
Truth thy soul ecstatic now drinks upZ
Truth in radiance thousandfold exhaledN
From the mighty Father's blissful cupZ
-
Dark and silent bearers draw then nighO
To the slayer serve the feast the whileG
Cease ye mourners cease your wailing cryO
Dust on dust upon the body pileG
Where's the man who God to tempt presumesP
Where the eye that through the gulf can seeP
Holy holy holy art thou God of tombsP
We with awful trembling worship TheeP
Dust may back to native dust be groundN
From its crumbling house the spirit flyO
And the storm its ashes strew aroundN
But its love its love shall never dieO

Friedrich Schiller



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