The Gray Brother Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCB ADAD EFGF HDHD IBIB JKLK MHN LBLB BOBO PBOB LBLB LQLQ RSRS TLTL LCUC VBWB LSLT VXWX BYBY XBTB ZLA2L TFTE TLTL B2C2D2C2 BXBX B E2S LSX XSF2 G2SX BSX SBSXBB LBLB

The Pope he was saying the high high massA
All on Saint Peter's dayB
With the power to him given by the saints of heavenC
To wash men's sins awayB
-
The Pope he was saying the blessed massA
And the people kneel'd aroundD
And from each man's soul his sins did passA
As he kiss'd the holy groundD
-
And all among the crowded throngE
Was still both limb and tongueF
While through vaulted roof and aisles aloofG
The holy accents rungF
-
At the holiest word he quiver'd for fearH
And falter'd in the soundD
And when he would the chalice rearH
He dropp'd it to the groundD
-
'The breath of one of evil deedI
Pollutes our sacred dayB
He has no portion in our creedI
No part in what I sayB
-
'A being whom no blessed wordJ
To ghostly peace can bringK
A wretch at whose approach abhorr'dL
Recoils each holy thingK
-
'Up up unhappy haste ariseM
My adjuration fearH
I charge thee not to stop my voiceN
Nor longer tarry here '-
-
Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'dL
In gown of sackcloth greyB
Far journeying from his native fieldL
He first saw Rome that dayB
-
For forty days and nights so drearB
I ween he had not spokeO
And save with bread and water clearB
His fast he ne'er had brokeO
-
Amid the penitential flockP
Seem'd none more bent to prayB
But when the Holy Father spokeO
He rose and went his wayB
-
Again unto his native landL
His weary course he drewB
To Lothian's fair and fertile strandL
And Pentland's mountains blueB
-
His unblest feet his native seatL
'Mid Eske's fair woods regainQ
Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweetL
Rolls to the eastern mainQ
-
And lords to meet the pilgrim cameR
And vassals bent the kneeS
For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fameR
Was none more famed than heS
-
And boldly for his country stillT
In battle he had stoodL
Ay even when on the banks of TillT
Her noblest pour'd their bloodL
-
Sweet are the paths O passing sweetL
By Eske's fair streams that runC
O'er airy steep through copsewood deepU
Impervious to the sunC
-
There the rapt poet's step may roveV
And yield the muse the dayB
There Beauty led by timid LoveW
May shun the tell tale rayB
-
From that fair dome where suit is paidL
By blast of bugle freeS
To Auchendinny's hazel gladeL
And haunted WoodhouseleeT
-
Who knows not Melville's beechy groveV
And Roslin's rocky glenX
Dalkeith which all the virtues loveW
And classic HawthorndenX
-
Yet never a path from day to dayB
The pilgrim's footsteps rangeY
Save but the solitary wayB
To Burndale's ruin'd grangeY
-
A woful place was that I weenX
As sorrow could desireB
For nodding to the fall was each crumbling wallT
And the roof was scathed with fireB
-
It fell upon a summer's eveZ
While on Carnethy's headL
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beamsA2
Had streak'd the grey with redL
-
And the convent bell did vespers tellT
Newbattle's oaks amongF
And mingled with the solemn knellT
Our Ladye's evening songE
-
The heavy knell the choir's faint swellT
Came slowly down the windL
And on the pilgrim's ear they fellT
As his wonted path he did findL
-
Deep sunk in thought I ween he wasB2
Nor ever raised his eyeC2
Until he came to that dreary placeD2
Which did all in ruins lieC2
-
He gazed on the walls so scathed with fireB
With many a bitter groanX
And there was aware of a Gray FriarB
Resting him on a stoneX
-
'Now Christ thee save ' said the Gray BrotherB
'Some pilgrim thou seemest to be '-
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gazeE2
Nor answer again made heS
-
'O come ye from east or come ye from westL
Or bring reliques from over the seaS
Or come ye from the shrine of St James the divineX
Or St John of Beverley '-
-
'I come not from the shrine of St James the divineX
Nor bring reliques from over the seaS
I bring but a curse from our father the PopeF2
Which for ever will cling to me '-
-
'Now woful pilgrim say not soG2
But kneel thee down to meS
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sinX
That absolved thou mayst be '-
-
'And who art thou thou Gray BrotherB
That I should shrive to theeS
When He to whom are given the keys of earth and heavenX
Has no power to pardon me '-
-
'O I am sent from a distant climeS
Five thousand miles awayB
And all to absolve a foul foul crimeS
DoneX
hereB
'twixt night and dayB
-
The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sandL
And thus began his sayeB
When on his neck an ice cold handL
Did that Gray Brother layeB

Sir Walter Scott



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