Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ODE ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN ..., by JOHN MILTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN ODE ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN ..., by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: My two-fold book! Single in show
Last Line: I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.
Subject(s): Libraries & Librarians; Oxford University; Rouse, John (17th Century)


(LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, ON A LOST
VOLUME OF MY POEMS, WHICH HE DESIRED ME TO REPLACE,
THAT HE MIGHT ADD THEM TO MY OTHER WORKS DEPOSITED IN
THE LIBRARY)

STROPHE.

MY twofold book! single in show,
But double in contents,
Neat, but not curiously adorned,
Which, in his early youth,
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth,
Although an earnest wooer of the muse--
Say while in cool Ausonian shades
Or British wilds he roamed,
Striking by turns his native lyre,
By turns the Daunian lute,
And stepped almost in air;

ANTISTROPHE.

Say, little book, what furtive hand
Thee from thy fellow-books conveyed,
What time, at the repeated suit
Of my most learned friend,
I sent thee forth, an honoured traveller,
From our great city to the source of Thames,
Caerulean sire;
Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring
Of the Aonian choir,
Durable as yonder spheres,
And through the endless lapse of years
Secure to be admired?

STROPHE II.

Now what god, or demigod,
For Britain's ancient genius moved
(If our afflicted land
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth
Of her degenerate sons)
Shall terminate our impious feuds,
And discipline, with hallowed voice, recall?
Recall the Muses too,
Driven from their ancient seats
In Albion, and well-nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phoebean shafts
Piercing the unseemly birds,
Whose talons menace us,
Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar?

ANTISTROPHE.

But thou, my book, though thou hast strayed,
Whether by treachery lost,
Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,
From all thy kindred books,
To some dark cell, or cave forlorn,
Where thou endurest, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutored hand,
Be comforted--
For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou mayest yet escape
The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III.

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains
That though by promise his,
Thou yet appearest not in thy place
Among the literary noble stores
Given to his care,
But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete
He, therefore, guardian vigilant
Of that unperishing wealth,
Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son
Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born)
In the resplendent temple of his god,
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,
The Muses' favourite haunt;
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,
Dearer to him
Than Delos, or the forked Parnassian hill!
Exulting go,
Since now a splendid lot is also thine,
And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read
With authors of exalted note,
The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome.

EPODE.

Yet then, my works, no longer vain
And worthless deemed by me!
Whate er this steril genius has produced
Expect, at last, the rage of Envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,
Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend;
Where never flippant tongue profane
Shall entrance find,
And whence the coarse unlettered multitude
Shall babble far remote.
Perhaps some future distant age,
Less tinged with prejudice, and better taught,
Shall furnish minds of power
To judge more equally.
Then, Malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts,
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.





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