The Bridal Of Triermain Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBBBCDDEEEEEE FFGHGHHGIJIIJEE EKEKEKELEL M M FNEEOOPPEEQRQRSTST EEEU UU VAVKWWXXEE YZYZIJIJIEIEEAEAA2WA 2W EK KPPIIB2B2C2C2ID2KK PPEEIIZZEEEEE2E2QQ XXEEEEII XXWWEEEEXX F2F2EEEEPEEEP EEEEXXG2PPG2 PPEPEIIIII W WWWWII PPI

IntroductionA
I-
Come Lucy while 'tis morning hourB
The woodland brook we needs must passC
So ere the sun assume his powerB
We shelter in our poplar bowerB
Where dew lies long upon the flowerB
Though vanish'd from the velvet grassC
Curbing the stream this stony ridgeD
May serve us for a silvan bridgeD
For here compell'd to disuniteE
Round petty isles the runnels glideE
And chafing off their puny spiteE
The shallows murmurers waste their mightE
Yielding to footstep free and lightE
A dry shod pass from side to sideE
-
II-
Nay why this hesitating pauseF
And Lucy as thy step withdrawsF
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brimG
Titania's foot without a slipH
Like thine though timid light and slimG
From stone to stone might safely tripH
Nor risk the glow worm clasp to dipH
That binds her slipper's silken rimG
Or trust thy lover's strength nor fearI
That this same stalwart arm of mineJ
Which could yon oak's prone trunk uprearI
Shall shrink beneath the burden dearI
Of form so slender light and fineJ
So now the danger dared at lastE
Look back and smile at perils pastE
-
III-
And now we reach the favourite gladeE
Paled in copsewood cliff and stoneK
Where never harsher sounds invadeE
To break affection's whispering toneK
Than the deep breeze that waves the shadeE
Than the small brooklet's feeble moanK
Come rest thee on thy wonted seatE
Moss'd is the stone the turf is greenL
A place where lovers best may meetE
Who would not that their love be seenL
The boughs that dim the summer sky-
Shall hide us from each lurking spy-
That fain would spread the invidious taleM
How Lucy of the lofty eye-
Noble in birth in fortunes high-
She for whom lords and barons sigh-
Meets her poor Arthur in the daleM
-
IV-
How deep that blush how deep that sigh-
And why does Lucy shun mine eye-
Is it because that crimson drawsF
Its colour from some secret causeN
Some hidden movement of the breastE
She would not that her Arthur guess'dE
O quicker far is lovers' kenO
Than the dull glance of common menO
And by strange sympathy can spellP
The thoughts the loved one will not tellP
And mine in Lucy's blush saw metE
The hues of pleasure and regretE
Pride mingled in the sigh her voiceQ
And shared with Love the crimson glowR
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choiceQ
Yet shamed thine own is placed so lowR
Thou turn'st thy self confessing cheekS
As if to meet the breeze's coolingT
Then Lucy hear thy tutor speakS
For Love too has his hours of schoolingT
-
V-
Too oft my anxious eye has spiedE
That secret grief thou fain wouldst hideE
The passing pang of humbled prideE
Too oft when through the splendid hallU
The load star of each heart and eye-
My fair one leads the glittering ballU
Will her stol'n glance on Arthur fallU
With such a blush and such a sigh-
Thou wouldst not yield for wealth or rankV
The heart thy worth and beauty wonA
Nor leave me on this mossy bankV
To meet a rival on a throneK
Why then should vain repinings riseW
That to thy lover fate deniesW
A nobler name a wide domainX
A Baron's birth a menial trainX
Since Heaven assign'd him for his partE
A lyre a falchion and a heartE
-
VI-
My sword its master must be dumbY
But when a soldier names my nameZ
Approach my Lucy fearless comeY
Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shameZ
My heart 'mid all yon courtly crewI
Of lordly rank and lofty lineJ
Is there to love and honour trueI
That boasts a pulse so warm as mineJ
They praised thy diamonds' lustre rareI
Match'd with thine eyes I thought it fadedE
They praised the pearls that bound thy hairI
I saw only the locks they braidedE
They talk'd of wealthy dower and landE
And titles of high birth the tokenA
I thought of Lucy's heart and handE
Nor knew the sense of what was spokenA
And yet if rank'd in Fortune's rollA2
I might have learn'd their choice unwiseW
Who rate the dower above the soulA2
