Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE REVIEW; PINDARIC ODE TO THE REVEREND DR. WILLIAM SANCROFT, by THOMAS FLATMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE REVIEW; PINDARIC ODE TO THE REVEREND DR. WILLIAM SANCROFT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: When first I stept into th' alluring maze
Last Line: I've made the church my ark, and sion's hill my ararat.
Subject(s): Clergy; Sancroft, William (1617-1693); Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops


Stanza I.

WHEN first I stept into th' alluring maze
To tread this world's mysterious ways,
Alas! I had nor guide, nor clue,
No Ariadne lent her hand,
Not one of Virtue's guards did bid me stand,
Or ask'd me what I meant to do,
Or whither I would go:
This labyrinth so pleasant did appear,
I lost myself with much content,
Infinite hazards underwent,
Out-straggled Homer's crafty wanderer,
And ten years more than he in fruitless travels spent;
The one half of my life is gone,
The shadow the meridian past;
Death's dismal evening drawing on,
Which must with damps and mists be overcast,
An evening that will surely come,
'Tis time, high time to give myself the welcome home.

II.

Had I but heartily believ'd
That all the Royal Preacher said was true,
When first I ent'red on the stage,
And Vanity so hotly did pursue;
Convinc'd by his experience, not my age,
I had myself long since retriev'd,
I should have let the curtain down,
Before the Fool's part had begun:
But I throughout the tedious play have been
Concern'd in every busy scene;
Too too inquisitive I tried
Now this, anon another face,
And then a third, more odd, took place,
Was everything, but what I was.
Such was my Protean folly, such my pride,
Befool'd through all the tragi-comedy,
Where others met with hissing, to expect a Plaudite.

III.

I had a mind the Pastoral to prove,
Searching for happiness in Love,
And finding Venus painted with a Dove,
A little naked Boy hard by,
The Dove, which had no gall,
The Boy no dangerous arms at all;
They do thee wrong, great Love, said I,
Much wrong, great Love! ----- scarce had I spoke
Ere into my unwary bosom came
An inextinguishable flame:
From fair Amira's eyes the lightning broke,
That left me more than thunder-strook;
She carries tempest in that lovely name:
Love's mighty and tumultuous pain
Disorders Nature like an hurricane.
Yet couldn't I believe such storms could be,
When I launch'd forth to sea;
Promis'd myself a calm and easy way,
Though I had seen before
Piteous ruins on the shore,
And on the naked beach Leander breathless lay.

IV.

To extricate myself from Love
Which I could ill obey, but worse command,
I took my pencils in my hand,
With that artillery for conquest strove,
Like wise Pygmalion then did I
Myself design my deity;
Made my own saint, made my own shrine:
If she did frown, one dash could make her smile,
All bickerings one easy stroke could reconcile,
Plato feign'd no idea so divine:
Thus did I quiet many a froward day,
While in my eyes my soul did play,
Thus did the time, and thus myself beguile;
Till on a day, but then I knew not why,
A tear fall'n from my eye,
Wash'd out my saint, my shrine, my deity:
Prophetic chance! the lines are gone,
And I must mourn o'er what I doted on:
I find even Giotto's circle has not all perfection.

V.

To Poetry I then inclin'd;
Verse that emancipates the mind,
Verse that unbends the soul;
That amulet of sickly fame,
Verse that from wind articulates a name;
Verse for both fortunes fit, to smile and to condole.
Ere I had long the trial made,
A serious thought made me afraid:
For I had heard Parnassus' sacred hill
Was so prodigiously high,
Its barren top so near the sky;
The ether there
So very pure, so subtil, and so rare,
'Twould a chameleon kill,
The beast that is all lungs, and feeds on air:
Poets the higher up that hill they go,
Like pilgrims, share the less of what's below:
Hence 'tis they ever go repining on,
And murmur more than their own Helicon.
I heard them curse their stars in ponderous rhymes,
And in grave numbers grumble at the times;
Yet where th' illustrious Cowley led the way,
I thought it great discretion there to go astray.

VI.

From liberal Arts to the litigious Law,
Obedience, not ambition, did me draw;
I look'd at awful quoif and scarlet gown
Through others' optics, not my own:
Untie the Gordian knot that will,
I see no rhetoric at all
In them that learnedly can brawl,
And fill with mercenary breath the spacious hall;
Let me be peaceable, let me be still.
The solitary Tishbite heard the wind,
With strength and violence combin'd,
That rent the mountains, and did make
The solid Earth's foundations shake;
He saw the dreadful fire, and heard the horrid noise,
But found what he expected in the small still voice.

VII.

Nor here did my unbridled fancy rest,
But I must try
A pitch more high,
To read the starry language of the East;
And with Chaldean curiosity
Presum'd to solve the riddles of the sky;
Impatient till I knew my doom,
Dejected till the good direction come,
I ripp'd up Fate's forbidden womb,
Nor would I stay till it brought forth
An easy and a natural birth,
But was solicitous to know
The yet misshapen embryo
(Preposterous crime!)
Without the formal midwif'ry of time:
Fond man, as if too little grief were given
On Earth, draws down inquietudes from Heaven!
Permits himself with fear to be unmann'd,
Belshazzar-like, grows wan and pale,
His very heart begins to fail,
Is frighted at that Writing of the Hand,
Which yet nor he, nor all his learn'd magicians understand.

VIII.

And now at last what's the result of all?
Should the strict audit come,
And for th' account too early call;
A num'rous heap of ciphers would be found the total sum.
When incompassionate age shall plow
The delicate Amira's brow,
And draw his furrows deep and long,
What hardy youth is he
Will after that a reaper be,
Or sing the harvest song?
And what is verse, but an effeminate vent
Either of lust or discontent?
Colours will starve, and all their glories die,
Invented only to deceive the eye;
And he that wily Law does love
Much more of serpent has than dove,
There's nothing in Astrology,
But Delphic ambiguity;
We are misguided in the dark, and thus
Each star becomes an Ignis fatuus:
Yet pardon me, ye glorious Lamps of light,
'Twas one of you that led the way,
Dispell'd the gloomy night,
Became a Phosphor to th' Eternal Day,
And show'd the Magi where th' Almighty Infant lay.

IX.

At length the doubtful victory's won,
It was a cunning ambuscade
The World for my felicities had laid;
Yet now at length the day's our own,
Now conqueror-like let us new laws set down.
Henceforth let all our love seraphic turn,
The sprightly and the vigorous flame
On th' altar let it ever burn,
And sacrifice its ancient name:
A tablet on my heart next I'll prepare
Where I would draw the Holy Sepulchre,
Behind it a soft landskip I would lay
Of melancholy Golgotha!
On th' altar let me all my spoils lay down,
And if I had one, there I'd hang my laurel crown.
Give me the Pandects of the Law Divine,
Such was the Law made Moses' face to shine.
Thus beyond Saturn's heavy orb I'll tower,
And laugh at his malicious power:
Raptur'd in contemplation thus I'll go
Above unactive earth, and leave the stars below.

X.

Toss'd on the wings of every wind,
After these hoverings to and fro
(And still the waters higher grow),
Not knowing where a resting-place to find,
Whither for sanctuary should I go
But, Reverend Sir, to you?
You that have triumph'd o'er th' impetuous flood,
That, Noah-like, in bad times durst be good,
And the stiff torrent manfully withstood,
Can save me too;
One that have long in fear of drowning bin,
Surrounded by the rolling waves of sin;
Do you but reach out a propitious hand
And charitably take me in,
I will not yet despair to see dry land.
'Tis done; -- and I no longer fluctuate,
I've made the Church my Ark, and Sion's Hill my Ararat.





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