To The Lord Viscount Forbes Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BBCCDDEEFFGGHHGGIIGG JJKKLL AAMM GGNNOOPPQQRRSSSSTTSS FFGGSS TTUUSSTTVVTT GGWWTTXXYYGG ZZA2A2SSB2C2BBSS SSD2D2E2E2UUF2F2 IIG2G2C2C2SSSSSS SSH2H2I2I2J2J2K2K2SS FFSSI2I2BBL2M2A2A2N2 N2O2O2P2P2SSN2N2Q2Q2 SSR2R2N2N2SS S2S2SSSSSSTTBBSSSS T2T2TTU2U2GGSS

FROM THE CITY OP WASHINGTONA
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If former times had never left a traceB
Of human frailty in their onward raceB
Nor o'er their pathway written as they ranC
One dark memorial of the crimes of manC
If every age in new unconscious primeD
Rose like a phenix from the fires of timeD
To wing its way unguided and aloneE
The future smiling and the past unknownE
Then ardent man would to himself be newF
Earth at his foot and heaven within his viewF
Well might the novice hope the sanguine schemeG
Of full perfection prompt his daring dreamG
Ere cold experience with her veteran loreH
Could tell him fools had dreamt as much beforeH
But tracing as we do through age and climeG
The plans of virtue midst the deeds of crimeG
The thinking follies and the reasoning rageI
Of man at once the idiot and the sageI
When still we see through every varying frameG
Of arts and polity his course the sameG
And know that ancient fools but died to makeJ
A space on earth for modern fools to takeJ
'Tis strange how quickly we the past forgetK
That Wisdom's self should not be tutored yetK
Nor tire of watching for the monstrous birthL
Of pure perfection midst the sons of earthL
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Oh nothing but that soul which God has givenA
Could lead us thus to look on earth for heavenA
O'er dross without to shed the light withinM
And dream of virtue while we see but sinM
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Even here beside the proud Potowmac's streamG
Might sages still pursue the flattering themeG
Of days to come when man shall conquer fateN
Rise o'er the level of his mortal stateN
Belie the monuments of frailty pastO
And plant perfection in this world at lastO
Here might they say shall power's divided reignP
Evince that patriots have not bled in vainP
Here godlike liberty's herculean youthQ
Cradled in peace and nurtured up by truthQ
To full maturity of nerve and mindR
Shall crush the giants that bestride mankindR
Here shall religion's pure and balmy draughtS
In form no more from cups of state be quaftS
But flow for all through nation rank and sectS
Free as that heaven its tranquil waves reflectS
Around the columns of the public shrineT
Shall growing arts their gradual wreath intwineT
Nor breathe corruption from the flowering braidS
Nor mine that fabric which they bloom to shadeS
No longer here shall Justice bound her viewF
Or wrong the many while she rights the fewF
But take her range through all the social frameG
Pure and pervading as that vital flameG
Which warms at once our best and meanest partS
And thrills a hair while it expands a heartS
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Oh golden dream what soul that loves to scanT
The bright disk rather than the dark of manT
That owns the good while smarting with the illU
And loves the world with all its frailty stillU
What ardent bosom does not spring to meetS
The generous hope with all that heavenly heatS
Which makes the soul unwilling to resignT
The thoughts of growing even on earth divineT
Yes dearest friend I see thee glow to thinkV
The chain of ages yet may boast a linkV
Of purer texture than the world has knownT
And fit to bind us to a Godhead's throneT
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But is it thus doth even the glorious dreamG
Borrow from truth that dim uncertain gleamG
Which tempts us still to give such fancies scopeW
As shock not reason while they nourish hopeW
No no believe me 'tis not so even nowT
While yet upon Columbia's rising browT
The showy smile of young presumption playsX
Her bloom is poisoned and her heart decaysX
Even now in dawn of life her sickly breathY
Burns with the taint of empires near their deathY
And like the nymphs of her own withering climeG
She's old in youth she's blasted in her primeG
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Already has the child of Gallia's schoolZ
The foul Philosophy that sins by ruleZ
With all her train of reasoning damning artsA2
Begot by brilliant heads on worthless heartsA2
Like things that quicken after Nilus' floodS
The venomed birth of sunshine and of mudS
Already has she poured her poison hereB2
O'er every charm that makes existence dearC2
