@3Go, numbers, boldly pass, stay not for aid Of shifting rime, that easy flatterer, Whose witchcraft can the ruder ears beguile; Let your smooth feet, inured to purer art, True measures tread. What if your pace be slow. And hops not like the Grecian elegies? It is yet graceful, and well fits the state Of words ill-breathed and not shaped to run. Go then, but slowly, till your steps be firm; Tell them that pity, or perversely scorn, Poor English poesy as the slave to rime, You are those lofty numbers that revive Triumphs of princes, and stern tragedies: And learn henceforth t'attend those happy sprites Whose bounding fury height and weight affects. Assist their labour, and sit close to them, Never to part away till for desert Their brows with great Apollo's bays are hid. He first taught number and true harmony, Nor is the laurel his for rime bequeathed; Call him with numerous accents paised by art, He'll turn his glory from the sunny climes The North-bred wits alone to patronise: Let France their Bartas, Italy Tasso praise; Phœbus shuns none but in their flight from him.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS MY PRAYER by HENRY DAVID THOREAU A COWBOY'S HOPELESS LOVE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 10. TO THE MUSE by MARK AKENSIDE SPRING'S IMMORTALITY by H. T. MACKENZIE BELL WILLIAM COWPER by WILLIAM BLAKE ASPIRATIONS: 8 by MATHILDE BLIND |