Mogg Megone - Part I. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABBACDCDEEAAFF GGHHIHGGI JKLJMMCNCNN AAOOAAAPAAPQDQDRSRS TUTVWWXXYAJ YYACCAPP ZZA2 JJB2B2C2C2ECC D2DD2DE2E2AAF2 B2G2B2H2UMUMMI2 AAAAAC J2K2E2L2M2M2N2PN2PYY ADAAO2O2DMP2Q2MP2P2R 2R2S2AS2AP2A2QP2 T2T2U2U2V2AARRRAUUB2 B2E2E2G2G2PPP2P2E2DW 2DX2 X2Y2AA X2E2W2W2X2AADDEEEZ2Z 2CA3A3CAAMAMMZ2

Who stands on that cliff like a figure of stoneA
Unmoving and tall in the light of the skyB
Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on highB
Lonely and sternly save Mogg MegoneA
Close to the verge of the rock is heC
While beneath him the Saco its work is doingD
Hurrying down to its grave the seaC
And slow through the rock its pathway hewingD
Far down through the mist of the falling riverE
Which rises up like an incense everE
The splintered points of the crags are seenA
With water howling and vexed betweenA
While the scooping whirl of the pool beneathF
Seems an open throat with its granite teethF
-
But Mogg Megone never trembled yetG
Wherever his eye or his foot was setG
He is watchful each form in the moonlight dimH
Of rock or of tree is seen of himH
He listens each sound from afar is caughtI
The faintest shiver of leaf and limbH
But he sees not the waters which foam and fretG
Whose moonlit spray has his moccasin wetG
And the roar of their rushing he bears it notI
-
The moonlight through the open boughJ
Of the gnarl'd beech whose naked rootK
Coils like a serpent at his footL
Falls checkered on the Indian's browJ
His head is bare save only whereM
Waves in the wind one lock of hairM
Reserved for him whoe'er he beC
More mighty than Megone in strifeN
When breast to breast and knee to kneeC
Above the fallen warrior's lifeN
Gleams quick and keen the scalping knifeN
-
Megone hath his knife and hatchet and gunA
And his gaudy and tasselled blanket onA
His knife hath a handle with gold inlaidO
And magic words on its polished bladeO
'Twas the gift of Castine to Mogg MegoneA
For a scalp or twain from the Yengees tornA
His gun was the gift of the TarrantineA
And Modocawando's wives had strungP
The brass and the beads which tinkle and shineA
On the polished breach and broad bright lineA
Of beaded wampum around it hungP
What seeks Megone His foes are nearQ
Grey Jocelyn's eye is never sleepingD
And the garrison lights are burning clearQ
Where Phillips' men their watch are keepingD
Let him hie him away through the dank river fogR
Never rustling the boughs nor displacing the rocksS
For the eyes and the ears which are watching for MoggR
Are keener than those of the wolf or the foxS
-
He starts there's a rustle among the leavesT
Another the click of his gun in heardU
A footstep is it the step of CleavesT
With Indian blood on his English swordV
Steals Harmon down from the sands of YorkW
With hand of iron and foot of corkW
Has Scamman versed in Indian wileX
For vengeance left his vine hung in isleX
Hark at that whistle soft and lowY
How lights the eye of Mogg MegoneA
A smile gleams o'er his dusky browJ
'Boon welcome Johnny Bonython '-
-
Out steps with cautious foot and slowY
And quick keen glances to and froY
The hunted outlaw BonythonA
A low lean swarthy man is heC
With blanket garb and buskined kneeC
And naught of English fashion onA
For he hates the race from whence he sprungP
And he couches his words in the Indian tongueP
-
'Hush let the Sachem's voice be weakZ
The water rat shall hear him speakZ
The owl shall whoop in the white man's earA2
That Mogg Megone with his scalps is here '-
He pauses dark over cheek and browJ
A flush as of shame is stealing nowJ
'Sachem ' he says 'let me have the landB2
Which stretches away upon either handB2
As far about as my feet can strayC2
In the half of a gentle summer's dayC2
From the leaping brook to the Saco riverE
And the fair hared girl thou hast sought of meC
Shall sit in the Sachem's wigwam and beC
The wife of Mogg Megone forever '-
-
There's sudden light in the Indian's glanceD2
A moment's trace of powerful feelingD
Of love or triumph or both perchanceD2
Over his proud calm features stealingD
'The words of my father are very goodE2
He shall have the land and water and woodE2
And he who harms the Sagamore JohnA
Shall feel the knife of Mogg MegoneA
