Ode XVII: On A Sermon Against Glory

Mark Akenside 1721 (Newcastle upon Tyne) – 1770



I.
Come then, tell me, sage divine,
Is it an offence to own
That our bosoms e'er incline
Toward immortal glory's throne?
For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,
So can fancy's dream rejoice,
So conciliate reason's choice,
As one approving word of her impartial voice.

II.
If to spurn at noble praise
Be the pass-port to thy heaven,
Follow thou those gloomy ways;
No such law to me was given,
Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me
Faring like my friends before me;
Nor an holier place desire
Than Timolean's arms acquire,
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

34 sec read
52

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCBCDDEEE AFGFGHHDDX
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 607
Words 107
Stanzas 2
Stanza Lengths 10, 10

Mark Akenside

Mark Akenside was an English poet and physician. more…

All Mark Akenside poems | Mark Akenside Books

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