The Golden Legend: Iv. The Road To Hirschau Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: AB CDED AAFA GHAH IJAJ KAHA AILI MENE EOHO APIP A QRSR TUVU KJWJ EXHX HAYA ZA2ZA2 A B2 HT TTC2C2TT D2D2TTE2E2F2F2G2G2H2 H2XI2I2X JJAJAD2D2D2AATTF2F2D 2J2J2D2 AJ2J2J2K2K2ANNL2L2AA M2N2N2M2AA AAAA O2O2P2P2P2DD A TTTTTTAAP2P2TTAAQ2Q2 T AATT R2R2S2S2P2P2E2E2P2P2 P2P2P2P2 D ATATP2BTBTBAATTP2IP2 I T P2P2E2PRINCE HENRY and ELSIE with their attendants on | A |
horseback | B |
- | |
Elsie Onward and onward the highway runs | C |
to the distant city impatiently bearing | D |
Tidings of human joy and disaster of love and of | E |
hate of doing and daring | D |
- | |
Prince Henry This life of ours is a wild aeolian | A |
harp of many a joyous strain | A |
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail | F |
as of souls in pain | A |
- | |
Elsie Faith alone can interpret life and the heart | G |
that aches and bleeds with the stigma | H |
Of pain alone bears the likeness of Christ and can | A |
comprehend its dark enigma | H |
- | |
Prince Henry Man is selfish and seeketh pleasure | I |
with little care of what may betide | J |
Else why am I travelling here beside thee a demon | A |
that rides by an angel's side | J |
- | |
Elsie All the hedges are white with dust and | K |
the great dog under the creaking wain | A |
Hangs his head in the lazy heat while onward the | H |
horses toil and strain | A |
- | |
Prince Henry Now they stop at the wayside inn | A |
and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter | I |
While out of the dripping trough the horses distend | L |
their leathern sides with water | I |
- | |
Elsie All through life there are wayside inns | M |
where man may refresh his soul with love | E |
Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed | N |
by springs from above | E |
- | |
Prince Henry Yonder where rises the cross of | E |
stone our journey along the highway ends | O |
And over the fields by a bridle path down into the | H |
broad green valley descends | O |
- | |
Elsie I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten | A |
road with its dust and heat | P |
The air will be sweeter far and the turf will be softer | I |
under our horses' feet | P |
- | |
They turn down a green lane | A |
- | |
Elsie Sweet is the air with the budding haws | Q |
and the valley stretching for miles below | R |
Is white with blossoming cheery trees as if just covered | S |
with lightest snow | R |
- | |
Prince Henry Over our heads a white cascade is | T |
gleaming against the distant hill | U |
We cannot hear it nor see it move but it hangs like | V |
a banner when winds are still | U |
- | |
Elsie Damp and cool is this deep ravine and | K |
cool the sound of the brook by our side | J |
What is this castle that rises above us and lords it | W |
over a land so wide | J |
- | |
Prince Henry It is the home of the Counts of | E |
Calva well have I known these scenes of old | X |
Well I remember each tower and turret remember the | H |
brooklet the wood and the wold | X |
- | |
Elsie Hark from the little village below us the | H |
bells of the church are ringing for rain | A |
Priests and peasants in long procession come forth | Y |
and kneel on the arid plain | A |
- | |
Prince Henry They have not long to wait for I | Z |
see in the south uprising a little cloud | A2 |
That before the sun shall be set will cover the sky | Z |
above us as with a shroud | A2 |
- | |
They pass on | A |
- | |
- | |
- | |
THE CONVENT OF HIRSCHAU IN THE BLACK FOREST | B2 |
- | |
- | |
- | |
The Convent cellar FRIAR CLAUS comes in with a | H |
light and a basket of empty flagons | T |
- | |
Friar Claus I always enter this sacred place | T |
With a thoughtful solemn and reverent pace | T |
Pausing long enough on each stair | C2 |
To breathe an ejaculatory prayer | C2 |
And a benediction on the vines | T |
That produce these various sorts of wines | T |
- | |
For my part I am well content | D2 |
That we have got through with the tedious Lent | D2 |
Fasting is all very well for those | T |
Who have to contend with invisible foes | T |
But I am quite sure it does not agree | E2 |
With a quiet peaceable man like me | E2 |
Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind | F2 |
That are always distressed in body and mind | F2 |
And at times it really does me good | G2 |
To come down among this brotherhood | G2 |
Dwelling forever under ground | H2 |
Silent contemplative round and sound | H2 |
Each one old and brown with mould | X |
But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth | I2 |
With the latent power and love of truth | I2 |
And with virtues fervent and manifold | X |
- | |
I have heard it said that at Easter tide | J |
When buds are swelling on every side | J |
And the sap begins to move in the vine | A |
Then in all the cellars far and wide | J |
The oldest as well as the newest wine | A |
Begins to stir itself and ferment | D2 |
