The Lay Of The Last Minstrel: Canto Ii. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABBBBBBCCDDDBEEFFGG AGGHHB BBBIBI ABBBBBBBBFF EDJD IBIB DDBDBBKBKLLMMMD ENNDDMN EBDBDEEMMBB EBBMMOPBPFBFBBB DMFEFFFQQBB DNNFRRRFBB DRRBBBBRRBBBBBBRR DRFRFBBMM DBBSEESDDDRRRR EBBBBDDBBEE ETTBBMMBBBBEE EBBB RRBBBB EBBBBF RRTTBB EBBRE| I | A |
| If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright | B |
| Go visit it by the pale moonlight | B |
| For the gay beams of lightsome day | B |
| Gild but to flout the ruins grey | B |
| When the broken arches are black in night | B |
| And each shafted oriel glimmers white | B |
| When the cold light's uncertain shower | C |
| Streams on the ruin'd central tower | C |
| When buttress and buttress alternately | D |
| Seem framed of ebon and ivory | D |
| When silver edges the imagery | D |
| And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die | B |
| When distant Tweed is heard to rave | E |
| And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave | E |
| Then go but go alone the while | F |
| Then view St David's ruin'd pile | F |
| And home returning soothly swear | G |
| Was never scene so sad and fair | G |
| - | |
| II | A |
| Short halt did Deloraine make there | G |
| Little reck'd he of the scene so fair | G |
| With dagger's hilt on the wicket strong | H |
| He struck full loud and struck full long | H |
| The porter hurried to the gate | B |
| 'Who knocks so loud and knocks so late ' | - |
| 'From Branksome I ' the warrior cried | B |
| And straight the wicket open'd wide | B |
| For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood | B |
| To fence the rights of fair Melrose | I |
| And lands and livings many a rood | B |
| Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose | I |
| - | |
| III | A |
| Bold Deloraine his errand said | B |
| The porter bent his humble head | B |
| With torch in hand and feet unshod | B |
| And noiseless step the path he trod | B |
| The arched cloister far and wide | B |
| Rang to the warrior's clanking stride | B |
| Till stooping low his lofty crest | B |
| He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest | B |
| And lifted his barred aventayle | F |
| To hail the Monk of St Mary's aisle | F |
| - | |
| IV | E |
| 'The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me | D |
| Says that the fated hour is come | J |
| And that to night I shall watch with thee | D |
| To win the treasure of the tomb ' | - |
| From sackcloth couch the Monk arose | I |
| With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd | B |
| A hundred years had flung their snows | I |
| On his thin locks and floating beard | B |
| - | |
| V | D |
| And strangely on the Knight look'd he | D |
| And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide | B |
| 'And darest thou Warrior seek to see | D |
| What heaven and hell alike would hide | B |
| My breast in belt of iron pent | B |
| With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn | K |
| For threescore years in penance spent | B |
| My knees those flinty stones have worn | K |
| Yet all too little to atone | L |
| For knowing what should ne'er be known | L |
| Would'st thou thy very future year | M |
| In ceaseless prayer and penance drie | M |
| Yet wait thy latter end with fear | M |
| Then daring Warrior follow me | D |
| - | |
| VI | E |
| 'Penance father will I none | N |
| Prayer know I hardly one | N |
| For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry | D |
| Save to patter an Ave Mary | D |
| When I ride on a Border foray | M |
| Other prayer can I none | N |
| So speed me my errand and let me be gone ' | - |
| - | |
| VII | E |
| Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old | B |
| And again he sighed heavily | D |
| For he had himself been a warrior bold | B |
| And fought in Spain and Italy | D |
| And he thought on the days that were long since by | E |
| When his limbs were strong and his courage was high | E |
| Now slow and faint he led the way | M |
| Where cloister'd round the garden lay | M |
| The pillar'd arches were over their head | B |
| And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead | B |
| - | |
| VIII | E |
| Spreading herbs and flowerets bright | B |
| Glisten'd with the dew of night | B |
| Nor herb nor floweret glisten'd there | M |
| But was carved in the cloister arches as fair | M |
| The monk gazed long on the lovely moon | O |
| Then into the night he looked forth | P |
| And red and bright the streamers light | B |
| Were dancing in the glowing north | P |
| So had he seen in fair Castille | F |
| The youth in glittering squadrons start | B |
| Sudden the flying jennet wheel | F |
| And hurl the unexpected dart | B |
| He knew by the streamers that shot so bright | B |
| That spirits were riding the northern light | B |
| - | |
| IX | D |
| By a steel clenched postern door | M |
| They enter'd now the chancel tall | F |
| The darken'd roof rose high aloof | E |
| On pillars lofty and light and small | F |
