Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain Or Guilt And Sorrow Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A BCBCCDCDD A EFGFHIJII A KALAAMLMM A NLNLLBLBB A OPOQQDQDD A LRLSTURUU A VWVWWLWLL A XYXYYGZGG V AA2AA2A2AA2AA V ABABBUBUU A VB2VB2B2C2D2C2C2 V E2A2E2A2A2F2A2F2F2 V F2VF2VVF2VF2F2 A G2LG2LLH2LBB A I2C2I2C2C2F2C2F2F2 A J2K2J2L2L2F2L2F2F2 A VF2VF2F2BF2BB A F2VF2VVVVVV V K2F2L2F2F2M2F2M2M2 V F2F2F2F2F2VF2VV V F2F2F2F2F2A2F2A2A2 V F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2 V N2F2N2F2F2F2F2F2F2 A QO2QO2O2F2O2F2F2 A LLLLLF2LF2F2 A A2UA2UUA2UA2A2 A LF2LF2F2VF2VV A A2UA2UULULL U P2F2Q2F2F2F2F2F2F2 U F2F2F2F2F2R2F2R2R2 U K2BK2BBABAA U LF2LF2F2AF2AA U F2G2F2G2G2UG2UU A P2LP2LLF2LF2F2 A QF2QF2F2F2F2F2F2 A F2AF2AALALL A QF2QF2F2F2F2F2F2 A QF2QF2F2LF2LL U UA2UA2A2F2A2F2F2 A F2F2F2F2F2S2F2S2K2 A A2F2A2F2F2 F2F2F2 A F2A2F2A2A2A2A2A2A2 A F2F2F2F2F2AF2AA A QLQLLF2LF2F2 A UF2UF2F2F2F2F2F2 A LLLLLQLQQ A A2T2A2T2T2AU2AA A F2QF2QQF2QF2F2 U UF2UF2F2V2F2V2V2 A F2F2F2F2F2UF2UU L F2AUAAF2AF2F2 A F2C2F2C2C2F2C2F2F2 A AAAAUF2AF2F2 A AF2AF2F2QF2QQ A F2F2F2F2F2QF2QQ A UF2UF2F2A2F2A2A2 A AUAUUUUUU A A2QA2QQUQUU U F2AF2AAF2AF2F2 U F2UF2UUF2UF2F2 U F2QF2QQF2QF2F2 U QLQLLF2LF2F2 U QF2QF2F2QF2QQ A F2F2F2F2F2LF2LL F2 LW2LW2W2QX2QQ F2 UA2UA2A2UA2UU F2 UF2UF2F2F2F2F2F2 F2 F2F2F2F2F2QF2QQ F2 Y2F2Y2F2F2F2F2F2F2 F2 F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2 F2 F2A2F2A2A2F2A2F2F2 F2 F2LF2LLF2LF2F2 F2 F2F2F2F2F2UF2UU F2 F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2F2I | A |
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A Traveler on the skirt of Sarum's Plain | B |
Pursued his vagrant way with feet half bare | C |
Stooping his gait but not as if to gain | B |
Help from the staff he bore for mien and air | C |
Were hardy though his cheek seemed worn with care | C |
Both of the time to come and time long fled | D |
Down fell in straggling locks his thin grey hair | C |
A coat he wore of military red | D |
But faded and stuck o'er with many a patch and shred | D |
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II | A |
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While thus he journeyed step by step led on | E |
He saw and passed a stately inn full sure | F |
That welcome in such house for him was none | G |
No board inscribed the needy to allure | F |
Hung there no bush proclaimed to old and poor | H |
And desolate Here you will find a friend | I |
The pendent grapes glittered above the door | J |
On he must pace perchance 'till night descend | I |
Where'er the dreary roads their bare white lines extend | I |
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III | A |
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The gathering clouds grow red with stormy fire | K |
In streaks diverging wide and mounting high | A |
That inn he long had passed the distant spire | L |
Which oft as he looked back had fixed his eye | A |
Was lost though still he looked in the blank sky | A |
Perplexed and comfortless he gazed around | M |
And scarce could any trace of man descry | L |
Save cornfields stretched and stretching without bound | M |
But where the sower dwelt was nowhere to be found | M |
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IV | A |
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No tree was there no meadow's pleasant green | N |
No brook to wet his lip or soothe his ear | L |
Long files of corn stacks here and there were seen | N |
But not one dwelling place his heart to cheer | L |
Some labourer thought he may perchance be near | L |
And so he sent a feeble shout in vain | B |
No voice made answer he could only hear | L |
Winds rustling over plots of unripe grain | B |
Or whistling thro' thin grass along the unfurrowed plain | B |
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V | A |
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Long had he fancied each successive slope | O |
Concealed some cottage whither he might turn | P |
And rest but now along heaven's darkening cope | O |
The crows rushed by in eddies homeward borne | Q |
Thus warned he sought some shepherd's spreading thorn | Q |
Or hovel from the storm to shield his head | D |
But sought in vain for now all wild forlorn | Q |
And vacant a huge waste around him spread | D |
The wet cold ground he feared must be his only bed | D |
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VI | A |
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And be it so for to the chill night shower | L |
And the sharp wind his head he oft hath bared | R |
A Sailor he who many a wretched hour | L |
Hath told for landing after labour hard | S |
Full long endured in hope of just reward | T |
He to an armed fleet was forced away | U |
By seamen who perhaps themselves had shared | R |
Like fate was hurried off a helpless prey | U |
'Gainst all that in 'his' heart or theirs perhaps said nay | U |
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VII | A |
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For years the work of carnage did not cease | V |
And death's dire aspect daily he surveyed | W |
Death's minister then came his glad release | V |
And hope returned and pleasure fondly made | W |
Her dwelling in his dreams By Fancy's aid | W |
The happy husband flies his arms to throw | L |
Round his wife's neck the prize of victory laid | W |
In her full lap he sees such sweet tears flow | L |
As if thenceforth nor pain nor trouble she could know | L |
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VIII | A |
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Vain hope for frand took all that he had earned | X |
The lion roars and gluts his tawny brood | Y |
Even in the desert's heart but he returned | X |
Bears not to those he loves their needful food | Y |
His home approaching but in such a mood | Y |
That from his sight his children might have run | G |
He met a traveller robbed him shed his blood | Z |
And when the miserable work was done | G |
He fled a vagrant since the murderer's fate to shun | G |
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IX | V |
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From that day forth no place to him could be | A |
So lonely but that thence might come a pang | A2 |
Brought from without to inward misery | A |
Now as he plodded on with sullen clang | A2 |
A sound of chains along the desert rang | A2 |
He looked and saw upon a gibbet high | A |
A human body that in irons swang | A2 |
Uplifted by the tempest whirling by | A |
And hovering round it often did a raven fly | A |
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X | V |
- | |
It was a spectacle which none might view | A |
In spot so savage but with shuddering pain | B |
Nor only did for him at once renew | A |
All he had feared from man but roused a train | B |
Of the mind's phantoms horrible as vain | B |
The stones as if to cover him from day | U |
Rolled at his back along the living plain | B |
He fell and without sense or motion lay | U |
But when the trance was gone feebly pursued his way | U |
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XI | A |
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As one whose brain habitual phrensy fires | V |
Owes to the fit in which his soul hath tossed | B2 |
Profounder quiet when the fit retires | V |
Even so the dire phantasma which had crossed | B2 |
His sense in sudden vacancy quite lost | B2 |
Left his mind still as a deep evening stream | C2 |
Nor if accosted now in thought engrossed | D2 |
Moody or inly troubled would he seem | C2 |
To traveller who might talk of any casual theme | C2 |
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XII | V |
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Hurtle the clouds in deeper darkness piled | E2 |
Gone is the raven timely rest to seek | A2 |
He seemed the only creature in the wild | E2 |
On whom the elements their rage might wreak | A2 |
Save that the bustard of those regions bleak | A2 |
Shy tenant seeing by the uncertain light | F2 |
A man there wandering gave a mournful shriek | A2 |
And half upon the ground with strange affright | F2 |
Forced hard against the wind a thick unwieldy flight | F2 |
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XIII | V |
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All all was cheerless to the horizon's bound | F2 |
The weary eye which wheresoe'er it strays | V |
Marks nothing but the red sun's setting round | F2 |
Or on the earth strange lines in former days | V |
Left by gigantic arms at length surveys | V |
What seems an antique castle spreading wide | F2 |
Hoary and naked are its walls and raise | V |
Their brow sublime in shelter there to bide | F2 |
He turned while rain poured down smoking on every side | F2 |
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XIV | A |
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Pile of Stone henge so proud to hint yet keep | G2 |
Thy secrets thou that lov'st to stand and hear | L |
The Plain resounding to the whirlwind's sweep | G2 |
Inmate of lonesome Nature's endless year | L |
Even if thou saw'st the giant wicker rear | L |
For sacrifice its throngs of living men | H2 |
Before thy face did ever wretch appear | L |
Who in his heart had groaned with deadlier pain | B |
Than he who tempest driven thy shelter now would gain | B |
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XV | A |
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Within that fabric of mysterious form | I2 |
Winds met in conflict each by turns supreme | C2 |
And from the perilous ground dislodged through storm | I2 |
And rain he wildered on no moon to stream | C2 |
From gulf of parting clouds one friendly beam | C2 |
Nor any friendly sound his footsteps led | F2 |
Once did the lightning's faint disastrous gleam | C2 |
Disclose a naked guide post's double head | F2 |
Sight which tho' lost at once a gleam of pleasure shed | F2 |
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XVI | A |
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No swinging sign board creaked from cottage elm | J2 |
To stay his steps with faintness overcome | K2 |
