By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABBB CDED FGBG HBCB IJBJ BKLK BEKE BBBB KDLD KEB

Witlaf a king of the SaxonsA
Ere yet his last he breathedB
To the merry monks of CroylandB
His drinking horn bequeathedB
-
That whenever they sat at their revelsC
And drank from the golden bowlD
They might remember the donorE
And breathe a prayer for his soulD
-
So sat they once at ChristmasF
And bade the goblet passG
In their beards the red wine glistenedB
Like dew drops in the grassG
-
They drank to the soul of WitlafH
They drank to Christ the LordB
And to each of the Twelve ApostlesC
Who had preached his holy wordB
-
They drank to the Saints and MartyrsI
Of the dismal days of yoreJ
And as soon as the horn was emptyB
They remembered one Saint moreJ
-
And the reader droned from the pulpitB
Like the murmur of many beesK
The legend of good Saint GuthlacL
And Saint Basil's homiliesK
-
Till the great bells of the conventB
From their prison in the towerE
Guthlac and BartholomaeusK
Proclaimed the midnight hourE
-
And the Yule log cracked in the chimneyB
And the Abbot bowed his headB
And the flamelets flapped and flickeredB
But the Abbot was stark and deadB
-
Yet still in his pallid fingersK
He clutched the golden bowlD
In which like a pearl dissolvingL
Had sunk and dissolved his soulD
-
But not for this their revelsK
The jovial monks forboreE
For they cried 'Fill high the gobletB
We must drink to one Saint more '-

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



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