Tim O'gallagher Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABCDDEECC CCCCFF GGCCDDCCCCAAHI IIJJEEKLDDDDCCCC CCDDCCMN CCEEDDDDOO CCPPQDQQ LLCCLL

My name is Tim O'Gallagher there's Oirish in that sameA
My parients from the Imerald Oisle beyant the ocean cameA
My father came from Donegal my mother came from ClareB
But oi was born in Pontiac besoide the Belle Rivi reC
Oi spint my choildhood tamin' bears and fellin' timber traysD
And catchin' salmon tin fate long and doin' what oi plazeD
Oi got my iddication from the Riverind Father BlakeE
He taught me Latin grammar and he after taught me GrakeE
Till oi could rade the classics in a distint sort of wayC
'Twas the sadetoime of the harvist that oi'm rapin' ivery dayC
-
My parients thought me monsthrous shmart of thim 'twas awful koindC
And where oi'd go to college now was what perplixed their moindC
So they axed the Riverind Father Blake what varsity was bistC
To make a docthor bachelor and lawyer and the ristC
Said Father Blake If oi must make decision faith oi willF
Sure sind the boy to Munthreal there's none loike Ould McGillF
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So oi came to Munthreal and found McGill one afternoonG
And saw a great excoited crowd all shoutin' out of tuneG
And in the cintre thorty min was foightin' jist loike madC
And two big fellows on the top of one poor little ladC
Oi turned indignant to the crowd and tould them to their faceD
Ye pack of coward savages onciviloized and baseD
To stand and see two stalwart min abusin' one that wayC
Oi loike a gladiatorial show but loike to see fair playC
So oi jumped at those two bullies and oi caught thim by the shirtC
And oi knocked their hids together and consoigned thim to the dirtC
Oi was removed and they were carried home but all the sameA
Though Ould McGill was two min short she won that football gameA
They thought oi was a tough gussoon and whin they played aginH
They put me in the scrimmage we got thorty foive to tinI
-
Oi thin wint up to college whin the lictures would beginI
Oi attinded ivery licture when oi happened to be inI
Got my work up kipt my note books in the illigantist shapeJ
Oi took notes of ivery licture barrin' whin oi was ashlapeJ
But och oi try to do my bist for sure it's Father BlakeE
As says the foinist faculty is Arts and no mistakeE
For there they tache philosophy and English literatureK
The mathematics also and the classic authors sureL
Oi larned the Gracian poethry oi larned the Latin proseD
Oi know as much about thim both as my profissor knowsD
How Troy that had for noine long years defoied the Graycian forceD
Was hors de combat put at last by jist a wooden horseD
How Xerxes wipt because his army soon would pass awayC
And Alexander wipt because there were no more to shlayC
How Cato from his toga plucked the Carthaginian fruitC
How Brutus murdered Saysar and how Saysar called him BruteC
-
Oi'd the honor of a mornin' with an influential MedC
And he took me to the room in which they mutilate the deadC
Oi don't objict to crack a skull or spoil a purty faceD
But to hack a man who's dead is what oi called extramely baseD
But all pursonal convictions he explained should be resoignedC
For the binifit of scoience and the good of humankoindC
And though oi don't at all admoire their ways o' goin' onM
Oi'll take a course in Medicine oi will before oi'm goneN
-
Oi saw the Scoience workshops too and thought whin oi was madeC
These little hands were niver mint to larn the blacksmith tradeC
And for that illictricity the thing what gives the shockE
They collared old Promaytheus and chained him to a rockE
For a playin' with the loightnin' and a raychin to the skoiesD
And the vultures gnawed his vittles and the crows picked out his oyesD
But toimes has changed and larnin' gives us power don't you seeD
And whin oi'm done with Arts oi'll take that shplindid facultyD
For sure it's from their workshops that the solar system's runO
Besoides they make the wither too and rigilate the sunO
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Oi troied exams at Christmas and oi didn't pass at allC
But oi can have another whack at thim nixt spring and fallC
In toime oi'll pass in iverything and masther all they taicheP
Oi'll go through ivery faculty and come out hid in aicheP
And whin oi've conquered all loike Alexander oi will soighQ
There is no more to conquer and oi'll lay me down and doieD
They'll birry me with honors and erict in my behalfQ
A monimint which shall disphlay the followin' epitaphQ
-
Here loies shwate Tim O'Gallagher sure he had wits to shpareL
His father came from Donegal his mother came from ClareL
He was a shplindid scholar for he studied at McGillC
He drank the well of larnin' dhroy and faith he got his fillC
Was niver mortal craythur larned to such a great degreeL
B A M A M D C M B SC LL DL

W. M. Mackeracher



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