The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
TO MY BARN.
By Lacedæmon men attack'd,
When Thebes, in days of yore, was sack'd,
And nought the fury of the troops could hinder;
What's true, yet marv'lous to rehearse,
So well the common soldiers relish'd verse,
They scorn'd to burn the dwelling-house of Pindar.
When Thebes, in days of yore, was sack'd,
And nought the fury of the troops could hinder;
What's true, yet marv'lous to rehearse,
So well the common soldiers relish'd verse,
They scorn'd to burn the dwelling-house of Pindar.
With awe did Alexander view
The house of my great cousin too,
And, gazing on the building, thus he sigh'd—
‘General Parmenio, mark that house before ye!
That lodging tells a melancholy story:
There Pindar liv'd (great bard!) and there he died.
The house of my great cousin too,
And, gazing on the building, thus he sigh'd—
‘General Parmenio, mark that house before ye!
That lodging tells a melancholy story:
There Pindar liv'd (great bard!) and there he died.
‘The king of Syracuse, all nations know it,
Was celebrated by this lofty poet,
And made immortal by his strains:
Ah! could I find like him a bard to sing me;
Would any man, like him, a poet bring me;
I'd give him a good pension for his pains.
Was celebrated by this lofty poet,
And made immortal by his strains:
Ah! could I find like him a bard to sing me;
Would any man, like him, a poet bring me;
I'd give him a good pension for his pains.
‘But, ah! Parmenio, 'mongst the sons of men,
This world will never see his like agen;
The greatest bard that ever breath'd is dead!
General Parmenio, what think you?’—
‘Indeed 'tis true, my liege, 'tis very true,’
Parmenio cry'd, and, sighing, shook his head:
This world will never see his like agen;
The greatest bard that ever breath'd is dead!
125
‘Indeed 'tis true, my liege, 'tis very true,’
Parmenio cry'd, and, sighing, shook his head:
Then from his pocket took a knife so nice,
With which he chipp'd his cheese and onions,
And from a rafter cut a handsome slice,
To make rare toothpicks for the Macedonians;
Just like the toothpicks which we see
At Stratford made, from Shakspeare's mulb'ry-tree.
With which he chipp'd his cheese and onions,
And from a rafter cut a handsome slice,
To make rare toothpicks for the Macedonians;
Just like the toothpicks which we see
At Stratford made, from Shakspeare's mulb'ry-tree.
What pity that the 'squire and knight
Knew not to prophesy as well as fight;
Then had they known the future men of metre;
Then had the general and the monarch spied,
In Fate's fair book, our nation's equal pride,
That very Pindar's Cousin Peter!
Knew not to prophesy as well as fight;
Then had they known the future men of metre;
Then had the general and the monarch spied,
In Fate's fair book, our nation's equal pride,
That very Pindar's Cousin Peter!
Daughter of thatch, and stone, and mud,
When I, no longer flesh and blood,
Shall join of lyric bands some half a dozen;
Meed of high worth, and, 'midst th' Elysian plains,
To Horace and Alcæus read my strains,
Anacreon, Sappho, and my great old Cousin;
When I, no longer flesh and blood,
Shall join of lyric bands some half a dozen;
Meed of high worth, and, 'midst th' Elysian plains,
To Horace and Alcæus read my strains,
Anacreon, Sappho, and my great old Cousin;
On thee shall rising generations stare,
That come to Kingsbridge and to Dodbrook fair :
For such thy history, and mine shall learn;
Like Alexander shall they ev'ry one
Heave the deep sigh, and say, ‘Since Peter's gone,
With rev'rence let us look upon his Barn.’
That come to Kingsbridge and to Dodbrook fair :
For such thy history, and mine shall learn;
Like Alexander shall they ev'ry one
Heave the deep sigh, and say, ‘Since Peter's gone,
With rev'rence let us look upon his Barn.’
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |