The Song Of The Box. Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABAA CADA AAAA EAEA FAGA AAAA AAAA HAHA AAAA IAIA| Let History boast of her Romans and Spartans | A |
| And tell how they stood against tyranny's shock | B |
| They were all I confess in my eye Betty Martins | A |
| Compared to George Grote and his wonderful Box | A |
| - | |
| Ask where Liberty now has her seat Oh it isn't | C |
| By Delaware's banks or on Switzerland's rocks | A |
| Like an imp in some conjuror's bottle imprisoned | D |
| She's slyly shut up in Grote's wonderful Box | A |
| - | |
| How snug 'stead of floating thro' ether's dominions | A |
| Blown this way and that by the populi vox | A |
| To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions | A |
| And go fast asleep in Grote's wonderful Box | A |
| - | |
| Time was when free speech was the life breath of freedom | E |
| So thought once the Seldens the Hampdens the Lockes | A |
| But mute be our troops when to ambush we lead 'em | E |
| For Mum is the word with us Knights of the Box | A |
| - | |
| Pure exquisite Box no corruption can soil it | F |
| There's Otto of Rose in each breath it unlocks | A |
| While Grote is the Betty that serves at the toilet | G |
| And breathes all Arabia around from his Box | A |
| - | |
| 'Tis a singular fact that the famed Hugo Grotius | A |
| A namesake of Grote's being both of Dutch stocks | A |
| Like Grote too a genius profound as precocious | A |
| Was also like him much renowned for a Box | A |
| - | |
| An immortal old clothes box in which the great Grotius | A |
| When suffering in prison for views heterodox | A |
| Was packt up incog spite of jailers ferocious | A |
| And sent to his wife carriage free in a Box | A |
| - | |
| But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf | H |
| Since a rival hath risen that all parallel mocks | A |
| That Grotius ingloriously saved but himself | H |
| While ours saves the whole British realm by a Box | A |
| - | |
| And oh when at last even this greatest of Grotes | A |
| Must bend to the Power that at every door knocks | A |
| May he drop in the urn like his own silent votes | A |
| And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot Box | A |
| - | |
| While long at his shrine both from county and city | I |
| Shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks | A |
| And sing while they whimper the appropriate ditty | I |
| Oh breathe not his name let it sleep in the Box | A |
Thomas Moore
(1)
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The Song Of The Box. is a poem by Thomas Moore. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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