seems to be altogether forgotten, or unknown, by | stanza; and which accordingly perpetually agreed our English writers. There is nothing more frequent among us, than a sort of poems entitled Pindaric Odes; pretend ing to be written in imitation of the manner and style of Pindar, and yet I do not know that there is to this day extant, in our language, one ode contrived after his model. What idea can an English reader have of Pindar, (to whose mouth, when a child, the bees brought their honey, in omen of the future sweetness and melody of his Bongs) when he shall see such rumbling and grating papers of verses, pretending to be copies of his works? The character of these late Pindarics is, a bundle of rambling incoherent thoughts, expressed in a like parcel of irregular stanzas, which also consist of such another complication of disproportioned, uncertain, and perplexed verses and rhymes. And I appeal to any reader, if this is not the condition in which these titular odes appear. On the contrary, there is nothing more regular than the odes of Pindar, both as to the exact observation of the measures and numbers of his stanzas and verses, and the perpetual coherence of his thoughts. For though his digressions are frequent, and his transitions sudden, yet is there ever some secret connection, which, though not always appearing to the eye, never fails to communicate itself to the understanding of the reader. The liberty which he took in his numbers, and which has been so misunderstood and misapplied by his pretended imitators, was only in varying the stanzas in different odes; but in each particular ode they are ever correspondent one to another in their turns, and according to the order of the ode. All the odes of Pindar which remain to us, are songs of triumph, victory, or success, in the Grecian games: they were sung by a chorus, and adapted to the lyre, and sometimes to the lyre and pipe: they consisted oftenest of three stanzas; the first was called the strophé, from the version or circular motion of the singers in that stanza from the right hand to the left. The second stanza was called the antistrophé, from the contraversion of the chorus; the singers, in performing that, turning from the left hand to the right, contrary always to their motion in the strophe. The third stanza was called the epode, (it may be as being the after-song) which they sung in the middle, neither turning to one hand nor the other. What the origin was of these different motions and stations in singing their odes, is not our present business to inquire. Some have thought, that, by the contrariety of the strophé and antistrophé, they intended to represent the contrarotation of the primum mobile, in respect of the secunda mobilia; and that, by their standing still at the epode, they meant to signify the stability of the Earth. Others ascribe the institution to Theseus, who thereby expressed the windings and turnings of the labyrinth, in celebrating his return from thence. The method observed in the composition of these odes, was therefore as follows: The poet having made choice of a certain number of verses to constitute his strophé, or first stanza, was obliged to bserve the same in his antistrophe, or second whenever repeated, both in number of verses and quantity of feet: he was then again at liberty to make a new choice for his third stanza, or epode; where, accordingly, he diversified his numbers, as his ear or fancy led him: composing that stanza of more or fewer verses than the former, and those verses of different measures and quantities, for the greater variety of harmony, and entertainment of the ear. But then this epode being thus formed, he was strictly obliged to the same measure as often as he should repeat it in the order of his ode, so that every epode in the same ode is eternally the same in measure and quantity, in respect to itself; as is also every strophé and antistrophé, in respect to each other. The lyric poet Stesichorus (whom Longinus reckons amongst the ablest imitators of Homer, and of whom Quintilian says, that if he could have kept within bounds, he would have been nearest of any body, in merit, to Homer) was, if not the inventor of this order in the ode, yet so strict an observer of it in his compositions, that the three stanzas of Stesichorus became a common proverb to express a thing universally known, ne tria quidem. Stesichori nôstri; so that when any one had a mind to reproach another with excessive ignorance, he could not do it more effectually than by telling him, "he did not so much as know the three stanzas of Stesichorus;" that is, did not know that an ode ought to consist of a strophé, an antistrophé, and an epode. If this was such a mark of ignorance among them, I am sure we have been pretty long liable to the same reproof; I mean, in respect of our imitations of the odes of Pindar. My intention is not to make a long preface to a short one, nor to enter upon a dissertation of lyric poetry in general: but thus much I thought proper to say, for the information of those readers whose course of study has not led them into such inquiries. I hope I shall not be so misunderstood, as to have it thought that I pretend to give an exact copy of Pindar in this ensuing ode; or that I look upon it as a pattern for his imitators for the future: far from such thoughts, I have only given an