Bonaparte Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABACCDCDD EFEFFGFGG HIJKLFLFF FFFFFFFF LML MFMFF| From a rude isle his ruder lineage came | A |
| The spark that from a suburb hovel's hearth | B |
| Ascending wraps some capital in flame | A |
| Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth | C |
| And for the soul that bade him waste the earth | C |
| The sable land flood from some swamp obscure | D |
| That poisons the glad husband field with dearth | C |
| And by destruction bids its fame endure | D |
| Hath not a source more sullen stagnant and impure | D |
| - | |
| Before that Leader strode a shadowy form | E |
| Her limbs like mist her torch like meteor shew'd | F |
| With which she beckon'd him through fight and storm | E |
| And all he crush'd that cross'd his desp'rate road | F |
| Nor thought nor fear'd nor look'd on what he trode | F |
| Realms could not glut his pride blood not slake | G |
| So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad | F |
| It was Ambition bade his terrors wake | G |
| Nor deign'd she as of yore a milder form to take | G |
| - | |
| No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge | H |
| Or stay'd her hand for conquer'd freeman's moan | I |
| As when the fates of aged Rome to change | J |
| By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon | K |
| Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won | L |
| As when the banded Powers of Greece were task'd | F |
| To war beneath the Youth of Macedon | L |
| No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd | F |
| He saw her hideous face and lov'd the fiend unmask'd | F |
| - | |
| That Prelate mark'd his march On banners blaz'd | F |
| With battles won in many a distant land | F |
| On eagle standards and on arms he gaz'd | F |
| 'And hop'st thou then ' he said 'thy power shall stand | F |
| O thou hast builded on the shifting sand | F |
| And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood | F |
| And know fell scourge in the Almighty's hand | F |
| Gore moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud | F |
| And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood ' | - |
| - | |
| The ruthless Leader beckon'd from his train | L |
| A wan paternal shade and bade him kneel | M |
| And pale his temples with the Crown of Spain | L |
| While trumpets rang and Heralds cried 'Castile ' | - |
| Not that he lov'd him No in no man's weal | M |
| Scarce in his own e'er joy'd that sullen heart | F |
| Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel | M |
| That the poor puppet might perform his part | F |
| And be a scepter'd slave at his stern beck to start | F |
Sir Walter Scott
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