But the fawn of the Yengees shall sleep on my breastF2
And the bird of the clearing shall sing in my nest '-
-
'But father ' and the Indian's handB2
Falls gently on the white man's armG2
And with a smile as shrewdly blandB2
As the deep voice is slow and calmH2
'Where is my father's singing birdU
The sunny eye and sunset hairM
I know I have my father's wordU
And that his word is good and fairM
But will my father tell me whereM
Megone shall go and look for his brideI2
For he sees her not by her father's side '-
-
The dark stern eye of BonythonA
Flashes over the features of Mogg MegoneA
In one of those glances which search withinA
But the stolid calm of the Indian aloneA
Remains where the trace of emotion has beenA
'Does the Sachem doubt Let him go with meC
And the eyes of the Sachem his bride shall see '-
-
Cautious and slow with pauses oftJ2
And watchful eyes and whispers softK2
The twain are stealing through the woodE2
Leaving the downward rushing floodL2
Whose deep and solemn roar behindM2
Grows fainter on the evening windM2
Hark is that the angry howlN2
Of the wolf the hills amongP
Or the hooting of the owlN2
On his leafy cradle swungP
Quickly glancing to and froY
Listening to each sound they goY
Round the columns of the pineA
Indistinct in shadow seemingD
Like some old and pillared shrineA
With the soft and white moonshineA
Round the foliage tracery shedO2
Of each column's branching headO2
For its lamps of worship gleamingD
And the sounds awakened thereM
In the pine leaves fine and smallP2
Soft and sweetly musicalQ2
By the fingers of the airM
For the anthem's dying fallP2
Lingering round some temple's wallP2
Niche and cornice round and roundR2
Wailing like the ghost of soundR2
Is not Nature's worship thusS2
Ceaseless ever going onA
Hath it not a voice for usS2
In the thunder or the toneA
Of the leaf harp faint and smallP2
Speaking to the unsealed earA2
Words of blended love and fearQ
Of the mighty Soul of allP2
-
Naught had the twain of thoughts like theseT2
As they wound along through the crowded treesT2
Where never had rung the axeman's strokeU2
On the gnarled trunk of the rough barked oakU2
Climbing the dead tree's mossy logV2
Breaking the mesh of the bramble fineA
Turning aside the wild grapevineA
And lightly crossing the quaking bogR
Whose surface shakes at the leap of the frogR
And out of whose pools the ghostly fogR
Creeps into the chill moonshineA
Yet even that Indian's ear had heardU
The preaching of the Holy WordU
Sanchekantacket's isle of sandB2
Was once his father's hunting landB2
Where zealous Hiacoomes stoodE2
The wild apostle of the woodE2
Shook from his soul the fear of harmG2
And trampled on the Powwaw's charmG2
Until the wizard's curses hungP
Suspended on his palsying tongueP
And the fierce warrior grim and tallP2
Trembled before the forest PaulP2
A cottage hidden in the woodE2
Red through its seams a light is glowingD
On rock and bough and tree trunk rudeW2
A narrow lustre throwingD
'Who's there ' a clear firm voice demandsX2
'Hold Ruth 'tis I the Sage more '-
Quick at the summons hasty handsX2
Unclose the bolted doorY2
And on the outlaw's daughter shineA
The flashes of the kindled pineA
-
Tall and erect the maiden standsX2
Like some young priestess of the woodE2
The freeborn child of SolitudeW2
And bearing still the wild and rudeW2
Yet noble trace of Nature's handsX2
Her dark brown cheek has caught its stainA
More from the sunshine than the rainA
Yet where her long fair hair is partingD
A pure white brow into light is startingD
And where the folds of her blanket severE
Are a neck and bosom as white as everE
The foam wreaths rise on the leaping riverE
But in the convulsive quiver and gripZ2
Of the muscles around her bloodless lipZ2
There is something painful and sad to seeC
And her eye has a glance more sternly wildA3
Than even that of a forest childA3
In its fearless and untamed freedom should beC
Yet seldom in hall or court are seenA
So queenly a form and so noble a mienA
As freely and smiling she welcomes them thereM
Her outlawed sire and Mogg MegoneA
'Pray father how does thy hunting fareM
And Sachem say does Scamman wearM
In spZ2

John Greenleaf Whittier



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