The Norsemen ( From Narrative And Legendary Poems ) Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BBCCDDEECCFFGGHHIIJJ KLMM GGCCCCCCNNOOPPOOQQRR SSOTCCUVWWXXYY ZZQQCCA2A2KLDDB2B2PP C2C2D2D2CE2A2A2 F2F2A2A2G2G2MMH2H2GG YMMMI2I2CCCCCCJ2K2MM OOCCL2L2CCM2M2MM

A
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GIFT from the cold and silent PastB
A relic to the present castB
Left on the ever changing strandC
Of shifting and unstable sandC
Which wastes beneath the steady chimeD
And beating of the waves of TimeD
Who from its bed of primal rockE
First wrenched thy dark unshapely blockE
Whose hand of curious skill untaughtC
Thy rude and savage outline wroughtC
The waters of my native streamF
Are glancing in the sun's warm beamF
From sail urged keel and flashing oarG
The circles widen to its shoreG
And cultured field and peopled townH
Slope to its willowed margin downH
Yet while this morning breeze is bringingI
The home life sound of school bells ringingI
And rolling wheel and rapid jarJ
Of the fire winged and steedless carJ
And voices from the wayside nearK
Come quick and blended on my earL
A spell is in this old gray stoneM
My thoughts are with the Past aloneM
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A change The steepled town no moreG
Stretches along the sail thronged shoreG
Like palace domes in sunset's cloudC
Fade sun gilt spire and mansion proudC
Spectrally rising where they stoodC
I see the old primeval woodC
Dark shadow like on either handC
I see its solemn waste expandC
It climbs the green and cultured hillN
It arches o'er the valley's rillN
And leans from cliff and crag to throwO
Its wild arms o'er the stream belowO
Unchanged alone the same bright riverP
Flows on as it will flow foreverP
I listen and I hear the lowO
Soft ripple where its water goO
I hear behind the panther's cryQ
The wild bird's scream goes thrilling byQ
And shyly on the river's brinkR
The deer is stooping down to drinkR
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But hard from wood and rock flung backS
What sound come up the MerrimacS
What sea worn barks are those which throwO
The light spray from each rushing prowT
Have they not in the North Sea's blastC
Bowed to the waves the straining mastC
Their frozen sails the low pale sunU
Of Thul 's night has shone uponV
Flapped by the sea wind's gusty sweepW
Round icy drift and headland steepW
Wild Jutland's wives and Lochlin's daughtersX
Have watched them fading o'er the watersX
Lessening through driving mist and sprayY
Like white winged sea birds on their wayY
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Onward they glide and now I viewZ
Their iron armed and stalwart crewZ
Joy glistens in each wild blue eyeQ
Turned to green earth and summer skyQ
Each broad seamed breast has cast asideC
Its cumbering vest of shaggy hideC
Bared to the sun and soft warm airA2
Streams back the Northmen's yellow hairA2
I see the gleam of axe and spearK
A sound of smitten shields I hearL
Keeping a harsh and fitting timeD
To Saga's chant and Runic rhymeD
Such lays as Zetland's Scald has sungB2
His gray and naked isles amongB2
Or mutter low at midnight hourP
Round Odin's mossy stone of powerP
The wolf beneath the Arctic moonC2
Has answered to that startling runeC2
The Gael has heard its stormy swellD2
The light Frank knows its summons wellD2
Iona's sable stoled CuldeeC
Has heard it sounding o'er the seaE2
And swept with hoary beard and hairA2
His altar's foot in trembling prayerA2
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'T is past the 'wildering vision diesF2
In darkness on my dreaming eyesF2
The forest vanishes in airA2
Hill slope and vale lie starkly bareA2
I hear the common tread of menG2
And hum of work day life againG2
The mystic relic seems aloneM
A broken mass of common stoneM
And if it be the chiselled limbH2
Of Berserker or idol grimH2
A fragment of Valhalla's ThorG
The stormy Viking's god of WarG
Or Praga of the Runic layY
Or love awakening SionaM
I know not for no graven lineM
Nor Druid mark nor Runic signM
Is left me here by which to traceI2
Its name or origin or placeI2
Yet for this vision of the PastC
This glance upon its darkness castC
My spirit bows in gratitudeC
Before the Giver of all goodC
Who fashioned so the human mindC
That from the waste of Time behindC
A simple stone or mound of earthJ2
Can summon the departed forthK2
Quicken the Past to life againM
The Present lose in what hath beenM
And in their primal freshness showO
The buried forms of long agoO
As if a portion of that ThoughtC
By which the Eternal will is wroughtC
Whose impulse fills anew with breathL2
The frozen solitude of DeathL2
To mortal mind were sometimes lentC
To mortal musing sometimes sentC
To whisper even when it seemsM2
But Memory's fantasy of dreamsM2
Through the mind's waste of woe and sinM
Of an immortal originM
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John Greenleaf Whittier



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