instance of what is practicable, and am sensible that I am as distant from the force and elevation of Pindar, as others have hitherto been from the harmony and regularity of his numbers. Again, we having no chorus to sing our odes, the titles, as well as use of strophé, antistrophé, and epode, are obsolete and impertinent: and certainly there may be very good English odes, without the distinction of Greek appellations to their stanzas. That I have mentioned them here, and observed the order of them in the ensuing ode, is therefore only the more intelligibly to explain the extraordinary regularity of the composition of these odes, which have been repre sented to us hitherto, as the most confused structures in nature. However, though there be no necessity that our triumphal odes should consist of the three aforementioned stanzas; yet if the reader can observe, that the great variation of the numbers in the third stanza (call it epode, or what you please) has a pleasing effect in the ode, and makes him return to the first and second stanzas with more appetite than he could do, if always cloyed with the same quantities and measures; I cannot see why some use may not be made of Pindar's example, to the great improvement of the English ode. There is certainly a pleasure in beholding any thing that has art and difficulty in the contrivance; especially if it appears so carefully executed, that the difficulty does not show itself, till it is sought for; and that the seeming easiness of the work, first sets us upon the inquiry. Nothing can be called beautiful without proportion. When symmetry and harmony are wanting, neither the eye nor the ear can be pleased. Therefore certainly poetry, which includes painting and music, should not be destitute of them; and of all poetry, especially the ode, whose end and essence is harmony. Mr. Cowley, in his preface to his Pindaric Odes, speaking of the music of numbers, says, "which sometimes (especially in songs and odes) almost excellent without any thing else, makes an poet." Having mentioned Mr. Cowley, it may very well be expected, that something should be said of him, at a time when the imitation of Pindar is the theme of our discourse. But there is that great deference due to the memory, great parts, and learning, of that gentleman, that I think nothing should be objected to the latitude he has taken in his Pindaric odes. The beauty of his verses is an atonement for the irregularity of his stanzas; and though he did not imitate Pindar in the strictness of his numbers, he has very often happily copied him in the force of his figures, and sublimity of his style and sentiments. Yet I must beg leave to add, that I believe those irregular odes of Mr. Cowley may have been the principal, though innocent, occasion of so many deformed poems since, which, instead of being true pictures of Pindar, have (to use the Italian painters' term) been only caricatures of him, resemblances that, for the most part, have been either horrid or ridiculous. For my own part, I frankly own my errour in having heretofore miscalled a few irregular stanzas a Pindaric ode; and possibly, if others, who have been under the same mistake, would ingenuously confess the truth, they might own, that, never having consulted Pindar himself, they took all his irregularity upon trust; and, finding their account in the great ease with which they could produce odes without being obliged either to measure or design, remained satisfied; and, it may be, were not altogether unwilling to neglect being undeceived. Though there be little (if any thing) left of Orpheus but his name, yet, if Pausanias was well informed, we may be assured that brevity was a beauty which he most industriously laboured to preserve in his hymns, notwithstanding, as the same author reports, that they were but few in number. to copy his brevity, and take the advantage of a remark he has made in the last strophé of the same ode; which take in the paraphrase of Sudorius. The shortness of the following ode will, I hope, atone for the length of the preface, and, in some measure, for the defects which may be found in it. It consists of the same number of stanzas with that beautiful ode of Pindar, which is the first of his Pythics; and though I was unable to imitate him in any other beauty, I resolved to endeavour Qui multa paucis stringere commode Novere, morsus hi facile invidos Spernunt, & auris mensque pura Omine supervacuum rejectat. ODE. DAUGHTER of Memory, immortal Muse, To whom wilt thou thy fire impart, Without thy aid, the most aspiring mind Must flag beneath, to narrow flights confin'd, Striving to rise in vain: Nor e'er can hope with equal lays To celebrate bright Virtue's praise. Thy aid obtain'd, ev'n I, the humblest swain, climb Pierian heights, and quit the lowly plain. May High in the starry orb is hung, And next Alcides' guardian arm, That harp which on Cyllene's shady hill, With more than mortal skill A god the gift, a god th' invention show'd. Who sings of Anna's name. The lyre is struck! the sounds I hear! O Muse, propitious to my prayer! O well-known sounds! O Melody, the same That kindled Mantuan fire, and rais'd Mæonian flame. ; While distant realms and neighbouring lands, | Attempt not to proceed, unwary Muse, Arm'd troops and hostile bands On every side molest : Thy happier clime is free, Fair Capital of