The Funeral Of The Lioness Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BBCCDEFFGGHHIIJJKL MNOMMPPQQ RSSTUVVVWWXXXYZA2A2B 2C2C2D2SSE2 F2F2LKQQHLHHG2G2QQH2 H2 I2I2 QJ2J2 MMVVV

A
-
The lion's consort diedB
Crowds gather'd at his sideB
Must needs console the princeC
And thus their loyalty evinceC
By compliments of courseD
Which make affliction worseE
Officially he citesF
His realm to funeral ritesF
At such a time and placeG
His marshals of the maceG
Would order the affairH
Judge you if all came thereH
Meantime the prince gave wayI
To sorrow night and dayI
With cries of wild lamentJ
His cave he well nigh rentJ
And from his courtiers far and nearK
Sounds imitative you might hearL
-
The court a country seems to meM
Whose people are no matter whatN
Sad gay indifferent or notO
As suits the will of majestyM
Or if unable so to beM
Their task it is to seem it allP
Chameleons monkeys great and smallP
'Twould seem one spirit serves a thousand bodiesQ
A paradise indeed for soulless noddiesQ
-
But to our tale againR
The stag graced not the funeral trainS
Of tears his cheeks bore not a stainS
For how could such a thing have beenT
When death avenged him on the queenU
Who not content with taking oneV
Had choked to death his wife and sonV
The tears in truth refused to runV
A flatterer who watch'd the whileW
Affirm'd that he had seen him smileW
If as the wise man somewhere saithX
A king's is like a lion's wrathX
What should King Lion's be but deathX
The stag however could not readY
Hence paid this proverb little heedZ
And walk'd intrepid to'ards the throneA2
When thus the king in fearful toneA2
'Thou caitiff of the woodB2
Presum'st to laugh at such a timeC2
Joins not thy voice the mournful chimeC2
We suffer not the bloodD2
Of such a wretch profaneS
Our sacred claws to stainS
Wolves let a sacrifice be madeE2
Avenge your mistress' awful shade '-
'Sire ' did the stag replyF2
The time for tears is quite gone byF2
For in the flowers not far from hereL
Your worthy consort did appearK
Her form in spite of my surpriseQ
I could not fail to recogniseQ
My friend said she bewareH
Lest funeral pomp about my bierL
When I shall go with gods to shareH
Compel thine eye to drop a tearH
With kindred saints I roveG2
In the Elysian groveG2
And taste a sort of blissQ
Unknown in worlds like thisQ
Still let the royal sorrow flowH2
Its proper season here belowH2
'Tis not unpleasing I confess '-
The king and court scarce hear him outI2
Up goes the loud and welcome shoutI2
'A miracle an apotheosis '-
And such at once the fashion isQ
So far from dying in a ditchJ2
The stag retires with presents richJ2
-
Amuse the ear of royaltyM
With pleasant dreams and flatteryM
No matter what you may have doneV
Nor yet how high its wrath may runV
The bait is swallow'd object wonV

Jean De La Fontaine



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