The Isles Of Greece Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABABCC DEDEFF GHIHJJ KLMNOO KPKPQQ RSRSTU FVFVHM MVMV W XQXQMM CYCZJJ QLQLA2B2 LC2LC2D2D2 QPQPII LLLLE2E2 QF2QF2LL G2H2G2H2QQThe isles of Greece the isles of Greece | A |
Where burning Sappho loved and sung | B |
Where grew the arts of war and peace | A |
Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung | B |
Eternal summer gilds them yet | C |
But all except their sun is set | C |
- | |
The Scian and the Teian muse | D |
The hero's harp the lover's lute | E |
Have found the fame your shores refuse | D |
Their place of birth alone is mute | E |
To sounds which echo further west | F |
Than your sires' 'Islands of the Blest | F |
- | |
The mountains look on Marathon | G |
And Marathon looks on the sea | H |
And musing there an hour alone | I |
I dream'd that Greece might still be free | H |
For standing on the Persians' grave | J |
I could not deem myself a slave | J |
- | |
A king sate on the rocky brow | K |
Which looks o'er sea born Salamis | L |
And ships by thousands lay below | M |
And men in nations all were his | N |
He counted them at break of day | O |
And when the sun set where were they | O |
- | |
And where are they and where art thou | K |
My country On thy voiceless shore | P |
The heroic lay is tuneless now | K |
The heroic bosom beats no more | P |
And must thy lyre so long divine | Q |
Degenerate into hands like mine | Q |
- | |
'Tis something in the dearth of fame | R |
Though link'd among a fetter'd race | S |
To feel at least a patriot's shame | R |
Even as I sing suffuse my face | S |
For what is left the poet here | T |
For Greeks a blush for Greece a tear | U |
- | |
Must we but weep o'er days more blest | F |
Must we but blush Our fathers bled | V |
Earth render back from out thy breast | F |
A remnant of our Spartan dead | V |
Of the three hundred grant but three | H |
To make a new Thermopyl | M |
- | |
What silent still and silent all | M |
Ah no the voices of the dead | V |
Sound like a distant torrent's fall | M |
And answer 'Let one living head | V |
But one arise we come we come ' | - |
'Tis but the living who are dumb | W |
- | |
In vain in vain strike other chords | X |
Fill high the cup with Samian wine | Q |
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes | X |
And shed the blood of Scio's vine | Q |
Hark rising to the ignoble call | M |
How answers each bold Bacchanal | M |
- | |
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet | C |
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone | Y |
Of two such lessons why forget | C |
The nobler and the manlier one | Z |
You have the letters Cadmus gave | J |
Think ye he meant them for a slave | J |
- | |
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine | Q |
We will not think of themes like these | L |
It made Anacreon's song divine | Q |
He served but served Polycrates | L |
A tyrant but our masters then | A2 |
Were still at least our countrymen | B2 |
- | |
The tyrant of the Chersonese | L |
Was freedom's best and bravest friend | C2 |
That tyrant was Miltiades | L |
O that the present hour would lend | C2 |
Another despot of the kind | D2 |
Such chains as his were sure to bind | D2 |
- | |
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine | Q |
On Suli's rock and Parga's shore | P |
Exists the remnant of a line | Q |
Such as the Doric mothers bore | P |
And there perhaps some seed is sown | I |
The Heracleidan blood might own | I |
- | |
Trust not for freedom to the Franks | L |
They have a king who buys and sells | L |
In native swords and native ranks | L |
The only hope of courage dwells | L |
But Turkish force and Latin fraud | E2 |
Would break your shield however broad | E2 |
- | |
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine | Q |
Our virgins dance beneath the shade | F2 |
I see their glorious black eyes shine | Q |
But gazing on each glowing maid | F2 |
My own the burning tear drop laves | L |
To think such breasts must suckle slaves | L |
- | |
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep | G2 |
Where nothing save the waves and I | H2 |
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep | G2 |
There swan like let me sing and die | H2 |
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine | Q |
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine | Q |
George Gordon Lord Byron
(1)
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