'Twas dark and void as ocean's watery realm | J2 |
Roaring with storms beneath night's starless gloom | L2 |
No gipsy cowered o'er fire of furze or broom | L2 |
No labourer watched his red kiln glaring bright | F2 |
Nor taper glimmered dim from sick man's room | L2 |
Along the waste no line of mournful light | F2 |
From lamp of lonely toll gate streamed athwart the night | F2 |
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XVII | A |
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At length though hid in clouds the moon arose | V |
The downs were visible and now revealed | F2 |
A structure stands which two bare slopes enclose | V |
It was a spot where ancient vows fulfilled | F2 |
Kind pious hands did to the Virgin build | F2 |
A lonely Spital the belated swain | B |
From the night terrors of that waste to shield | F2 |
But there no human being could remain | B |
And now the walls are named the Dead House of the plain | B |
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XVIII | A |
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Though he had little cause to love the abode | F2 |
Of man or covet sight of mortal face | V |
Yet when faint beams of light that ruin showed | F2 |
How glad he was at length to find some trace | V |
Of human shelter in that dreary place | V |
Till to his flock the early shepherd goes | V |
Here shall much needed sleep his frame embrace | V |
In a dry nook where fern the floor bestrows | V |
He lays his stiffened limbs his eyes begin to close | V |
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XIX | V |
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When hearing a deep sigh that seemed to come | K2 |
From one who mourned in sleep he raised his head | F2 |
And saw a woman in the naked room | L2 |
Outstretched and turning on a restless bed | F2 |
The moon a wan dead light around her shed | F2 |
He waked her spake in tone that would not fail | M2 |
He hoped to calm her mind but ill he sped | F2 |
For of that ruin she had heard a tale | M2 |
Which now with freezing thoughts did all her powers assail | M2 |
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XX | V |
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Had heard of one who forced from storms to shroud | F2 |
Felt the loose walls of this decayed Retreat | F2 |
Rock to incessant neighings shrill and loud | F2 |
While his horse pawed the floor with furious heat | F2 |
Till on a stone that sparkled to his feet | F2 |
Struck and still struck again the troubled horse | V |
The man half raised the stone with pain and sweat | F2 |
Half raised for well his arm might lose its force | V |
Disclosing the grim head of a late murdered corse | V |
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XXI | V |
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Such tale of this lone mansion she had learned | F2 |
And when that shape with eyes in sleep half drowned | F2 |
By the moon's sullen lamp she first discerned | F2 |
Cold stony horror all her senses bound | F2 |
Her he addressed in words of cheering sound | F2 |
Recovering heart like answer did she make | A2 |
And well it was that of the corse there found | F2 |
In converse that ensued she nothing spake | A2 |
She knew not what dire pangs in him such tale could wake | A2 |
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XXII | V |
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But soon his voice and words of kind intent | F2 |
Banished that dismal thought and now the wind | F2 |
In fainter howlings told its 'rage' was spent | F2 |
Meanwhile discourse ensued of various kind | F2 |
Which by degrees a confidence of mind | F2 |
And mutual interest failed not to create | F2 |
And to a natural sympathy resigned | F2 |
In that forsaken building where they sate | F2 |
The Woman thus retraced her own untoward fate | F2 |
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XXIII | V |
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By Derwent's side my father dwelt a man | N2 |
Of virtuous life by pious parents bred | F2 |
And I believe that soon as I began | N2 |
To lisp he made me kneel beside my bed | F2 |
And in his hearing there my prayers I said | F2 |
And afterwards by my good father taught | F2 |
I read and loved the books in which I read | F2 |
For books in every neighbouring house I sought | F2 |
And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought | F2 |
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XXIV | A |
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A little croft we owned a plot of corn | Q |
A garden stored with peas and mint and thyme | O2 |
And flowers for posies oft on Sunday morn | Q |
Plucked while the church bells rang their earliest chime | O2 |
Can I forget our freaks at shearing time | O2 |
My hen's rich nest through long grass scarce espied | F2 |
The cowslip gathering in June's dewy prime | O2 |
The swans that with white chests upreared in pride | F2 |
Rushing and racing came to meet me at the water side | F2 |
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XXV | A |