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyesW
-
VII-
My lyre it is an idle toyE
That borrows accents not its ownK
Like warbler of Colombian sky-
That sings in a mimic toneK
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted wellP
Nor boasts it aught of Border spellP
It strings no feudal slogan pourI
Its heroes draw no broad claymoreI
No shouting clans applauses raiseB2
Because it sung their father's praiseB2
On Scottish moor or English downC2
It ne'er was graced with fair renownC2
Norwon best meed to minstrel trueI
One favouring smile from fair BUCCLEUCHD2
By one poor streamlet sounds its toneK
And heard by one dear maid aloneK
-
VIII-
But if thou bid'st these tones shall tellP
Of errant knight and damozelleP
Of a dread knot a Wizard tiedE
In punishment of maiden's prideE
In notes of marvel and of fearI
That best may charm romantic earI
For Lucy loves like COLLINS ill starred nameZ
Whose lay's requital was that tardy fameZ
Who bound no laurel round his living headE
Should hang it o'er his monument when deadE
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strandE
And thread like him the maze of fairy landE
Of golden battlements to view the gleamE2
And slumber soft by some Elysian streamE2
Such lays she loves and such my Lucy's choiceQ
What other song can claim her Poet's voiceQ
-
-
Canto I-
-
-
I-
Where is the maiden of mortal strainX
That may match with the Baron of TriermainX
She must be lovely and constant and kindE
Holy and pure and humble of mindE
Blithe of cheer and gentle of moodE
Courteous and generous and noble of bloodE
Lovely as the sun's first rayI
When it breaks the clouds of an April dayI
Constant and true as the widow'd dove-
Kind as a minstrel that sings of love-
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave-
Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave-
Humble as a maiden that loves in vainX
Holy as a hermit's vesper strainX
Gentle as a breeze that but whispers and diesW
Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in its sighsW
Courteous as monarch the morn he is crown'dE
Generous as spring dews that bless the glad groundE
Noble her blood as the currents that metE
In the veins of the noblest PlantangenetE
Such must her form be her mood and her strainX
That shall match with Sir Roland of TriermainX
-
II-
Sir Roland de Vaux he hath laid him to sleepF2
His blood it was fever'd his breathing was deepF2
He had been pricking against the ScotE
The foray was long and the skirmish hotE
His dinted helm and his buckler's plightE
Bore token of a stubborn fightE
All in the castle must hold them stillP
Harpers must lull him to his restE
With the slow soft tunes he loves the bestE
Till sleep sink down upon his breastE
Like the dew on a summer hillP
-
III-
It was the dawn of an autumn dayE
The sun was struggling with a frost fog greyE
That like a silvery crape was spreadE
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant headE
And faintly gleam'd each painted paneX
Of the lordly halls of TriermainX
When that Baron bold awokeG2
Starting he woke and loudly did callP
Rousing his menials in bower and hallP
While hastily he spokeG2
-
IV-
'Hearken my minstrels which of ye allP
Touch'd his harp with that dying fallP
So sweet so soft so faintE
It seem'd an angel's whisper'd callP
To an expiring saintE
And harken my merry men what time or whereI
Did she pass that maid with her heavenly browI
With her look so sweet and her eyes so fairI
And her graceful step and her angel airI
And the eagle plume in her dark brown hairI
That pass'd from my bower e'en now '-
-
V-
Answer'd him Richard de Bretville he-
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsyW
'Silent noble chieftain we-
Have sat since midnight closeW
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet singsW
Murmur'd from our melting stringsW
And hush'd you to reposeW
Had a harp note sounded hereI
It had caught my watchful earI
Although it fell as faint and shy-
As bashful maiden's half form'd sigh-
When she thinks her lover near '-
Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tallP
He kept guard in the outer hallP
'Since at eve ourI

Sir Walter Scott



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