The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 11

2 And, lo, within my lonely bower, The industrious bee from many a flower Collects her balmy dews: 'For me,' she sings, 'the gems are born, For me their silken robe adorn, Their fragrant breath diffuse.'

3 Sweet murmurer! may no rude storm This hospitable scene deform, Nor check thy gladsome toils; Still may the buds unsullied spring, Still showers and sunshine court thy wing To these ambrosial spoils.

4 Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail Her fellow labourer thee to hail; And lucky be the strains!

For long ago did Nature frame Your seasons and your arts the same, Your pleasures and your pains.

5 Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes, On river banks and flowery greens, My Muse delighted plays; Nor through the desert of the air, Though swans or eagles triumph there, With fond ambition strays.

6 Nor where the boding raven chaunts, Nor near the owl's unhallow'd haunts Will she her cares employ; But flies from ruins and from tombs, From Superst.i.tion's horrid glooms, To day-light and to joy.

7 Nor will she tempt the barren waste; Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste Of any noxious thing; But leaves with scorn to Envy's use The insipid nightshade's baneful juice, The nettle's sordid sting.

8 From all which Nature fairest knows, The vernal blooms, the summer rose, She draws her blameless wealth; And, when the generous task is done, She consecrates a double boon, To Pleasure and to Health.

ODE II.

ON THE WINTER-SOLSTICE. 1740.

1 The radiant ruler of the year At length his wintry goal attains; Soon to reverse the long career, And northward bend his steady reins.

Now, piercing half Potosi's height, p.r.o.ne rush the fiery floods of light Ripening the mountain's silver stores: While, in some cavern's horrid shade, The panting Indian hides his head, And oft the approach of eve implores.

2 But lo, on this deserted coast, How pale the sun! how thick the air!

Mustering his storms, a sordid host, Lo, Winter desolates the year.

The fields resign their latest bloom; No more the breezes waft perfume, No more the streams in music roll: But snows fall dark, or rains resound; And, while great Nature mourns around, Her griefs infect the human soul.

3 Hence the loud city's busy throngs Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire: Harmonious dances, festive songs, Against the spiteful heaven conspire.

Meantime, perhaps, with tender fears Some village dame the curfew hears, While round the hearth her children play: At morn their father went abroad; The moon is sunk, and deep the road; She sighs, and vonders at his stay.

4 But thou, my lyre, awake, arise, And hail the sun's returning force: Even now he climbs the northern skies, And health and hope attend his course.

Then louder howl the aerial waste, Be earth with keener cold embraced, Yet gentle hours advance their wing; And Fancy, mocking Winter's might, With flowers and dews and streaming light Already decks the new-born Spring.

5 O fountain of the golden day, Could mortal vows promote thy speed, How soon before thy vernal ray Should each unkindly damp recede!

How soon each hovering tempest fly, Whose stores for mischief arm the sky, Prompt on our heads to burst amain, To rend the forest from the steep, Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep, To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

6 But let not man's unequal views Presume o'er Nature and her laws: 'Tis his with grateful joy to use The indulgence of the Sovereign Cause; Secure that health and beauty springs Through this majestic frame of things, Beyond what he can reach to know; And that Heaven's all-subduing will, With good, the progeny of ill, Attempereth every state below.

7 How pleasing wears the wintry night, Spent with the old ill.u.s.trious dead!

While, by the taper's trembling light, I seem those awful scenes to tread Where chiefs or legislators lie, Whose triumphs move before my eye, In arms and antique pomp array'd; While now I taste the Ionian song, Now bend to Plato's G.o.dlike tongue Resounding through the olive shade.

8 But should some cheerful, equal friend Bid leave the studious page a while.

Let mirth on wisdom then attend, And social ease on learned toil.

Then while, at love's uncareful shrine, Each dictates to the G.o.d of wine Her name whom all his hopes obey, What flattering dreams each bosom warm, While absence, heightening every charm, Invokes the slow-returning May!