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The staff I well remember which upbore | L |
The bending body of my active sire | L |
His seat beneath the honied sycamore | L |
Where the bees hummed and chair by winter fire | L |
When market morning came the neat attire | L |
With which though bent on haste myself I decked | F2 |
Our watchful house dog that would tease and tire | L |
The stranger till its barking fit I checked | F2 |
The red breast known for years which at my casement pecked | F2 |
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XXVI | A |
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The suns of twenty summers danced along | A2 |
Too little marked how fast they rolled away | U |
But through severe mischance and cruel wrong | A2 |
My father's substance fell into decay | U |
We toiled and struggled hoping for a day | U |
When Fortune might put on a kinder look | A2 |
But vain were wishes efforts vain as they | U |
He from his old hereditary nook | A2 |
Must part the summons came our final leave we took | A2 |
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XXVII | A |
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It was indeed a miserable hour | L |
When from the last hill top my sire surveyed | F2 |
Peering above the trees the steeple tower | L |
That on his marriage day sweet music made | F2 |
Tilt then he hoped his bones might there be laid | F2 |
Close by my mother in their native bowers | V |
Bidding me trust in God he stood and prayed | F2 |
I could not pray through tears that fell in showers | V |
Glimmered our dear loved home alas no longer ours | V |
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XXVIII | A |
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There was a Youth whom I had loved so long | A2 |
That when I loved him not I cannot say | U |
'Mid the green mountains many a thoughtless song | A2 |
We two had sung like gladsome birds in May | U |
When we began to tire of childish play | U |
We seemed still more and more to prize each other | L |
We talked of marriage and our marriage day | U |
And I in truth did love him like a brother | L |
For never could I hope to meet with such another | L |
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XXIX | U |
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Two years were passed since to a distant town | P2 |
He had repaired to ply a gainful trade | F2 |
What tears of bitter grief till then unknown | Q2 |
What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed | F2 |
To him we turned we had no other aid | F2 |
Like one revived upon his neck I wept | F2 |
And her whom he had loved in joy he said | F2 |
He well could love in grief his faith he kept | F2 |
And in a quiet home once more my father slept | F2 |
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XXX | U |
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We lived in peace and comfort and were blest | F2 |
With daily bread by constant toil supplied | F2 |
Three lovely babes had lain upon my breast | F2 |
And often viewing their sweet smiles I sighed | F2 |
And knew not why My happy father died | F2 |
When threatened war reduced the children's meal | R2 |
Thrice happy that for him the grave could hide | F2 |
The empty loom cold hearth and silent wheel | R2 |
And tears that flowed for ills which patience might not heal | R2 |
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XXXI | U |
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'Twas a hard change an evil time was come | K2 |
We had no hope and no relief could gain | B |
But soon with proud parade the noisy drum | K2 |
Beat round to clear the streets of want and pain | B |
My husband's arms now only served to strain | B |
Me and his children hungering in his view | A |
In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain | B |
To join those miserable men he flew | A |
And now to the sea coast with numbers more we drew | A |
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XXXII | U |
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There were we long neglected and we bore | L |
Much sorrow ere the fleet its anchor weighed | F2 |
Green fields before us and our native shore | L |
We breathed a pestilential air that made | F2 |
Ravage for which no knell was heard We prayed | F2 |
For our departure wished and wished nor knew | A |
'Mid that long sickness and those hopes delayed | F2 |
That happier days we never more must view | A |
The parting signal streamed at last the land withdrew | A |
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XXXIII | U |
- | |
But the calm summer season now was past | F2 |
On as we drove the equinoctial deep | G2 |
Ran mountains high before the howling blast | F2 |
And many perished in the whirlwind's sweep | G2 |
We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep | G2 |
Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue | U |
Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap | G2 |
That we the mercy of the waves should rue | U |
We reached the western world a poor devoted crew | U |
