The Irish Avatar Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AB CDCD EFBG HIHI HJHK HHHH ILIL MHNH OPOP QDQD RSTS UBVB WXWX HNHN YDYD ZPZP NA2NA2 B2HB2 C2HC2H D2BD2B D2E2D2 F2G2F2G2 F2HF2H KH2KI2 D2HD2H D2J2D2J2 G2K2G2K2 D2ID2I D2HD2H IC2IC2 HD2HD2 ID2ID2 IIII'And Ireland like a bastinadoed elephant | A |
kneeling to receive the paltry rider ' Curran | B |
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Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave | C |
And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide | D |
Lo George the triumphant speeds over the wave | C |
To the long cherish'd isle which he loved like his bride | D |
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True the great of her bright and brief era are gone | E |
The rainbow like epoch where Freedom could pause | F |
For the few little years out of centuries won | B |
Which betray'd not or crush'd not or wept not her cause | G |
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True the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags | H |
The castle still stands and the senate's no more | I |
And the famine which dwelt on her freedomless crags | H |
Is extending its steps to her desolate shore | I |
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To her desolate shore where the emigrant stands | H |
For a moment to gaze ere he flies from his hearth | J |
Tears fall on his chain though it drops from his hands | H |
For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth | K |
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But he comes the Messiah of royalty comes | H |
Like a goodly Leviathan roll'd from the waves | H |
Then receive him as best such an advent becomes | H |
With a legion of cooks and an army of slaves | H |
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He comes in the promise and bloom of threescore | I |
To perform in the pageant the sovereign's part | L |
But long live the shamrock which shadows him o'er | I |
Could the green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart | L |
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Could that long wither'd spot but be ver dant again | M |
And a new spring of noble affections arise | H |
Then might freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain | N |
And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies | H |
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Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now | O |
Were he God as he is but the com monest clay | P |
With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow | O |
Such servile devotion might shame him away | P |
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Ay roar in his train let thine orators lash | Q |
Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride | D |
Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly flash | Q |
His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied | D |
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Ever glorious Grattan the best of the good | R |
So simple in heart so sublime in the rest | S |
With all which Demosthenes wanted endued | T |
And his rival or victor in all he possess'd | S |
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Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome | U |
Though unequall'd preceded the task was begun | B |
But Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb | V |
Of ages the first last the saviour the one | B |
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With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute | W |
With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind | X |
Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute | W |
And Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of his mind | X |
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But back to our theme Back to despots and slaves | H |
Feasts furnish'd by Famine Rejoicings by Pain | N |
True freedom but welcomes while slavery still raves | H |
When a week's saturnalia hath loosen'd her chain | N |
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Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford | Y |
As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide | D |
Gild over the palace Lo Erin thy lord | Y |
Kiss his foot with thy blessing his bless ings denied | D |
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Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last | Z |
If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay | P |
Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd | Z |
With what monarchs ne'er give but as wolves yield their prey | P |
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Each brute hath its nature a king's is to reign | N |
To reign in that word see ye ages comprised | A2 |
The cause of the curses all annals contain | N |
From Caesar the dreaded to George the despised | A2 |
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Wear Fingal thy trapping O'Connell proclaim | B2 |
His accomplishments Hist and thy country convince | H |
Half an age's contempt was an error of fame | B2 |
And that 'Hal is the rascaliest sweetest young prince ' | - |
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Will thy yard of blue riband poor Fingal recall | C2 |
The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs | H |
Or has it not bound thee the fastest of all | C2 |
The slaves who now hail their betrayer with hymns | H |
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Ay 'Build him a dwelling ' let each give his mite | D2 |
Till like Babel the new royal dome hath arisen | B |
Let thy beggars and helots their pittance unite | D2 |
And a palace bestow for a poor house and prison | B |
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Spread spread for Vitellius the royal repast | D2 |
Till the gluttonous despot be stuff'd to the gorge | E2 |
And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last | D2 |
The fourth of the fools and oppressors call'd 'George ' | - |
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Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan | F2 |
Till they groan like thy people through ages of woe | G2 |
Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne | F2 |
Like their blood which has flow'd and which yet has to flow | G2 |
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But let not his name be thine idol alone | F2 |
On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears | H |
Thine own Castlereagh let him still be thine own | F2 |
A wretch never named but with curses and jeers | H |
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Till now when the isle which should blush for his birth | K |
Deep deep as the gore which he shed on her soil | H2 |
Seems proud of the reptile which crawl 'd from her earth | K |
And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile | I2 |
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Without one single ray of her genius without | D2 |
The fancy the manhood the fire of her race | H |
The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt | D2 |
If she ever gave birth to a being so base | H |
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If she did let her long boasted proverb be hush'd | D2 |
Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring | J2 |
See the cold blooded serpent with venom full flush'd | D2 |
Still warming its folds in the breast of a king | J2 |
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Shout drink feast and flatter Oh Erin how low | G2 |
Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny till | K2 |
Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below | G2 |
The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulf still | K2 |
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My voice though but humble was raised for thy right | D2 |
My vote as a freeman's still voted thee free | I |
This hand though but feeble would arm in thy fight | D2 |
And this heart though outworn had a throb still for thee | I |
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Yes I loved thee and thine though thou art not my land | D2 |
I have known noble hearts and great souls in thy sons | H |
And I wept with the world o'er the patriot band | D2 |
Who are gone but I weep them no longer as once | H |
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For happy are they now reposing afar | I |
Thy Grattan thy Curran thy Sheridan all | C2 |
Who for years were the chiefs in the eloquent war | I |
And redeem'd if they have not retarded thy fall | C2 |
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Yes happy are they in their cold English graves | H |
Their shades cannot start to thy shouts of today | D2 |
Nor the steps of enslavers and chain kissing slaves | H |
Be stamp'd in the turf o'er their fetter less clay | D2 |
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Till now I had envied thy sons and their shore | I |
Though their virtues were hunted their liberties fled | D2 |
There was something so warm and sublime in the core | I |
Of an Irishman's heart that I envy thy dead | D2 |
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Or if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour | I |
My contempt for a nation so servile though sore | I |
Which though trod like the worm will not turn upon power | I |
'Tis the glory of Grattan and genius of Moore | I |
George Gordon Byron
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