English Bards And Scotch Reviewers (excerpt) Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Time was ere yet in these degenerate days	A
Ignoble themes obtain'd mistaken praise	A
When sense and wit with poesy allied	B
No fabl'd graces flourish'd side by side	B
From the same fount their inspiration drew	C
And rear'd by taste bloom'd fairer as they grew	C
Then in this happy isle a Pope's pure strain	D
Sought the rapt soul to charm nor sought in vain	D
A polish'd nation's praise aspir'd to claim	E
And rais'd the people's as the poet's fame	E
Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song	F
In stream less smooth indeed yet doubly strong	F
Then Congreve's scenes could cheer or Otway's melt	G
For nature then an English audience felt	G
But why these names or greater still retrace	H
When all to feebler bards resign their place	H
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast	I
When taste and reason with those times are past	I
Now look around and turn each trifling page	J
Survey the precious works that please the age	J
This truth at least let satire's self allow	K
No dearth of bards can be complain'd of now	K
The loaded press beneath her labour groans	L
And printers' devils shake their weary bones	L
While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves	M
And Little's lyrics shine in hot press'd twelves	M
Thus saith the Preacher Nought beneath the sun	N
Is new yet still from change to change we run	N
What varied wonders tempt us as they pass	M
The cow pox tractors galvanism and gas	M
In turns appear to make the vulgar stare	O
Till the swoln bubble bursts and all is air	O
Nor less new schools of Poetry arise	M
Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize	M
O'er taste awhile these pseudo bards prevail	P
Each country book club bows the knee to Baal	P
And hurling lawful genius from the throne	Q
Erects a shrine and idol of its own	Q
Some leaden calf but whom it matters not	R
From soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott	R
	-
Behold in various throngs the scribbling crew	C
For notice eager pass in long review	C
Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace	M
And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race	M
Sonnets on sonnets crowd and ode on ode	S
And tales of terror jostle on the road	S
Immeasurable measures move along	F
For simpering folly loves a varied song	F
To strange mysterious dulness still the friend	T
Admires the strain she cannot comprehend	T
Thus Lays of Minstrels may they be the last	I
On half strung harps whine mournful to the blast	I
While mountain spirits prate to river sprites	M
That dames may listen to the sound at nights	M
And goblin brats of Gilpin Horner's brood	U
Decoy young border nobles through the wood	V
And skip at every step Lord knows how high	W
And frighten foolish babes the Lord knows why	W
While high born ladies in their magic cell	P
Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell	P
Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave	X
And fight with honest men to shield a knave	X
	-
Next view in state proud prancing on his roan	Q
The golden crested haughty Marmion	N
Now forging scrolls now foremost in the fight	Y
Not quite a felon yet but half a knight	Y
The gibbet or the field prepar'd to grace	M
A mighty mixture of the great and base	M
And think'st thou Scott by vain conceit perchance	M
On public taste to foist thy stale romance	M
Though Murray with his Miller may combine	Z
To yield thy muse just half a crown per line	Z
No when the sons of song descend to trade	A2
Their bays are sear their former laurels fade	A2
Let such forego the poet's sacred name	E
Who rack their brains for lucre not for fame	E
Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain	D
And sadly gaze on gold they cannot gain	D
Such be their meed such still the just reward	B2
Of prostituted muse and hireling bard	C2
For this we spurn Apollo's venal son	N
And bid a long good night to Marmion	N
	-
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now	K
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow	K
While Milton Dryden Pope alike forgot	R
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott	R
	-
The time has been when yet the muse was young	D2
When Homer swept the lyre and Maro sung	D2
An epic scarce ten centuries could claim	E
While awe struck nations hail'd the magic name	E
The work of each immortal bard appears	M
The single wonder of a thousand years	M
Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth	E2
Tongues have expir'd with those who gave them birth	E2
Without the glory such a strain can give	F2
As even in ruin bids the language live	G2
Not so with us though minor bards content	H2
On one great work a life of labour spent	H2
With eagle pinion soaring to the skies	M
Behold the ballad monger Southey rise	M
To him let Camo ns Milton Tasso yield	I2
Whose annual strains like armies take the field	I2
First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance	M
The scourge of England and the boast of France	M
Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch	J2
Behold her statue plac'd in glory's niche	J2
Her fetters burst and just releas'd from prison	N
A virgin phoenix from her ashes risen	N
Next see tremendous Thalaba come on	K2
Arabia's monstrous wild and wondrous son	N
Domdaniel's dread destroyer who o'erthrew	C
More mad magicians than the world e'er knew	C
Immortal hero all thy foes o'ercome	E
For ever reign the rival of Tom Thumb	E
Since startled metre fled before thy face	M
Well wert thou doom'd the last of all thy race	M
Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence	M
Illustrious conqueror of common sense	M
Now last and greatest Madoc spreads his sails	M
Cacique in Mexico and prince in Wales	M
Tells us strange tales as other travellers do	C
More old than Mandeville's and not so true	C
Oh Southey Southey cease thy varied song	F
A bard may chant too often and too long	F
As thou art strong in verse in mercy spare	C
A fourth alas were more than we could bear	C
But if in spite of all the world can say	M
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way	M
If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil	P
Thou wilt devote old women to the devil	P
The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue	C
God help thee Southey and thy readers too	C
	-
Next comes the dull disciple of thy school	P
That mild apostate from poetic rule	P
The simple Wordsworth framer of a lay	M
As soft as evening in his favourite May	M
Who warns his friend to shake off toil and trouble	P
And quit his books for fear of growing double	P
Who both by precept and example shows	M
That prose is verse and verse is merely prose	M
Convincing all by demonstration plain	D
Poetic souls delight in prose insane	D
And Christmas stories tortur'd into rhyme	E
Contain the essence of the true sublime	E
Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy	L2
The idiot mother of an idiot boy	L2
A moon struck silly lad who lost his way	M
And like his bard confounded night with day	M
So close on each pathetic part he dwells	M
And each adventure so sublimely tells	M
That all who view the idiot in his glory	C
Conceive the bard the hero of the story	C
	-
Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnotic'd here	C
To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear	C
Though themes of innocence amuse him best	M2
Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest	M2
If Inspiration should her aid refuse	M
To him who takes a pixy for a muse	M
Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass	M
The bard who soars to elegize an ass	M
So well the subject suits his noble mind	N2
He brays the laureat of the long ear'd kind	N2

George Gordon Byron

English Bards And Scotch Reviewers (excerpt) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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