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XXXIV | A |
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The pains and plagues that on our heads came down | P2 |
Disease and famine agony and fear | L |
In wood or wilderness in camp or town | P2 |
It would unman the firmest heart to hear | L |
All perished all in one remorseless year | L |
Husband and children one by one by sword | F2 |
And ravenous plague all perished every tear | L |
Dried up despairing desolate on board | F2 |
A British ship I waked as from a trance restored | F2 |
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XXXV | A |
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Here paused she of all present thought forlorn | Q |
Nor voice nor sound that moment's pain expressed | F2 |
Yet Nature with excess of grief o'erborne | Q |
From her full eyes their watery load released | F2 |
He too was mute and ere her weeping ceased | F2 |
He rose and to the ruin's portal went | F2 |
And saw the dawn opening the silvery east | F2 |
With rays of promise north and southward sent | F2 |
And soon with crimson fire kindled the firmament | F2 |
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XXXVI | A |
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O come he cried come after weary night | F2 |
Of such rough storm this happy change to view | A |
So forth she came and eastward looked the sight | F2 |
Over her brow like dawn of gladness threw | A |
Upon her cheek to which its youthful hue | A |
Seemed to return dried the last lingering tear | L |
And from her grateful heart a fresh one drew | A |
The whilst her comrade to her pensive cheer | L |
Tempered fit words of hope and the lark warbled near | L |
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XXXVII | A |
- | |
They looked and saw a lengthening road and wain | Q |
That rang down a bare slope not far remote | F2 |
The barrows glistered bright with drops of rain | Q |
Whistled the waggoner with merry note | F2 |
The cock far off sounded his clarion throat | F2 |
But town or farm or hamlet none they viewed | F2 |
Only were told there stood a lonely cot | F2 |
A long mile thence While thither they pursued | F2 |
Their way the Woman thus her mournful tale renewed | F2 |
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XXXVIII | A |
- | |
Peaceful as this immeasurable plain | Q |
Is now by beams of dawning light imprest | F2 |
In the calm sunshine slept the glittering main | Q |
The very ocean hath its hour of rest | F2 |
I too forgot the heavings of my breast | F2 |
How quiet 'round me ship and ocean were | L |
As quiet all within me I was blest | F2 |
And looked and fed upon the silent air | L |
Until it seemed to bring a joy to my despair | L |
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XXXIX | U |
- | |
Ah how unlike those late terrific sleeps | U |
And groans that rage of racking famine spoke | A2 |
The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps | U |
The breathing pestilence that rose like smoke | A2 |
The shriek that from the distant battle broke | A2 |
The mine's dire earthquake and the pallid host | F2 |
Driven by the bomb's incessant thunderstroke | A2 |
To loathsome vaults where heart sick anguish tossed | F2 |
Hope died and fear itself in agony was lost | F2 |
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XL | A |
- | |
Some mighty gulf of separation past | F2 |
I seemed transported to another world | F2 |
A thought resigned with pain when from the mast | F2 |
The impatient mariner the sail unfurled | F2 |
And whistling called the wind that hardly curled | F2 |
The silent sea From the sweet thoughts of home | S2 |
And from all hope I was for ever hurled | F2 |
For me farthest from earthly port to roam | S2 |
Was best could I but shun the spot where man might come | K2 |
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XLI | A |
- | |
And oft I thought my fancy was so strong | A2 |
That I at last a resting place had found | F2 |
'Here will I dwell ' said I 'my whole life long | A2 |
Roaming the illimitable waters round | F2 |
Here will I live of all but heaven disowned | F2 |
And end my days upon the peaceful flood ' | - |
To break my dream the vessel reached its bound | F2 |
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood | F2 |
And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food | F2 |
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XLII | A |
- | |
No help I sought in sorrow turned adrift | F2 |
Was hopeless as if cast on some bare rock | A2 |
Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift | F2 |
Nor raised my hand at any door to knock | A2 |
I lay where with his drowsy mates the cock | A2 |
From the cross timber of an out house hung | A2 |
Dismally tolled that night the city clock | A2 |
At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung | A2 |
Nor to the beggar's language could I fit my tongue | A2 |
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XLIII | A |
- | |
So passed a second day and when the third | F2 |
Was come I tried in vain the crowd's resort | F2 |
