A Pindaric Ode on The Pindaric Ode

The Strophe

From Thebes arose a voice of cheer
To celebrate the face of fear,
And Pindar, learned man was he
Infused the rose of poetry
With this firm form of stately verse
Which did upon Ben Jonson nurse
To raise a toast to two late friends;
Too soon, too late to meet their ends.
And though this ode did ten scads weigh  
She found no beau, save Thomas Gray.

The Antistrophe

Who dare elope this toilsome form
Which sails the mind in ceaseless storm?
And who be foolish to pursue
The wingless bird which lang syne flew?
For grace and beauty lie in change
Which form and measure do estrange
To rein that freedom with four feet
And force its thunder to a beat.  
Tell me, is there a greater sin
Than whipping words to laud one's win?

The Epode

Although she's stern, she once did give
The Hellenic world, reason's song,
So fret not Jonson, she will live
For life is short, but art is long.
And though her vestments prone to time
Will shift her kirtle as will rhyme,
The years will blossom with new wit
And youth will bring her truth and spring.
Forgotten now, yet lost her ring
Will glint once more where joy is writ.
Bring forth the dancers once again
Revive in turns the fallen pen.