Eclogue Iii. The Funeral Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOHPQRS TEUVWXRUWMMIYZUMA2B2 C2IFD2E2UF2MF2F2G2H2 F2EF2F2F2U

The coffin as I past across the laneA
Came sudden on my view It was not hereB
A sight of every day as in the streetsC
Of the great city and we paus'd and ask'dD
Who to the grave was going It was oneE
A village girl they told us who had borneF
An eighteen months strange illness and had pinedG
With such slow wasting that the hour of deathH
Came welcome to her We pursued our wayI
To the house of mirth and with that idle talkJ
That passes o'er the mind and is forgotK
We wore away the time But it was eveL
When homewardly I went and in the airM
Was that cool freshness that discolouring shadeN
That makes the eye turn inward Then I heardO
Over the vale the heavy toll of deathH
Sound slow it made me think upon the deadP
I questioned more and learnt her sorrowful taleQ
She bore unhusbanded a mother's nameR
And he who should have cherished her far offS
Sail'd on the seas self exil'd from his homeT
For he was poor Left thus a wretched oneE
Scorn made a mock of her and evil tonguesU
Were busy with her name She had one illV
Heavier neglect forgetfulness from himW
Whom she had loved so dearly Once he wroteX
But only once that drop of comfort cameR
To mingle with her cup of wretchednessU
And when his parents had some tidings from himW
There was no mention of poor Hannah thereM
Or 'twas the cold enquiry bittererM
Than silence So she pined and pined awayI
And for herself and baby toil'd and toil'dY
Nor did she even on her death bed restZ
From labour knitting with her outstretch'd armsU
Till she sunk with very weakness Her old motherM
Omitted no kind office and she work'dA2
Hard and with hardest working barely earn'dB2
Enough to make life struggle and prolongC2
The pains of grief and sickness Thus she layI
On the sick bed of poverty so wornF
With her long suffering and that painful thoughtD2
That at her heart lay rankling and so weakE2
That she could make no effort to expressU
Affection for her infant and the childF2
Whose lisping love perhaps had solaced herM
With a strange infantine ingratitudeF2
Shunn'd her as one indifferent She was pastF2
That anguish for she felt her hour draw onG2
And 'twas her only comfoft now to thinkH2
Upon the grave Poor girl her mother saidF2
Thou hast suffered much aye mother there is noneE
Can tell what I have suffered she repliedF2
But I shall soon be where the weary restF2
And she did rest her soon for it pleased GodF2
To take her to his mercyU

Robert Southey



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