Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ODES. TO HIMSELFE, AND THE HARPE, by MICHAEL DRAYTON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: And why not I, as hee Last Line: Although in skelton's ryme. Subject(s): Horace (65-8 B.c.); Pindar (522-440 B.c.) | ||||||||
And why not I, as hee That's greatest, if as free, (In sundry strains that strive, Since there so many be) Th'old Lyrick kind revive? I will, yea, and I may; Who shall oppose my way? For what is he alone, That of himselfe can say, Hee's Heire of Helicon? APOLLO, and the Nine, Forbid no Man their Shrine, That commeth with hands pure; Else they be so divine, They will him not indure. For they be such coy Things, That they care not for Kings, And dare let them know it; Nor may he touch their Springs, That is not borne a Poet. The Phocean it did prove, Whom when foule Lust did move, Those Mayds unchaste to make, Fell, as with them he strove, His Neck and justly brake. That instrument ne'r heard, Strooke by the skilfull Bard, It strongly to awake; But it th'infernalls skard, And made Olympus quake. As those Prophetike strings Whose sounds with fiery Wings, Drave Fiends from their abode, Touch'd by the best of Kings, That sang the holy Ode. So his, which Women slue, And it int' Hebrus threw, Such sounds yet forth it sent, The Bankes to weepe that drue, As downe the Streame it went. That by the Tortoyse shell, To MAYAS Sonne it fell, The most thereof not doubt But sure some Power did dwell, In Him who found it out. The Wildest of the field, And Ayre, with Rivers t'yeeld, Which mov'd; that sturdy Glebes, And massie Oakes could weeld, To rayse the pyles of Thebes. And diversly though Strung, So anciently We sung To it, that Now scarce knowne, If first it did belong To Greece, or if our Owne. The Druydes imbrew'd, With Gore, on Altars rude With Sacrifices crown'd, In hollow Woods bedew'd, Ador'd the Trembling sound. Though wee be All to seeke, Of PINDAR that Great Greeke, To Finger it aright, The Soule with power to strike, His hand retayn'd such Might. Or him that Rome did grace, Whose Ayres we all imbrace, That scarcely found his Peere, Nor giveth PHCEBUS place, For Strokes divinely cleere. The Irish I admire, And still cleave to that Lyre, As our Musike's Mother, And thinke, till I expire, APOLLO's such another. As Britons, that so long Have held this Antike Song, And let all our Carpers Forbeare their fame to wrong, Th'are right skilfull Harpers. Southerne, I long thee spare, Yet wish thee well to fare, Who me pleased'st greatly, As first, therefore more rare, Handling thy Harpe neatly. To those that with despight Shall terme these Numbers slight, Tell them their Judgement's blind, Much erring from the right, It is a Noble kind. Nor is't the Verse doth make, That giveth, or doth take, 'Tis possible to clyme, To kindle, or to slake, Although in SKELTON's Ryme. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUR METRICAL EXPERIMENTS: 4. PINDARIC by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE PINDARIC ODE: TO MR. HOBS by ABRAHAM COWLEY THE PRAISE OF PINDAR by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS GOOSEBERRY-PIE; A PINDARIC ODE by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE EAGLE AND THE SONNET by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER AFTER PINDAR by WARREN PENDLETON CARRIER AFTER PINDAR by CLAYTON ESHLEMAN ODES IV, 2. TO JULIUS ANTONIUS by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS CANZONET: TO HIS COY LOVE by MICHAEL DRAYTON |
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