In deep despair by frightful wishes stirred | F2 |
Near the sea side I reached a ruined fort | F2 |
There pains which nature could no more support | F2 |
With blindness linked did on my vitals fall | A |
And after many interruptions short | F2 |
Of hideous sense I sank nor step could crawl | A |
Unsought for was the help that did my life recall | A |
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XLIV | A |
- | |
Borne to a hospital I lay with brain | Q |
Drowsy and weak and shattered memory | L |
I heard my neighbours in their beds complain | Q |
Of many things which never troubled me | L |
Of feet still bustling round with busy glee | L |
Of looks where common kindness had no part | F2 |
Of service done with cold formality | L |
Fretting the fever round the languid heart | F2 |
And groans which as they said might make a dead man start | F2 |
- | |
XLV | A |
- | |
These things just served to stir the slumbering sense | U |
Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised | F2 |
With strength did memory return and thence | U |
Dismissed again on open day I gazed | F2 |
At houses men and common light amazed | F2 |
The lanes I sought and as the sun retired | F2 |
Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed | F2 |
The travellers saw me weep my fate inquired | F2 |
And gave me food and rest more welcome more desired | F2 |
- | |
XLVI | A |
- | |
Rough potters seemed they trading soberly | L |
With panniered asses driven from door to door | L |
But life of happier sort set forth to me | L |
And other joys my fancy to allure | L |
The bag pipe dinning on the midnight moor | L |
In barn uplighted and companions boon | Q |
Well met from far with revelry secure | L |
Among the forest glades while jocund June | Q |
Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon | Q |
- | |
XLVII | A |
- | |
But ill they suited me those journeys dark | A2 |
O'er moor and mountain midnight theft to hatch | T2 |
To charm the surly house dog's faithful bark | A2 |
Or hang on tip toe at the lifted latch | T2 |
The gloomy lantern and the dim blue match | T2 |
The black disguise the warning whistle shrill | A |
And ear still busy on its nightly watch | U2 |
Were not for me brought up in nothing ill | A |
Besides on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding still | A |
- | |
XLVIII | A |
- | |
What could I do unaided and unblest | F2 |
My father gone was every friend of thine | Q |
And kindred of dead husband are at best | F2 |
Small help and after marriage such as mine | Q |
With little kindness would to me incline | Q |
Nor was I then for toil or service fit | F2 |
My deep drawn sighs no effort could confine | Q |
In open air forgetful would I sit | F2 |
Whole hours with idle arms in moping sorrow knit | F2 |
- | |
XLIX | U |
- | |
The roads I paced I loitered through the fields | U |
Contentedly yet sometimes self accused | F2 |
Trusted my life to what chance bounty yields | U |
Now coldly given now utterly refused | F2 |
The ground I for my bed have often used | F2 |
But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth | V2 |
Is that I have my inner self abused | F2 |
Foregone the home delight of constant truth | V2 |
And clear and open soul so prized in fearless youth | V2 |
- | |
L | A |
- | |
Through tears the rising sun I oft have viewed | F2 |
Through tears have seen him towards that world descend | F2 |
Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude | F2 |
Three years a wanderer now my course I bend | F2 |
Oh tell me whither for no earthly friend | F2 |
Have I She ceased and weeping turned away | U |
As if because her tale was at an end | F2 |
She wept because she had no more to say | U |
Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay | U |
- | |
LI | L |
- | |
True sympathy the Sailor's looks expressed | F2 |
His looks for pondering he was mute the while | A |
Of social Order's care for wretchedness | U |
Of Time's sure help to calm and reconcile | A |
Joy's second spring and Hope's long treasured smile | A |
'Twas not for 'him' to speak a man so tried | F2 |
Yet to relieve her heart in friendly style | A |
Proverbial words of comfort he applied | F2 |
And not in vain while they went pacing side by side | F2 |
- | |
LII | A |
- | |
Ere long from heaps of turf before their sight | F2 |
Together smoking in the sun's slant beam | C2 |
Rise various wreaths that into one unite | F2 |
Which high and higher mounts with silver gleam | C2 |
Fair spectacle but instantly a scream | C2 |
Thence bursting shrill did all remark prevent | F2 |
They paused and heard a hoarser voice blaspheme | C2 |
And female cries Their course they thither bent | F2 |
And met a man who foamed with anger vehement | F2 |
- | |
LIII | A |
- | |
A woman stood with quivering lips and pale | A |
And pointing to a little child that lay | A |
Stretched on the ground began a piteous tale | A |
How in a simple freak of thoughtless play | A |
He had provoked his father who straightway | U |
As if each blow were deadlier than the last | F2 |
Struck the poor innocent Pallid with dismay | A |