| The key stone that lock'd each ribbed aisle | F |
| Was a fleur de lys or a quatre geuille | F |
| The corbells were carved grotesque and grim | Q |
| And the pillars with cluster'd shafts so trim | Q |
| With base and with capital flourish'd around | B |
| Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound | B |
| - | |
| X | D |
| Full many a scutcheon and banner riven | N |
| Shook to the cold night wind of heaven | N |
| Around the screen d altar's pale | F |
| And there the dying lamps did burn | R |
| Before thy low and lonely urn | R |
| O gallant Chief of Otterburne | R |
| And thine dark Knight of Liddesdale | F |
| O fading honours of the dead | B |
| O high ambition lowly laid | B |
| - | |
| XI | D |
| The moon on the east oriel shone | R |
| Through slender shafts of shapely stone | R |
| By foliaged tracery combined | B |
| Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand | B |
| 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand | B |
| In many a freakish know had twined | B |
| Then framed a spell when the work was done | R |
| And changed the willow wreaths to stone | R |
| The silver light so pale and faint | B |
| Shew'd many a prophet and many a saint | B |
| Whose image on the glass was dyed | B |
| Full in the midst his Cross of Red | B |
| Triumphant Michael brandished | B |
| And trampled the Apostate's pride | B |
| The moon beam kiss'd the holy pane | R |
| And threw on the pavement a bloody stain | R |
| - | |
| XII | D |
| They sate them down on a marble stone | R |
| A Scottish monarch slept below | F |
| Thus spoke the Monk in solemn tone | R |
| 'I was not always a man of woe | F |
| For Paynim coutries have I trod | B |
| And fought beneath the Cross of God | B |
| Now strange to my eyes thine arms appear | M |
| And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear | M |
| - | |
| XIII | D |
| 'In these far climes it was my lot | B |
| To meet the wondrous Michael Scott | B |
| A wizard of such dreaded fame | S |
| Than when in Salmanca's cave | E |
| Him listed his magic wand to wave | E |
| The bells would ring in Notre Dame | S |
| Some of his skill he taught to me | D |
| And Warrior I could say to thee | D |
| The words that cleft Eildon hills in three | D |
| And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone | R |
| But to speak them were a deadly sin | R |
| And for having but thought them my heart within | R |
| A treble penance must be done | R |
| - | |
| XIV | E |
| 'When Michael lay on his dying bed | B |
| His conscience was awakened | B |
| He bethought him of his sinful deed | B |
| And he gave me a sign to come with speed | B |
| I was in Spain when the morning rose | D |
| But I stood by his bed ere evening close | D |
| The words may not again be said | B |
| That he spoke to me on death bed laid | B |
| They would rend they Abbay's massy nave | E |
| And pile it in heaps above his grave | E |
| - | |
| XV | E |
| 'I swore to bury his Mighty Book | T |
| That never mortal might therein look | T |
| And never to tell where it was hid | B |
| Save at his Chief of Branksome's need | B |
| And when that need was past and o'er | M |
| Again the volume to restore | M |
| I buried him on St Michael's night | B |
| When the bell toll'd one and the moon was bright | B |
| And I dug his chamber among the dead | B |
| When the floor of the chancel was stained red | B |
| That his patron's cross might over him wave | E |
| And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave | E |
| - | |
| XVI | E |
| 'It was a night of woe and dread | B |
| When Michael in the tomb I laid | B |
| Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd | B |
| The banners waved without a blast ' | - |
| Still spoke the Monk when the bell toll'd one | R |
| I tell you that a braver man | R |
| Than William of Deloraine good at need | B |
| Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed | B |
| Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread | B |
| And his hair did bristle upon his head | B |
| - | |
| XVII | E |
| 'Lo Warrior now the Cross of Red | B |
| Points to the grave of the mighty dead | B |
| Within it burns a wondrous light | B |
| To chase the spirits that love the night | B |
| That lamp shall burn unquenchably | F |
| Until the eternal doom shall be ' | - |
| Slowly moved the Monk to the broad flagstone | R |
| Which the bloody Cross was traced upon | R |
| He pointed to a secret nook | T |
| An iron bar the Warrior took | T |
| And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand | B |
| The grave's huge portal to expand | B |
| - | |
| XVIII | E |
| With beating heart to the task he went | B |
| His sinewy frame o'er the grave stone bent | B |
| With bar of iron heaved amain | R |
| Till the toil drops fe | E |
Sir Walter Scott
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The Lay Of The Last Minstrel: Canto Ii. is a poem by Sir Walter Scott. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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