The Spanish Jew's Second Tale - The Wayside Inn

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Spanish Jew's Second Tale - The Wayside Inn - Part Third Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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SCANDERBEG	A
	-
The battle is fought and won	B
By King Ladislaus the Hun	B
In fire of hell and death's frost	C
On the day of Pentecost	C
And in rout before his path	D
From the field of battle red	E
Flee all that are not dead	E
Of the army of Amurath	D
	-
In the darkness of the night	F
Iskander the pride and boast	G
Of that mighty Othman host	G
With his routed Turks takes flight	F
From the battle fought and lost	C
On the day of Pentecost	C
Leaving behind him dead	E
The army of Amurath	D
The vanguard as it led	E
The rearguard as it fled	E
Mown down in the bloody swath	D
Of the battle's aftermath	D
	-
But he cared not for Hospodars	H
Nor for Baron or Voivode	E
As on through the night he rode	E
And gazed at the fateful stars	H
That were shining overhead	E
But smote his steed with his staff	I
And smiled to himself and said	E
This is the time to laugh	I
	-
In the middle of the night	E
In a halt of the hurrying flight	E
There came a Scribe of the King	A
Wearing his signet ring	A
And said in a voice severe	J
This is the first dark blot	E
On thy name George Castriot	E
Alas why art thou here	K
And the army of Amurath slain	L
And left on the battle plain	L
	-
And Iskander answered and said	E
They lie on the bloody sod	E
By the hoofs of horses trod	E
But this was the decree	M
Of the watchers overhead	E
For the war belongeth to God	E
And in battle who are we	M
Who are we that shall withstand	E
The wind of his lifted hand	E
	-
Then he bade them bind with chains	H
This man of books and brains	H
And the Scribe said What misdeed	E
Have I done that without need	E
Thou doest to me this thing	A
And Iskander answering	A
Said unto him Not one	B
Misdeed to me hast thou done	B
But for fear that thou shouldst run	B
And hide thyself from me	M
Have I done this unto thee	M
	-
Now write me a writing O Scribe	N
And a blessing be on thy tribe	N
A writing sealed with thy ring	A
To King Amurath's Pasha	O
In the city of Croia	M
The city moated and walled	E
That he surrender the same	P
In the name of my master the King	A
For what is writ in his name	P
Can never be recalled	E
	-
And the Scribe bowed low in dread	E
And unto Iskander said	E
Allah is great and just	E
But we are as ashes and dust	E
How shall I do this thing	A
When I know that my guilty head	E
Will be forfeit to the King	A
	-
Then swift as a shooting star	M
The curved and shining blade	E
Of Iskander's scimetar	M
From its sheath with jewels bright	E
Shot as he thundered Write	E
And the trembling Scribe obeyed	E
And wrote in the fitful glare	M
Of the bivouac fire apart	E
With the chill of the midnight air	M
On his forehead white and bare	M
And the chill of death in his heart	E
	-
Then again Iskander cried	E
Now follow whither I ride	E
For here thou must not stay	E
Thou shalt be as my dearest friend	E
And honors without end	E
Shall surround thee on every side	E
And attend thee night and day	E
But the sullen Scribe replied	E
Our pathways here divide	E
Mine leadeth not thy way	E
	-
And even as he spoke	A
Fell a sudden scimetar stroke	A
When no one else was near	M
And the Scribe sank to the ground	E
As a stone pushed from the brink	A
Of a black pool might sink	A
With a sob and disappear	M
And no one saw the deed	E
And in the stillness around	E
No sound was heard but the sound	E
Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed	E
As forward he sprang with a bound	E
	-
Then onward he rode and afar	M
With scarce three hundred men	Q
Through river and forest and fen	Q
O'er the mountains of Argentar	M
And his heart was merry within	R
When he crossed the river Drin	R
And saw in the gleam of the morn	R
The White Castle Ak Hissar	M
The city Croia called	E
The city moated and walled	E
The city where he was born	R
And above it the morning star	M
	-
Then his trumpeters in the van	R
On their silver bugles blew	S
And in crowds about him ran	R
Albanian and Turkoman	R
That the sound together drew	S
And he feasted with his friends	H
And when they were warm with wine	R
He said O friends of mine	R
Behold what fortune sends	H
And what the fates design	R
King Amurath commands	H
That my father's wide domain	R
This city and all its lands	H
Shall be given to me again	R
	-
Then to the Castle White	E
He rode in regal state	E
And entered in at the gate	E
In all his arms bedight	E
And gave to the Pasha	O
Who ruled in Croia	S
The writing of the King	A
Sealed with his signet ring	A
And the Pasha bowed his head	E
And after a silence said	E
Allah is just and great	E
I yield to the will divine	R
The city and lands are thine	R
Who shall contend with fate	E
	-
Anon from the castle walls	H
The crescent banner falls	H
And the crowd beholds instead	E
Like a portent in the sky	A
Iskander's banner fly	A
The Black Eagle with double head	E
And a shout ascends on high	A
For men's souls are tired of the Turks	H
And their wicked ways and works	H
That have made of Ak Hissar	S
A city of the plague	A
And the loud exultant cry	S
That echoes wide and far	S
Is Long live Scanderbeg	A
	-
It was thus Iskander came	P
Once more unto his own	R
And the tidings like the flame	P
Of a conflagration blown	R
By the winds of summer ran	R
Till the land was in a blaze	H
And the cities far and near	S
Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir	S
In his Book of the Words of the Days	H
Were taken as a man	R
Would take the tip of his ear	S
	-
	-
	-
INTERLUDE	E
	-
Now that is after my own heart	E
The Poet cried one understands	H
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg	A
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg	A
And skilled in every warlike art	E
Riding through his Albanian lands	H
And following the auspicious star	S
That shone for him o'er Ak Hissar	S
	-
The Theologian added here	S
His word of praise not less sincere	S
Although he ended with a jibe	N
The hero of romance and song	A
Was born he said to right the wrong	A
And I approve but all the same	P
That bit of treason with the Scribe	N
Adds nothing to your hero's fame	P
	-
The Student praised the good old times	H
And liked the canter of the rhymes	H
That had a hoofbeat in their sound	E
But longed some further word to hear	S
Of the old chronicler Ben Meir	S
And where his volume might he found	E
The tall Musician walked the room	T
With folded arms and gleaming eyes	H
As if he saw the Vikings rise	H
Gigantic shadows in the gloom	T
And much he talked of their emprise	H
And meteors seen in Northern skies	H
And Heimdal's horn and day of doom	T
But the Sicilian laughed again	R
This is the time to laugh he said	E
For the whole story he well knew	S
Was an invention of the Jew	S
Spun from the cobwebs in his brain	R
And of the same bright scarlet thread	E
As was the Tale of Kambalu	A
	-
Only the Landlord spake no word	E
'T was doubtful whether he had heard	E
The tale at all so full of care	S
Was he of his impending fate	E
That like the sword of Damocles	H
Above his head hung blank and bare	S
Suspended by a single hair	S
So that he could not sit at ease	H
But sighed and looked disconsolate	E
And shifted restless in his chair	S
Revolving how he might evade	E
The blow of the descending blade	E
	-
The Student came to his relief	U
By saying in his easy way	E
To the Musician Calm your grief	U
My fair Apollo of the North	D
Balder the Beautiful and so forth	D
Although your magic lyre or lute	E
With broken strings is lying mute	E
Still you can tell some doleful tale	A
Of shipwreck in a midnight gale	A
Or something of the kind to suit	E
The mood that we are in to night	E
For what is marvellous and strange	V
So give your nimble fancy range	V
And we will follow in its flight	E
	-
But the Musician shook his head	E
No tale I tell to night he said	E
While my poor instrument lies there	S
Even as a child with vacant stare	S
Lies in its little coffin dead	E
	-
Yet being urged he said at last	E
There comes to me out of the Past	E
A voice whose tones are sweet and wild	E
Singing a song almost divine	R
And with a tear in every line	R
An ancient ballad that my nurse	H
Sang to me when I was a child	E
In accents tender as the verse	H
And sometimes wept and sometimes smiled	E
While singing it to see arise	H
The look of wonder in my eyes	H
And feel my heart with tenor beat	E
This simple ballad I retain	R
Clearly imprinted on my brain	R
And as a tale will now repeat	E