An English Peasant Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEFGGHIJJKKGG EFAALLAAMMNODDPPQQAA RRSSTTUURRVW| To pomp and pageantry in nought allied | A |
| A noble peasant Isaac Ashford died | A |
| Noble he was contemning all things mean | B |
| His truth unquestion'd and his soul serene | B |
| Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid | C |
| At no man's question Isaac look'd dismay'd | C |
| Shame knew him not he dreaded no disgrace | D |
| Truth simple truth was written in his face | D |
| Yet while the serious thought his soul approved | E |
| Cheerful he seem'd and gentleness he loved | F |
| To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd | G |
| And with the firmest had the fondest mind | G |
| Were others joyful he looked smiling on | H |
| And have allowance where he needed none | I |
| Good he refused with future ill to buy | J |
| Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh | J |
| A friend to virtue his unclouded breast | K |
| No envy stung no jealousy distressed | K |
| Bane of the poor it wounds their weaker mind | G |
| To miss one favour which their neighbours find | G |
| Yet far was he from stoic pride removed | E |
| He felt humanely and he warmly loved | F |
| I mark'd his action when his infant died | A |
| And his old neighbour for offence was tried | A |
| The still tears stealing down that furrow'd cheek | L |
| Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak | L |
| If pride were his 'twas not their vulgar pride | A |
| Who in their base contempt the great deride | A |
| Nor pride in learning though my clerk agreed | M |
| If fate should call him Ashford might succeed | M |
| Nor pride in rustic skill although we know | N |
| None his superior and his equals few | O |
| But if that spirit in his soul had place | D |
| It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace | D |
| A pride in honest fame by virtue gain'd | P |
| In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train'd | P |
| Pride in the power that guards his country's coast | Q |
| And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast | Q |
| Pride in a life that slander's tongue defied | A |
| In fact a noble passion a misnamed pride | A |
| I feel his absense in the hours of prayer | R |
| And view his seat and sigh for Isaac there | R |
| I see no more those white locks thinly spread | S |
| Round the bald polish of that honour'd head | S |
| No more that awful glance on playful wight | T |
| Compell'd to kneel and tremble at the sight | T |
| To fold his fingers all in dread the while | U |
| Till Master Ashford soften'd to a smile | U |
| No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer | R |
| Nor the pure faith to give it force are there | R |
| But he is bless'd and I lament no more | V |
| A wise good man contented to be poor | W |
George Crabbe
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