Already blighted with her blackening traceB
The opening bloom of every social graceB
And all those courtesies that love to shootS
Round virtue's stem the flowerets of her fruitS
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And were these errors but the wanton tideS
Of young luxuriance or unchastened prideS
The fervid follies and the faults of suchD2
As wrongly feel because they feel too muchD2
Then might experience make the fever lessE2
Nay graft a virtue on each warm excessE2
But no 'tis heartless speculative illU
All youth's transgression with all age's chillU
The apathy of wrong the bosom's iceF2
A slow and cold stagnation into viceF2
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Long has the love of gold that meanest rageI
And latest folly of man's sinking ageI
Which rarely venturing in the van of lifeG2
While nobler passions wage their heated strifeG2
Comes skulking last with selfishness and fearC2
And dies collecting lumber in the rearC2
Long has it palsied every grasping handS
And greedy spirit through this bartering landS
Turned life to traffic set the demon goldS
So loose abroad that virtue's self is soldS
And conscience truth and honesty are madeS
To rise and fall like other wares of tradeS
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Already in this free this virtuous stateS
Which Frenchmen tell us was ordained by fateS
To show the world what high perfection springsH2
From rabble senators and merchant kingsH2
Even here already patriots learn to stealI2
Their private perquisites from public wealI2
And guardians of the country's sacred fireJ2
Like Afric's priests let out the flame for hireJ2
Those vaunted demagogues who nobly roseK2
From England's debtors to be England's foesK2
Who could their monarch in their purse forgetS
And break allegiance but to cancel debtS
Have proved at length the mineral's tempting hueF
Which makes a patriot can un make him tooF
Oh Freedom Freedom how I hate thy cantS
Not Eastern bombast not the savage rantS
Of purpled madmen were they numbered allI2
From Roman Nero down to Russian PaulI2
Could grate upon my ear so mean so baseB
As the rank jargon of that factious raceB
Who poor of heart and prodigal of wordsL2
Formed to be slaves yet struggling to be lordsM2
Strut forth as patriots from their negro martsA2
And shout for rights with rapine in their heartsA2
Who can with patience for a moment seeN2
The medley mass of pride and miseryN2
Of whips and charters manacles and rightsO2
Of slaving blacks and democratic whitesO2
And all the piebald polity that reignsP2
In free confusion o'er Columbia's plainsP2
To think that man thou just and gentle GodS
Should stand before thee with a tyrant's rodS
O'er creatures like himself with souls from theeN2
Yet dare to boast of perfect libertyN2
Away away I'd rather hold my neckQ2
By doubtful tenure from a sultan's beckQ2
In climes where liberty has scarce been namedS
Nor any right but that of ruling claimedS
Than thus to live where bastard Freedom wavesR2
Her fustian flag in mockery over slavesR2
Where motley laws admitting no degreeN2
Betwixt the vilely slaved and madly freeN2
Alike the bondage and the license suitS
The brute made ruler and the man made bruteS
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But while I thus my friend in flowerless songS2
So feebly paint what yet I feel so strongS2
The ills the vices of the land where firstS
Those rebel fiends that rack the world were nurstS
Where treason's arm by royalty was nervedS
And Frenchmen learned to crush the throne they servedS
Thou calmly lulled in dreams of classic thoughtS
By bards illumined and by sages taughtS
Pant'st to be all upon this mortal sceneT
That bard hath fancied or that sage hath beenT
Why should I wake thee why severely chaseB
The lovely forms of virtue and of graceB
That dwell before thee like the pictures spreadS
By Spartan matrons round the genial bedS
Moulding thy fancy and with gradual artS
Brightening the young conceptions of thy heartS
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Forgive me Forbes and should the song destroyT2
One generous hope one throb of social joyT2
One high pulsation of the zeal for manT
Which few can feel and bless that few who canT
Oh turn to him beneath those kindred eyesU2
Thy talents open and thy virtues riseU2
Forget where nature has been dark or dimG
And proudly study all her lights in himG
Yes yes in him the erring world forgetS
And feel that man may reach perfection yetS

Thomas Moore



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