Death Of Archbishop Turpin. (from The French) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDDDDDEFGGHI JJAAKK LMMAAN OOPPAA DDPPQQDDDD OOOO| The Archbishop whom God loved in high degree | A |
| Beheld his wounds all bleeding fresh and free | A |
| And then his cheek more ghastly grew and wan | B |
| And a faint shudder through his members ran | C |
| Upon the battle field his knee was bent | D |
| Brave Roland saw and to his succor went | D |
| Straightway his helmet from his brow unlaced | D |
| And tore the shining hauberk from his breast | D |
| Then raising in his arms the man of God | D |
| Gently he laid him on the verdant sod | D |
| Rest Sire ' he cried 'for rest thy suffering needs ' | E |
| The priest replied 'Think but of warlike deeds | F |
| The field is ours well may we boast this strife | G |
| But death steals on there is no hope of life | G |
| In paradise where Almoners live again | H |
| There are our couches spread there shall we rest from pain | I |
| - | |
| Sore Roland grieved nor marvel I alas | J |
| That thrice he swooned upon the thick green grass | J |
| When he revived with a loud voice cried he | A |
| 'O Heavenly Father Holy Saint Marie | A |
| Why lingers death to lay me in my grave | K |
| Beloved France how have the good and brave | K |
| Been torn from thee and left thee weak and poor ' | - |
| Then thoughts of Aude his lady love came o'er | L |
| His spirit and he whispered soft and slow | M |
| 'My gentle friend what parting full of woe | M |
| Never so true a liegeman shalt thou see | A |
| Whate'er my fate Christ's benison on thee | A |
| Christ who did save from realms of woe beneath | N |
| The Hebrew Prophets from the second death ' | - |
| Then to the Paladins whom well he knew | O |
| He went and one by one unaided drew | O |
| To Turpin's side well skilled in ghostly lore | P |
| No heart had he to smile but weeping sore | P |
| He blessed them in God's name with faith that He | A |
| Would soon vouchsafe to them a glad eternity | A |
| - | |
| The Archbishop then on whom God's benison rest | D |
| Exhausted bowed his head upon his breast | D |
| His mouth was full of dust and clotted gore | P |
| And many a wound his swollen visage bore | P |
| Slow beats his heart his panting bosom heaves | Q |
| Death comes apace no hope of cure relieves | Q |
| Towards heaven he raised his dying hands and prayed | D |
| That God who for our sins was mortal made | D |
| Born of the Virgin scorned and crucified | D |
| In paradise would place him by His side | D |
| - | |
| Then Turpin died in service of Charlon | O |
| In battle great and eke great orison | O |
| 'Gainst Pagan host alway strong champion | O |
| God grant to him His holy benison | O |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1)
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