9 May, thou delight of heaven and earth, When will thy genial star arise?

The auspicious morn, which gives thee birth, Shall bring Eudora to my eyes.

Within her sylvan haunt, behold, As in the happy garden old, She moves like that primeval fair: Thither, ye silver-sounding lyres, Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires, Fond hope and mutual faith, repair.

10 And if believing love can read His better omens in her eye, Then shall my fears, O charming maid, And every pain of absence die: Then shall my jocund harp, attuned To thy true ear, with sweeter sound Pursue the free Horatian song: Old Tyne shall listen to my tale, And Echo, down the bordering vale, The liquid melody prolong.

FOR THE WINTER SOLSTICE, DECEMBER 11, 1740.

AS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN.

1 Now to the utmost southern goal The sun has traced his annual way, And backward now prepares to roll, And bless the north with earlier day.

p.r.o.ne on Potosi's lofty brow Floods of sublimer splendour flow, Ripening the latent seeds of gold, Whilst, panting in the lonely shade, Th' afflicted Indian hides his head, Nor dares the blaze of noon behold.

2 But lo! on this deserted coast How faint the light, how chill the air!

Lo! arm'd with whirlwind, hail, and frost, Fierce Winter desolates the year.

The fields resign their cheerful bloom, No more the breezes breathe perfume, No more the warbling waters roll; Deserts of snow fatigue the eye, Successive tempests bloat the sky, And gloomy damps oppress the soul.

3 But let my drooping genius rise, And hail the sun's remotest ray: Now, now he climbs the northern skies, To-morrow nearer than to-day.

Then louder howl the stormy waste, Be land and ocean worse defaced, Yet brighter hours are on the wing, And Fancy, through the wintry gloom, Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom, Already hails th' emerging spring.

4 O fountain of the golden day!

Could mortal vows but urge thy speed, How soon before thy vernal ray Should each unkindly damp recede!

How soon each tempest hovering fly, That now fermenting loads the sky, Prompt on our heads to burst amain, To rend the forest from the steep, And thundering o'er the Baltic deep, To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

5 But let not man's imperfect views Presume to tax wise Nature's laws; 'Tis his with silent joy to use Th' indulgence of the Sovereign Cause; Secure that from the whole of things Beauty and good consummate springs, Beyond what he can reach to know; And that the providence of Heaven Has some peculiar blessing given To each allotted state below.

6 Even now how sweet the wintry night Spent with the old ill.u.s.trious dead!

While, by the taper's trembling light, I seem those awful courts to tread, Where chiefs and legislators lie, Whose triumphs move before my eye, With every laurel fresh display'd; While charm'd I rove in cla.s.sic song, Or bend to freedom's fearless tongue, Or walk the academic shade.

ODE III.

TO A FRIEND, UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE.

1 Indeed, my Phaedria, if to find That wealth can female wishes gain, Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind, Or caused one serious moment's pain, I should have said that all the rules You learn'd of moralists and schools Were very useless, very vain.

2 Yet I perhaps mistake the case-- Say, though with this heroic air, Like one that holds a n.o.bler chase, You try the tender loss to bear, Does not your heart renounce your tongue?

Seems not my censure strangely wrong To count it such a slight affair?

3 When Hesper gilds the shaded sky, Oft as you seek the well-known grove, Methinks I see you cast your eye Back to the morning scenes of love: Each pleasing word you heard her say, Her gentle look, her graceful way, Again your struggling fancy move.

4 Then tell me, is your soul entire?

Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne?

Then can you question each desire, Bid this remain, and that be gone?

No tear half-starting from your eye?

No kindling blush, you know not why?

No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan?

5 Away with this unmanly mood!

See where the h.o.a.ry churl appears, Whose hand hath seized the favourite good Which you reserved for happier years: While, side by side, the blushing maid Shrinks from his visage, half afraid, Spite of the sickly joy she wears.

6 Ye guardian powers of love and fame, This chaste, harmonious pair behold; And thus reward the generous flame Of all who barter vows for gold.