The Watchers Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCCCDDDEEFGGGHHHII IJJJKKLMMMNNNDDDOOOP PPOOOIILOOOQQLOOOOOO IIIOOL

BESIDE a stricken field I stoodA
On the torn turf on grass and woodA
Hung heavily the dew of bloodB
Still in their fresh mounds lay the slainC
But all the air was quick with painC
And gusty sighs and tearful rainC
Two angels each with drooping headD
And folded wings and noiseless treadD
Watched by that valley of the deadD
The one with forehead saintly blandE
And lips of blessing not commandE
Leaned weeping on her olive wandF
The other's brows were scarred and knitG
His restless eyes were watch fires litG
His hands for battle gauntlets fitG
'How long ' I knew the voice of PeaceH
'Is there no respite no releaseH
When shall the hopeless quarrel ceaseH
'O Lord how long One human soulI
Is more than any parchment scrollI
Or any flag thy winds unrollI
'What price was Ellsworth's young and braveJ
How weigh the gift that Lyon gaveJ
Or count the cost of Winthrop's graveJ
'O brother if thine eye can seeK
Tell how and when the end shall beK
What hope remains for thee and me 'L
Then Freedom sternly said 'I shunM
No strife nor pang beneath the sunM
When human rights are staked and wonM
'I knelt with Ziska's hunted flockN
I watched in Toussaint's cell of rockN
I walked with Sidney to the blockN
'The moor of Marston felt my treadD
Through Jersey snows the march I ledD
My voice Magenta's charges spedD
'But now through weary day and nightO
I watch a vague and aimless fightO
For leave to strike one blow arightO
'On either side my foe they ownP
One guards through love his ghastly throneP
And one through fear to reverence grownP
'Why wait we longer mocked betrayedO
By open foes or those afraidO
To speed thy coming through my aidO
'Why watch to see who win or fallI
I shake the dust against them allI
I leave them to their senseless brawl 'L
'Nay ' Peace implored 'yet longer waitO
The doom is near the stake is greatO
God knoweth if it be too lateO
'Still wait and watch the way prepareQ
Where I with folded wings of prayerQ
May follow weaponless and bare 'L
'Too late ' the stern sad voice repliedO
'Too late ' its mournful echo sighedO
In low lament the answer diedO
A rustling as of wings in flightO
An upward gleam of lessening whiteO
So passed the vision sound and sightO
But round me like a silver bellI
Rung down the listening sky to tellI
Of holy help a sweet voice fellI
'Still hope and trust ' it sang 'the rodO
Must fall the wine press must be trodO
But all is possible with God 'L

John Greenleaf Whittier



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