Classic Poem

ODE XXX

1

The Sprightlie Larke, upon yond Easterne Hill,
His early vowes
Has payed; and summons up my Lazy Quill
Againe to rouse,
And in Cleare notes, like her owne Harmonie,
Salute the Day;
But I, Dull Sinner, Stay,
And her third Himne performed. How dull am I?

2

The golden beames, of bright Apollo long
Has warmed the Earth,
And got his morning draught; I have a Tongue,
And noe such Dearth
Of Fancie, to be meerlie silent, when
All Creatures bring
Somewhat, for offering.
Why should I sleepe? or not enlarge my Pen?

3

It were but soe; had still the Power of Ice
In Ebon walls,
It Pris'ner kept; I will awake, arise.
When Vertue calls,
Shame were it, to prefer a Pillow, soft
With Ease and Sin
To her resplendent Shine.
I better Feathers take, and mount aloft.

4

Emulous of the Larke, in her uprise,
And in her Song,
I quitt this dunghill Earth; let it suffice
If I, among
The other Creatures, a small Tribute bring;
One verse, or note,
Though from a harsher throte.
The poore wren Cherups, what the Larke doth Sing.

5

In a Consort of Praise, all Creatures joyne;
The Squallid owle
Twitters a midnight note; though not soe fine,
Yet with a Soule
As gratefull, as the Nightingales cleare Song;
The universe
Doth the great Himne reherse.
I only bear my part, the rest among.

6

Then, with fresh Pineons drest, I will assay
My part to raise,
And celebrate his name, who to this Day
Hath many waies
Preserved me. Oh god, I have a Quill,
Muddled, and lame,
To magnifie thy name.
Asham'd, I lay it by; I've done soe much, soe ill.