Liberty! And plenty knows, and days of halcyon rest. As Britain's isle, when old vex'd Ocean roars, His foaming billows beat; So Britain's queen, amidst the jars Fix'd on the base of her well-founded state, Serene and safe looks down, nor feels the shocks of fate. But greatest souls, though blest with sweet repose, Are soonest touch'd with sense of others' woes. Thus Anna's mighty mind, To mercy and soft pity prone, And mov'd with sorrows not her own, Fly, Tyranny; no more be known To horrid Zembla's frozen realms repair, And rob those lands of legal right. Again Astrea reigns! Anna her equal scale maintains, And Marlborough wields her sure-deciding sword. [hand Now, couldst thou soar, my Muse, to sing the man Nor there thy song should end; though all the Might well their harps and heavenly voices join When bold Bavaria fled the field, But could thy voice of Blenheim sing, To keep the victor still in view? For as the Sun ne'er stops his radiant flight, To all who want his light To climes remote and near His conquering arms by turns appear, For O! what notes, what numbers could'st thou Though in all numbers skill'd, [choose, To sing the hero's matchless deed, In the short course of a diurnal Sun, What verse such worth can raise ? To middle virtue may impart; But deeds sublime, exalted high like these, Transcend his utmost flight, and mock his distant praise. Still would the willing Muse aspire, With transport still her strains prolong; And admiration stops her song. Go on, great chief, in Anna's cause proceed; Till Europe thou hast freed, This mighty work when thou shalt end, Of value far above Thy trophies and thy spoils; Rewards ev'n worthy of thy toils, The queen's just favour, and thy country's love. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF GODOLPHIN, LORD HIGH-TREASURER OF GREAT BRITAIN PINDARIC ODE. -Quemvis mediâ erue turbâ: Aut ob avaritiam, aut miserâ ambitione laborat. Hunc capit argenti splendor-- Hic mutat merces surgente à sole, ad eum quo Omnes hi metuunt versus, odêre poetas. To hazardous attempts and hardy toils And some desire of martial spoils Others insatiate thirst of gain Th' inclemency of winds, and seas, and air; Pressing the doubtful voyage till India's shore Her spicy bosom bares, and spreads her shining ore. Nor widows' tears, nor tender orphans' cries, Can stop th' invader's force; Nor swelling seas, nor threatening skies, Their lives to selfish ends decreed, Suspend th' impetuous and unjust pursuit: hate. But not for these his ivory lyre Will tuneful Phoebus string, Nor Polyhymnia, crown'd amid the choir, Thy springs, Castalia, turn their streams aside Nor do thy greens, shady Aonia, grow To bind with wreaths a tyrant's brow. How just, most mighty Jove, yet how severe, That impious men shall joyless hear Their sacred songs, (the recompense Of virtue and of innocence) Which pious minds to rapture raise, But add inflaming rage, and more afflicting grief. And now beneath the burning hill Hearing the lyre's celestial sound, Tremble the seas, and far Campania's shore; While all his hundred mouths at once respire Volumes of curling smoke, and floods of liquid fire. From Heaven alone all good proceeds; All power and love, Godolphin, of good deeds, And thus most pleasing are the Muse's lays To them who merit most her praise! Wherefore, for thee her ivory lyre she strings, And soars with rapture while she sings. Whether affairs of most important weight And Anna's cause and Europe's fate Or whether leisure hours invite To manly sports, or to refin'd delight; In courts residing, or to plains retir'd, Where generous steeds contest, with emulation fir'd! Thee still she seeks, and tuneful sings thy name, While with the deathless worthy's fame Nor less sublime is now her choice: Nor less inspir'd by thee her voice. And now she loves aloft to sound The man for more than mortal deeds renown'd; Varying anon her theme, she takes delight To thee, dear Dick, this tale I send, Both as a critic and a friend. I tell it with some variation (Not altogether a translation) From La Fontaine; an author, Dick, To which thy heart seems most inclin'd: A goblin of the merry kind, More black of hue, than curst of mind, To help a lover in distress, Contriv'd a charm with such success, The swift-heel'd horse to praise, and sing his rapid That in short space the cruel dame flight. Relented, and return'd his flame. The lover laid down his salvation, And Satan stak'd his reputation. (To serve his friend, and show his art) That madam should by twelve o'clock, Though hitherto as hard as rock, Become as gentle as a glove, Should, in return for such enjoyment, 66 You thought, 'tis like, with reason too, In which, for want of fresh commands, Shall serve the nymph whom you adore; At once the lover all approves; Thus pleas'd in mind, he calls a chair, O joy," cried he, "that has no equal !" Or would have done, if Pug had pleas'd: These things, and stranger things than these, VOL. X. And soon return'd with such a pack Of bulls and pardons at his back, That now, the squire (who had some hope Was out of heart, and at a stand She said; and gave-what shall I call Or that, which modern ages see The spark prepar'd, and Pug at hand, But so direct, that in no sort It ever may in rings retort. See me no more till this be done: Hence, to thy task-avaunt, be gone." And dins whole Hell with hammering noise, X |