The Soldier's Widow heard and stood aghast | F2 |
And stern looks on the man her grey haired Comrade cast | F2 |
- | |
LIV | A |
- | |
His voice with indignation rising high | A |
Such further deed in manhood's name forbade | F2 |
The peasant wild in passion made reply | A |
With bitter insult and revilings sad | F2 |
Asked him in scorn what business there he had | F2 |
What kind of plunder he was hunting now | Q |
The gallows would one day of him be glad | F2 |
Though inward anguish damped the Sailor's brow | Q |
Yet calm he seemed as thoughts so poignant would allow | Q |
- | |
LV | A |
- | |
Softly he stroked the child who lay outstretched | F2 |
With face to earth and as the boy turned round | F2 |
His battered head a groan the Sailor fetched | F2 |
As if he saw there and upon that ground | F2 |
Strange repetition of the deadly wound | F2 |
He had himself inflicted Through his brain | Q |
At once the griding iron passage found | F2 |
Deluge of tender thoughts then rushed amain | Q |
Nor could his sunken eyes the starting tear restrain | Q |
- | |
LVI | A |
- | |
Within himself he said What hearts have we | U |
The blessing this a father gives his child | F2 |
Yet happy thou poor boy compared with me | U |
Suffering not doing ill fate far more mild | F2 |
The stranger's looks and tears of wrath beguiled | F2 |
The father and relenting thoughts awoke | A2 |
He kissed his son so all was reconciled | F2 |
Then with a voice which inward trouble broke | A2 |
Ere to his lips it came the Sailor them bespoke | A2 |
- | |
LVII | A |
- | |
Bad is the world and hard is the world's law | A |
Even for the man who wears the warmest fleece | U |
Much need have ye that time more closely draw | A |
The bond of nature all unkindness cease | U |
And that among so few there still be peace | U |
Else can ye hope but with such numerous foes | U |
Your pains shall ever with your years increase | U |
While from his heart the appropriate lesson flows | U |
A correspondent calm stole gently o'er his woes | U |
- | |
LVIII | A |
- | |
Forthwith the pair passed on and down they look | A2 |
Into a narrow valley's pleasant scene | Q |
Where wreaths of vapour tracked a winding brook | A2 |
That babbled on through groves and meadows green | Q |
A low roofed house peeped out the trees between | Q |
The dripping groves resound with cheerful lays | U |
And melancholy lowings intervene | Q |
Of scattered herds that in the meadow graze | U |
Some amid lingering shade some touched by the sun's rays | U |
- | |
LIX | U |
- | |
They saw and heard and winding with the road | F2 |
Down a thick wood they dropt into the vale | A |
Comfort by prouder mansions unbestowed | F2 |
Their wearied frames she hoped would soon regale | A |
Erelong they reached that cottage in the dale | A |
It was a rustic inn the board was spread | F2 |
The milk maid followed with her brimming pail | A |
And lustily the master carved the bread | F2 |
Kindly the housewife pressed and they in comfort fed | F2 |
- | |
LX | U |
- | |
Their breakfast done the pair though loth must part | F2 |
Wanderers whose course no longer now agrees | U |
She rose and bade farewell and while her heart | F2 |
Struggled with tears nor could its sorrow ease | U |
She left him there for clustering round his knees | U |
With his oak staff the cottage children played | F2 |
And soon she reached a spot o'erhung with trees | U |
And banks of ragged earth beneath the shade | F2 |
Across the pebbly road a little runnel strayed | F2 |
- | |
LXI | U |
- | |
A cart and horse beside the rivulet stood | F2 |
Chequering the canvas roof the sunbeams shone | Q |
She saw the carman bend to scoop the flood | F2 |
As the wain fronted her wherein lay one | Q |
A pale faced Woman in disease far gone | Q |
The carman wet her lips as well behoved | F2 |
Bed under her lean body there was none | Q |
Though even to die near one she most had loved | F2 |
She could not of herself those wasted limbs have moved | F2 |
- | |
LXII | U |
- | |
The Soldier's Widow learned with honest pain | Q |
And homefelt force of sympathy sincere | L |
Why thus that worn out wretch must there sustain | Q |
The jolting road and morning air severe | L |
The wain pursued its way and following near | L |
In pure compassion she her steps retraced | F2 |
Far as the cottage A sad sight is here | L |
She cried aloud and forth ran out in haste | F2 |
The friends whom she had left but a few minutes past | F2 |
- | |
LXIII | U |
- | |
While to the door with eager speed they ran | Q |
From her bare straw the Woman half upraised | F2 |
Her bony visage gaunt and deadly wan | Q |
No pity asking on the group she gazed | F2 |
With a dim eye distracted and amazed | F2 |
Then sank upon her straw with feeble moan | Q |
Fervently cried the housewife God be praised | F2 |
I have a house that I can call my own | Q |
Nor shall she perish there untended and alone | Q |
- | |
LXIV | A |
- | |
So in they bear her to the chimney seat | F2 |
And busily though yet with fear untie | F2 |
Her garments and to warm her icy feet | F2 |
And chafe her temples careful hands apply | F2 |
