 | CHAP. III.
Of the several sorts of Poems, or Compositions in Verse.
The Art of English Poetry |  |
SECT. VII.
Of Pindarick Odes, and Poems in Blank Verse.
The Stanzas of Pindarick Odes are neither confin'd to a certain number of Verses, nor the Verses to a certain number of Syllables, nor the Rhyme to a certain Distance. Some Stanzas contain 50 Verses or more, others not above 10: Some Verses 14, nay 16 Syllables, others not above 4: Sometimes the Rhymes follow one another for several Couplets together, sometimes they are remov'd 6 Verses from each other; and all this in the same Stanza. Cowley was the first who introduc'd this sort of Poetry into our Language, nor can the Nature of it be better describ'd than he himself has done it, in one of the Stanzas of the Ode he has written upon Liberty, which I will transcribe, not as an Example, for none can properly be said to be given, where no Rule can be prescribed, but to give an Idea of the Nature of this sort of Poetry.
In which he only hits the White,
Who joyns true Profit with the best Delight,
The more Heroick Strain let others take,
Mine the Pindarick way I'll make,
It shall not keep one setled pace of Time,
In the same Tune it shall not always chime,
Nor shall each day just to his Neighbour rhyme.
A thousand Liberties it shall dispence,
And yet shall manage all without Offence,
Or to the sweetness of the Sound, or greatness of the Sence,
Nor shall it never from one Subject start,
Nor seek Transitions to depart:
Nor its set way oe'r Stiles and Bridges make,
Nor thro' Lanes a Compass take,
As if it fear'd some Trespass to commit,
When the wide Air's a Road for it.
So the Imperial Eagle does not stay
Till the whole Carcass he devour,
That's fallen into its Pow'r,
As if his generous Hunger understood,
That he can never want plenty of Food,
He only sucks the tastful Blood,
And to fresh Game flies chearfully away;
To Kites and meaner Birds he leaves the mangled Prey.
This sort of Poetry is employ'd in all manner of Subjects; in Pleasant, in Grave, in Amorous, in Heroick, in Philosophical, in Mortal and in Divine.
Blank Verse is where the Measure is exactly kept without Rhyme; and it was Shakespear, who to avoid the troublesome constraint of Rhyme, first invented it; our Poets since him have made use of it in many of their Tragedies and Comedies; but the most celebrated Poem in this kind of Verse is the Paradise Lost of Milton; from the 5th Book of which I have taken the following Lines for an example of Blank Verse.
Almighty! thine this Universal Frame,
Thus wondrous fair! thy self how wondrous then!
Speak you, who best can tell, ye Sons of Light,
Angels! for you behold him, and with Songs,
And Choral Symphonies, Day without Night
Circle his Throne rejoycing, you in Heaven.
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars! last in the Train of Night;
If better thou belong'st not to the Dawn,
Sure Pledge of day that crown'st the smiling Morn,
With thy bright Circlet, raise him in thy Sphere,
While Day arises, that sweet Hour of Prime.
Thou Sun! of this Great World; both Eye and Soul,
Acknowledge him thy Greater, sound his Praise
In thy Eternal Course, both when thou climb'st
And when high Noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon! that now meet'st the Orient Sun, now fly'st
With the fixt Stars, fixt in their Orb that flies,
And ye five other wand'ring Fires! that move
In Mystick Dance, not without Song, resound
His Praise, who out of Darkness call'd up Light.
Air! and ye Elements! the eldest Birth
Of Nature's Womb, that in Quaternion run
Perpetual Circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless Change
Vary to our Great Maker still new Praise.
Ye Mists and Exhalations! that now rise
From Hill or steaming Lake, Dusky or Grey,
Till the Sun paint your fleecy Skirts with Gold,
In honour to the World's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with Clouds th' uncolour'd Sky,
Or wet the thirsty Earth with falling Showers,
Rising or falling, still advance his Praise.
His Praise, ye Winds! that from four Quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your Tops, ye Pines!
With ev'ry Plant, in sign of Worship, wave.
Fountains! and ye that warble as you flow
Melodious Murmurs, warbling tune his Praise.
Joyn Voices all ye living Souls, ye Birds!
That singing, up to Heaven's high Gate ascend,
Bear on your Wings, and in your Notes his Praise.
Ye that in Waters glide! and ye that walk,
The Earth! and stately Tread, or lowly Creep;
Witness if I be silent, Ev'n or Morn,
To Hill or Valley, Fountain or fresh Shade,
Made Vocal by my Song, and taught his Praise.
Thus I have given a short Account of all the sorts of Poems, that are most us'd in our Language, The Acrosticks, Emblems, Anagrams, &c. deserve not to be mention'd, and we may say of them what an Ancient Poet said long ago,
Et stultus Labor est ineptiarum.
| CHAP. III.
Of the several sorts of Poems, or Compositions in Verse.
The Art of English Poetry | |