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

Rhyme Scheme: A BBBBCCDDEEBBFF AAGGHHBB IIFFBBBBBBCCDD B BBFHHF BFFFBFFB BAAFBFBFBBF CFBFCCBFCC

AZRAELA
-
King Solomon before his palace gateB
At evening on the pavement tessellateB
Was walking with a stranger from the EastB
Arrayed in rich attire as for a feastB
The mighty Runjeet Sing a learned manC
And Rajah of the realms of HindostanC
And as they walked the guest became awareD
Of a white figure in the twilight airD
Gazing intent as one who with surpriseE
His form and features seemed to recognizeE
And in a whisper to the king he saidB
What is yon shape that pallid as the deadB
Is watching me as if he sought to traceF
In the dim light the features of my faceF
-
The king looked and replied I know him wellA
It is the Angel men call AzraelA
'T is the Death Angel what hast thou to fearG
And the guest answered Lest he should come nearG
And speak to me and take away my breathH
Save me from Azrael save me from deathH
O king that hast dominion o'er the windB
Bid it arise and bear me hence to IndB
-
The king gazed upward at the cloudless skyI
Whispered a word and raised his hand on highI
And lo the signet ring of chrysopraseF
On his uplifted finger seemed to blazeF
With hidden fire and rushing from the westB
There came a mighty wind and seized the guestB
And lifted him from earth and on they passedB
His shining garments streaming in the blastB
A silken banner o'er the walls uprearedB
A purple cloud that gleamed and disappearedB
Then said the Angel smiling If this manC
Be Rajah Runjeet Sing of HindostanC
Thou hast done well in listening to his prayerD
I was upon my way to seek him thereD
-
-
-
INTERLUDEB
-
O Edrehi forbear to nightB
Your ghostly legends of affrightB
And let the Talmud rest in peaceF
Spare us your dismal tales of deathH
That almost take away one's breathH
So doing may your tribe increaseF
-
Thus the Sicilian said then wentB
And on the spinet's rattling keysF
Played Marianina like a breezeF
From Naples and the Southern seasF
That brings us the delicious scentB
Of citron and of orange treesF
And memories of soft days of easeF
At Capri and Amalfi spentB
-
Not so the eager Poet saidB
At least not so before I tellA
The story of my AzraelA
An angel mortal as ourselvesF
Which in an ancient tome I foundB
Upon a convent's dusty shelvesF
Chained with an iron chain and boundB
In parchment and with clasps of brassF
Lest from its prison some dark dayB
It might be stolen or steal awayB
While the good friars were singing massF
-
It is a tale of CharlemagneC
When like a thunder cloud that lowersF
And sweeps from mountain crest to coastB
With lightning flaming through its showersF
He swept across the Lombard plainC
Beleaguering with his warlike trainC
Pavia the country's pride and boastB
The City of the Hundred TowersF
Thus heralded the tale beganC
And thus in sober measure ranC

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



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