Nature reviving with a deep drawn sigh | F2 |
She strove and not in vain her head to rear | L |
Then said I thank you all if I must die | F2 |
The God in heaven my prayers for you will hear | L |
Till now I did not think my end had been so near | L |
- | |
LXV | F2 |
- | |
Barred every comfort labour could procure | L |
Suffering what no endurance could assuage | W2 |
I was compelled to seek my father's door | L |
Though loth to be a burthen on his age | W2 |
But sickness stopped me in an early stage | W2 |
Of my sad journey and within the wain | Q |
They placed me there to end life's pilgrimage | X2 |
Unless beneath your roof I may remain | Q |
For I shall never see my father's door again | Q |
- | |
LXVI | F2 |
- | |
My life Heaven knows hath long been burthensome | U |
But if I have not meekly suffered meek | A2 |
May my end be Soon will this voice be dumb | U |
Should child of mine e'er wander hither speak | A2 |
Of me say that the worm is on my cheek | A2 |
Torn from our hut that stood beside the sea | U |
Near Portland lighthouse in a lonesome creek | A2 |
My husband served in sad captivity | U |
On shipboard bound till peace or death should set him free | U |
- | |
LXVII | F2 |
- | |
A sailor's wife I knew a widow's cares | U |
Yet two sweet little ones partook my bed | F2 |
Hope cheered my dreams and to my daily prayers | U |
Our heavenly Father granted each day's bread | F2 |
Till one was found by stroke of violence dead | F2 |
Whose body near our cottage chanced to lie | F2 |
A dire suspicion drove us from our shed | F2 |
In vain to find a friendly face we try | F2 |
Nor could we live together those poor boys and I | F2 |
- | |
LXVIII | F2 |
- | |
For evil tongues made oath how on that day | F2 |
My husband lurked about the neighbourhood | F2 |
Now he had fled and whither none could say | F2 |
And 'he' had done the deed in the dark wood | F2 |
Near his own home but he was mild and good | F2 |
Never on earth was gentler creature seen | Q |
He'd not have robbed the raven of its food | F2 |
My husband's lovingkindness stood between | Q |
Me and all worldly harms and wrongs however keen | Q |
- | |
LXIX | F2 |
- | |
Alas the thing she told with labouring breath | Y2 |
The Sailor knew too well That wickedness | F2 |
His hand had wrought and when in the hour of death | Y2 |
He saw his Wife's lips move his name to bless | F2 |
With her last words unable to suppress | F2 |
His anguish with his heart he ceased to strive | F2 |
And weeping loud in this extreme distress | F2 |
He cried Do pity me That thou shouldst live | F2 |
I neither ask nor wish forgive me but forgive | F2 |
- | |
LXX | F2 |
- | |
To tell the change that Voice within her wrought | F2 |
Nature by sign or sound made no essay | F2 |
A sudden joy surprised expiring thought | F2 |
And every mortal pang dissolved away | F2 |
Borne gently to a bed in death she lay | F2 |
Yet still while over her the husband bent | F2 |
A look was in her face which seemed to say | F2 |
Be blest by sight of thee from heaven was sent | F2 |
Peace to my parting soul the fulness of content | F2 |
- | |
LXXI | F2 |
- | |
'She' slept in peace his pulses throbbed and stopped | F2 |
Breathless he gazed upon her face then took | A2 |
Her hand in his and raised it but both dropped | F2 |
When on his own he cast a rueful look | A2 |
His ears were never silent sleep forsook | A2 |
His burning eyelids stretched and stiff as lead | F2 |
All night from time to time under him shook | A2 |
The floor as he lay shuddering on his bed | F2 |
And oft he groaned aloud O God that I were dead | F2 |
- | |
LXXII | F2 |
- | |
The Soldier's Widow lingered in the cot | F2 |
And when he rose he thanked her pious care | L |
Through which his Wife to that kind shelter brought | F2 |
Died in his arms and with those thanks a prayer | L |
He breathed for her and for that merciful pair | L |
The corse interred not one hour heremained | F2 |
Beneath their roof but to the open air | L |
A burthen now with fortitude sustained | F2 |
He bore within a breast where dreadful quiet reigned | F2 |
- | |
LXXIII | F2 |
- | |
Confirmed of purpose fearlessly prepared | F2 |
For act and suffering to the city straight | F2 |
He journeyed and forthwith his crime declared | F2 |
And from your doom he added now I wait | F2 |
Nor let it linger long the murderer's fate | F2 |
Not ineffectual was that piteous claim | U |
O welcome sentence which will end though late | F2 |
He said the pangs that to my conscience came | U |
Out of that deed My trust Saviour is in thy name | U |
- | |
LXXIV | F2 |
- | |
His fate was pitied Him in iron case | F2 |
Reader forgive the intolerable thought | F2 |
They hung not no one on 'his' form or face | F2 |
Could gaze as on a show by idlers sought | F2 |
No kindred sufferer to his death place brought | F2 |
By lawless curiosity or chance | F2 |
When into storm the evening sky is wrought | F2 |
Upon his swinging corse an eye can glance | F2 |
And drop as he once dropped in miserable trance | F2 |
William Wordsworth
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