Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto Iii. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCBCDCACAA AEFEGFHFHH AIJIJJKJLL AMNMNNONOO APAPAAQAQQ AARARRSPSS ATUTUUTUTT ATVTVVWVWW LTXTMMYMYY LTTTTTTTTT LZTZTTA2TA2A2 LTTTTTTTTT LLB2LB2B2C2B2C2C2 ALTLTTD2TD2D2 ANE2NB2B2TB2TT AXB2MB2B2F2B2F2F2 ATPTPPLPLL ALG2LG2G2MG2MM LTLTLLLLLL LD

IA
Is thy face like thy mother's my fair childB
Ada sole daughter of my house and heartC
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiledB
And then we parted not as now we partC
But with a hopeD
Awaking with a startC
The waters heave around me and on highA
The winds lift up their voices I departC
Whither I know not but the hour's gone byA
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eyeA
-
IIA
Once more upon the waters yet once moreE
And the waves bound beneath me as a steedF
That knows his rider Welcome to their roarE
Swift be their guidance wheresoe'er it leadG
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reedF
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the galeH
Still must I on for I am as a weedF
Flung from the rock on Ocean's foam to sailH
Where'er the surge may sweep or tempest's breath prevailH
-
IIIA
In my youth's summer I did sing of OneI
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mindJ
Again I seize the theme then but begunI
And bear it with me as the rushing windJ
Bears the cloud onwards in that Tale I findJ
The furrows of long thought and dried up tearsK
Which ebbing leave a sterile track behindJ
O'er which all heavily the journeying yearsL
Plod the last sands of life where not a flower appearsL
-
IVA
Since my young days of passion joy or painM
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a stringN
And both may jar it may be that in vainM
I would essay as I have sung to singN
Yet though a dreary strain to this I clingN
So that it wean me from the weary dreamO
Of selfish grief or gladness so it flingN
Forgetfulness around me it shall seemO
To me though to none else a not ungrateful themeO
-
VA
He who grown aged in this world of woeP
In deeds not years piercing the depths of lifeA
So that no wonder waits him nor belowP
Can love or sorrow fame ambition strifeA
Cut to his heart again with the keen knifeA
Of silent sharp endurance he can tellQ
Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves yet rifeA
With airy images and shapes which dwellQ
Still unimpair'd though old in the soul's haunted cellQ
-
VIA
'Tis to create and in creating lifeA
A being more intense that we endowR
With form our fancy gaining as we giveA
The life we image even as I do nowR
What am I Nothing but not so art thouR
Soul of my thought with whom I traverse earthS
Invisible but gazing as I growP
Mix'd with thy spirit blended with thy birthS
And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feeling's dearthS
-
VIIA
Yet must I think less wildly I have thoughtT
Too long and darkly till my brain becameU
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwroughtT
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flameU
And thus untaught in youth my heart to tameU
My springs of life were poison'd 'Tis too lateT
Yet am I chang'd though still enough the sameU
In strength to bear what time can not abateT
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing FateT
-
VIIIA
Something too much of this but now 'tis pastT
And the spell closes with its silent sealV
Long absent HAROLD re appears at lastT
He of the breast which fain no more would feelV
Wrung with the wounds which kill not but ne'er healV
Yet Time who changes all had altered himW
In sould and aspect as in age years stealV
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limbW
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brimW
-
IXL
His had been quaff'd too quickly and he foundT
The dregs were wormwood but he fill'd againX
And from a purer fount on holier groundT
And deem'd its spring perpetual but in vainM
Still round him clung invisibly a chainM
Which gall'd for ever fettering though unseenY
And heavy though it clank'd not worn with painM
Which pined although it spoke not and grew keenY
Entering with every step he took through many a sceneY
-
XL
Secure in guarded coldness he had mix'dT
Again in fancied safety with his kindT
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'dT
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mindT
That if no joy no sorrow lurk'd behindT
And he as one might midst the many standT
Unheeded searching through the crowd to findT
Fit speculation such as in strange landT
He found in wonder works of God and Nature's handT
-
XIL
But who can view the ripened rose nor seekZ
To wear it who can curiously beholdT
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheekZ
Nor feel the heart can never all grow oldT
Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfoldT
The star which rises o'er her steep nor climbA2
Harold once more within the vortex roll'dT
On with the giddy circle chasing TimeA2
Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond primeA2
-
XIIL
But soon he knew himself the most unfitT
Of men to herd with man with whom he heldT
Little in common untaught to submitT
His thoughts to others though his soul was quell'dT
In youth by his own thoughts still uncompell'dT
He would not yield dominion of his mindT
To spirits against whom his own rebell'dT
Proud though in desolation which could findT
A life within itself to breathe without mankindT
-
XIIIL
Where rose the mountains there to him were friendsL
Where roll'd the ocean theron was his homeB2
Where a blue sky and glowing clime extendsL
He had the passion and the power to roamB2
The desert forest cavern breaker's foamB2
Were unto him companionship they spakeC2
A mutual language clearer than the tomeB2
Of his land's tongue which he would oft forsakeC2
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lakeC2
-
XIVA
Like the Chaldean he could watch the starsL
Till he had peopled them with beings brightT
As their own beams and earth and earth born jarsL
And human frailties were forgotten quiteT
Could he have kept his spirit to that flightT
He had been happy but this clay will sinkD2
Its spark immortal envying it the lightT
To which it mounts as if to break the linkD2
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brinkD2
-
XVA
But in Man's dwellings he became a thingN
Restless and worn and stern and wearisomeE2
Droop'd as a wild born falcon with clipt wingN
To whom the boundless air alone were homeB2
Then came his fit again which to o'ercomeB2
As eagerly the barr'd up bird will beatT
His breast and beak against his wiry domeB2
Till the blood tinge his plumage so the heatT
Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eatT
-
XVIA
Self exiled Harold wanders forth againX
With nought of hope left but with less of gloomB2
The very knowledge that he lived in vainM
That all was over on this side the tombB2
Had made Despair a smilingness assumeB2
Which though 'twer wild as on the plundered wreckF2
When mariners would madly meet their doomB2
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deckF2
Did yet inspire a cheer which he forbore to checkF2
-
XVIIA
Stop for thy tread is on an Empire's dustT
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred belowP
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bustT
Nor column trophied for triumphal showP
None but the moral's truth tells simpler soP
As the ground was before thus let it beL
How that red rain hath made the harvest growP
And is this all the world has gained by theeL
Thou first and last of fields king making VictoryL
-
XVIIIA
And Harold stands upon this place of skullsL
The grave of France the deadly WaterlooG2
How in an hour the power which gave annulsL
Its gifts transferring fame as fleeting tooG2
In 'pride of place' here last the eagle flewG2
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plainM
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations throughG2
Ambition's life and labours all were vainM
He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chainM
-
XIXL
Fit retribution Gaul may champ the bitT
And foam in fetters but is Earth more freeL
Did nations combat to make One submitT
Or league to teach all kings true sovereigntyL
What shall reviving Thraldom again beL
The patched up idol of enlightened daysL
Shall we who struck the Lion down shall weL
Pay the Wolf homage proffering lowly gazeL
And servile knees to thrones No prove before ye praiseL
-
XXL
If not o'er one fallen despD

George Gordon Byron



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