The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 13

1 Not for themselves did human kind Contrive the parts by heaven a.s.sign'd On life's wide scene to play: Not Scipio's force nor Caesar's skill Can conquer Glory's arduous hill, If Fortune close the way.

2 Yet still the self-depending soul, Though last and least in Fortune's roll, His proper sphere commands; And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, And sees, before the throne of G.o.d, The rank in which he stands.

3 Who train'd by laws the future age, Who rescued nations from the rage Of partial, factious power, My heart with distant homage views; Content, if thou, celestial Muse, Didst rule my natal hour.

4 Not far beneath the hero's feet, Nor from the legislator's seat Stands far remote the bard.

Though not with public terrors crown'd.

Yet wider shall his rule be found, More lasting his award.

5 Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame, And Pompey to the Roman name Gave universal sway: Where are they?--Homer's reverend page Holds empire to the thirtieth age, And tongues and climes obey.

6 And thus when William's acts divine No longer shall from Bourbon's line Draw one vindictive vow; When Sydney shall with Cato rest, And Russel move the patriot's breast No more than Brutus now;

7 Yet then shall Shakspeare's powerful art O'er every pa.s.sion, every heart, Confirm his awful throne: Tyrants shall bow before his laws; And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, Their dread a.s.sertor own.

ODE VIII.

ON LEAVING HOLLAND.

I.--1.

Farewell to Leyden's lonely bound.

The Belgian Muse's sober seat; Where, dealing frugal gifts around To all the favourites at her feet, She trains the body's bulky frame For pa.s.sive persevering toils; And lest, from any prouder aim, The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils, She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame.

I.--2.

Farewell the grave, pacific air, Where never mountain zephyr blew: The marshy levels lank and bare, Which Pan, which Ceres never knew: The Naiads, with obscene attire, Urging in vain their urns to flow; While round them chant the croaking choir, And haply soothe some lover's prudent woe, Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre.

I.--3.

Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain s.n.a.t.c.h'd in your cradles from the G.o.d of Love: She render'd all his boasted arrows vain; And all his gifts did he in spite remove.

Ye too, the slow-eyed fathers of the land, With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, Unown'd, undignified by public choice, I go where Liberty to all is known, And tells a monarch on his throne, He reigns not but by her preserving voice.

II.--1

O my loved England, when with thee Shall I sit down, to part no more?

Far from this pale, discolour'd sea, That sleeps upon the reedy sh.o.r.e: When shall I plough thy azure tide?

When on thy hills the flocks admire, Like mountain snows; till down their side I trace the village and the sacred spire, While bowers and copses green the golden slope divide?

II.--2.

Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove, Ye blue-eyed sisters of the streams, With whom I wont at morn to rove, With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams; Oh! take me to your haunts again, The rocky spring, the greenwood glade; To guide my lonely footsteps deign, To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade, And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain.

II.--3.

And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand: Now brighter skies and fresher gales return, Now fairer maids thy melody demand.

Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre!

O Phoebus, guardian of the Aonian choir, Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own, When all the virgin deities above With Venus and with Juno move In concert round the Olympian father's throne?

III.--1.

Thee too, protectress of my lays, Elate with whose majestic call Above degenerate Latium's praise, Above the slavish boast of Gaul, I dare from impious thrones reclaim, And wanton sloth's ign.o.ble charms, The honours of a poet's name To Somers' counsels, or to Hampden's arms, Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame.

III.--2.

Great citizen of Albion! Thee Heroic Valour still attends, And useful Science, pleased to see How Art her studious toil extends: While Truth, diffusing from on high A l.u.s.tre unconfined as day, Fills and commands the public eye; Till, pierced and sinking by her powerful ray, Tame Faith and monkish Awe, like nightly demons, fly.

III.--3.

Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares: Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy; And holy pa.s.sions and unsullied cares, In youth, in age, domestic life employ.

O fair Britannia, hail!--With partial love The tribes of men their native seats approve, Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame: But when for generous minds and manly laws A nation holds her prime applause, There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim.

ODE IX.

TO CURIO. [1] 1744.

1 Thrice hath the spring beheld thy faded fame Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful sh.e.l.l: Eager through endless years to sound thy name, Proud that my memory with thine should dwell.

How hast thou stain'd the splendour of my choice!

Those G.o.dlike forms which hover'd round thy voice, Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown?

What can I now of thee to Time report, Save thy fond country made thy impious sport, Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own?

2 There are, with eyes unmoved and reckless heart Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low, Who deem'd thy arm extended but to dart The public vengeance on thy private foe.

But, spite of every gloss of envious minds, The owl-eyed race whom virtue's l.u.s.tre blinds, Who sagely prove that each man hath his price, I still believed thy aim from blemish free, I yet, even yet, believe it, spite of thee, And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice.

3 'Thou didst not dream of liberty decay'd, Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong: But the rash many, first by thee misled, Bore thee at length unwillingly along.'

Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old For faith deserted or for cities sold, Own here one untried, unexampled, deed; One mystery of shame from Curio learn, To beg the infamy he did not earn, And scape in Guilt's disguise from Virtue's offer'd meed.

4 For saw we not that dangerous power avow'd Whom Freedom oft hath found her mortal bane, Whom public Wisdom ever strove to exclude, And but with blushes suffereth in her train?

Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils, O'er court, o'er senate, spread in pomp her toils, And call'd herself the state's directing soul: Till Curio, like a good magician, tried With Eloquence and Reason at his side, By strength of holier spells the enchantress to control.

5 Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends: The rescued merchant oft thy words resounds: Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends: His bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns: The learn'd recluse, with awful zeal who read Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, Now with like awe doth living merit scan: While he, whom virtue in his bless'd retreat Bade social ease and public pa.s.sions meet, Ascends the civil scene, and knows to be a man.

6 At length in view the glorious end appear'd: We saw thy spirit through the senate reign; And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain.

Waked in the strife the public Genius rose More keen, more ardent from his long repose; Deep through her bounds the city felt his call; Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, And murmuring challenged the deciding hour Or that too vast event, the hope and dread of all.

7 O ye good powers who look on human kind, Instruct the mighty moments as they roll; And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind, And steer his pa.s.sions steady to the goal.

O Alfred, father of the English name, O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, O William, height of public virtue pure, Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule secure.

8 'Twas then--O shame! O soul from faith estranged!

O Albion, oft to flattering vows a prey!

'Twas then--Thy thought what sudden frenzy changed?

What rushing palsy took thy strength away?

Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved-- The man so great, so honour'd, so beloved-- Whom the dead envied and the living bless'd-- This patient slave by tinsel bonds allured-- This wretched suitor for a boon abjured-- Whom those that fear'd him scorn; that trusted him, detest?