With a kind of revolt and discontent | D2 |
At being so long in darkness pent | D2 |
And fain would burst from its sombre tun | A |
To bask on the hillside in the sun | A |
As in the bosom of us poor friars | T |
The tumult of half subdued desires | T |
For the world that we have left behind | F2 |
Disturbs at times all peace of mind | F2 |
And now that we have lived through Lent | D2 |
My duty it is as often before | J2 |
To open awhile the prison door | J2 |
And give these restless spirits vent | D2 |
- | |
Now here is a cask that stands alone | A |
And has stood a hundred years or more | J2 |
Its beard of cobwebs long and hoar | J2 |
Trailing and sweeping along the floor | J2 |
Like Barbarossa who sits in his cave | K2 |
Taciturn sombre sedate and grave | K2 |
Till his beard has grown through the table of stone | A |
It is of the quick and not of the dead | N |
In its veins the blood is hot and red | N |
And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak | L2 |
That time may have tamed but has not broke | L2 |
It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine | A |
Is one of the three best kinds of wine | A |
And costs some hundred florins the ohm | M2 |
But that I do not consider dear | N2 |
When I remember that every year | N2 |
Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome | M2 |
And whenever a goblet thereof I drain | A |
The old rhyme keeps running in my brain | A |
- | |
At Bacharach on the Rhine | A |
At Hochheim on the Main | A |
And at Wuerzburg on the Stein | A |
Grow the three best kinds of wine | A |
- | |
They are all good wines and better far | O2 |
Than those of the Neckar or those of the Ahr | O2 |
In particular Wuerzburg well may boast | P2 |
Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost | P2 |
Which of all wines I like the most | P2 |
This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking | D |
Who seems to be much of my way of thinking | D |
- | |
Fills a flagon | A |
- | |
Ah how the streamlet laughs and sings | T |
What a delicious fragrance springs | T |
From the deep flagon while it fills | T |
As of hyacinths and daffodils | T |
Between this cask and the Abbot's lips | T |
Many have been the sips and slips | T |
Many have been the draughts of wine | A |
On their way to his that have stopped at mine | A |
And many a time my soul has hankered | P2 |
For a deep draught out of his silver tankard | P2 |
When it should have been busy with other affairs | T |
Less with its longings and more with its prayers | T |
But now there is no such awkward condition | A |
No danger of death and eternal perdition | A |
So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all | Q2 |
Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul | Q2 |
- | |
He drinks | T |
- | |
O cordial delicious O soother of pain | A |
It flashes like sunshine into my brain | A |
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends | T |
Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends | T |
- | |
And now a flagon for such as may ask | R2 |
A draught from the noble Bacharach cask | R2 |
And I will be gone though I know full well | S2 |
The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell | S2 |
Behold where he stands all sound and good | P2 |
Brown and old in his oaken hood | P2 |
Silent he seems externally | E2 |
As any Carthusian monk may be | E2 |
But within what a spirit of deep unrest | P2 |
What a seething and simmering in his breast | P2 |
As if the heaving of his great heart | P2 |
Would burst his belt of oak apart | P2 |
Let me unloose this button of wood | P2 |
And quiet a little his turbulent mood | P2 |
- | |
Sets it running | D |
- | |
See how its currents gleam and shine | A |
As if they had caught the purple hues | T |
Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine | A |
Descending and mingling with the dews | T |
Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood | P2 |
Of the innocent boy who some years back | B |
Was taken and crucified by the Jews | T |
In that ancient town of Bacharach | B |
Perdition upon those infidel Jews | T |
In that ancient town of Bacharach | B |
The beautiful town that gives us wine | A |
With the fragrant odor of Muscadine | A |
I should deem it wrong to let this pass | T |
Without first touching my lips to the glass | T |
For here in the midst of the current I stand | P2 |
Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river | I |
Taking toll upon either hand | P2 |
And much more grateful to the giver | I |
- | |
He drinks | T |
- | |
Here now is a very inferior kind | P2 |
Such as in any town you may find | P2 |
Such as one mi | E2 |
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1)
Poem topics: , Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about The Golden Legend: Iv. The Road To Hirschau poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Best Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow