The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 17

Can wealth a power like this afford?

Can Cromwell's arts or Marlborough's sword, An equal empire claim?

No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own: Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known; Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy n.o.ble name.

I.--3.

The Muse's awful art, And the blest function of the poet's tongue, Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour; to a.s.sert From all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath sung.

Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower; Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign.

A different strain, And other themes From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams (Thou well canst witness), meet the purged ear: Such, as when Greece to her immortal sh.e.l.l Rejoicing listen'd, G.o.dlike sounds to hear; To hear the sweet instructress tell (While men and heroes throng'd around) How life its n.o.blest use may find, How well for freedom be resign'd; And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd.

II.--1.

Such was the Chian father's strain To many a kind domestic train, Whose pious hearth and genial bowl Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul: When, every hospitable rite With equal bounty to requite, He struck his magic strings, And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, And seized their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things.

II.--2.

Now oft, where happy spirits dwell, Where yet he tunes his charming sh.e.l.l, Oft near him, with applauding hands, The Genius of his country stands.

To listening G.o.ds he makes him known, That man divine, by whom were sown The seeds of Grecian fame: Who first the race with freedom fired; From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspired; From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies came.

II.--3.

O n.o.blest, happiest age!

When Aristides ruled, and Cimon fought; When all the generous fruits of Homer's page Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection brought.

O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hail'd of me: Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine; Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee; Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine, Pan danced their measure with the sylvan throng: But that thy song Was proud to unfold What thy base rulers trembled to behold; Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame: Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell.

But thou, O faithful to thy fame, The Muse's law didst rightly know; That who would animate his lays, And other minds to virtue raise, Must feel his own with all her spirit glow.

III.--1.

Are there, approved of later times, Whose verse adorn'd a tyrant's [1] crimes?

Who saw majestic Rome betray'd, And lent the imperial ruffian aid?

Alas! not one polluted bard, No, not the strains that Mincius heard, Or Tibur's hills replied, Dare to the Muse's ear aspire; Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre, With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task they hide.

III.--2.

Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands, Amid the domes of modern hands: Amid the toys of idle state, How simply, how severely great!

Then turn, and, while each western clime Presents her tuneful sons to Time, So mark thou Milton's name; And add, 'Thus differs from the throng The spirit which inform'd thy awful song, Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's fame.'

III.--3.

Yet hence barbaric zeal His memory with unholy rage pursues; While from these arduous cares of public weal She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his Muse.

O fool! to think the man, whose ample mind Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey; Must join the n.o.blest forms of every kind, The world's most perfect image to display, Can e'er his country's majesty behold, Unmoved or cold!

O fool! to deem That he, whose thought must visit every theme, Whose heart must every strong emotion know Inspired by Nature, or by Fortune taught; That he, if haply some presumptuous foe, With false ign.o.ble science fraught, Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band: That he their dear defence will shun, Or hide their glories from the sun, Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand!

IV.--1.

I care not that in Arno's plain, Or on the sportive banks of Seine, From public themes the Muse's choir Content with polish'd ease retire.

Where priests the studious head command, Where tyrants bow the warlike hand To vile ambition's aim, Say, what can public themes afford, Save venal honours to a hateful lord, Reserved for angry heaven and scorn'd of honest fame?

IV.--2.

But here, where Freedom's equal throne To all her valiant sons is known; Where all are conscious of her cares, And each the power, that rules him, shares; Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue Leaves public arguments unsung, Bid public praise farewell: Let him to fitter climes remove, Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.

IV.--3.

O Hastings, not to all Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend: Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call, That to one general weal their different powers they bend, Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine Inform the bosom of the Muse's son; Though with new honours the patrician's line Advance from age to age; yet thus alone They win the suffrage of impartial fame.

The poet's name He best shall prove, Whose lays the soul with n.o.blest pa.s.sions move.

But thee, O progeny of heroes old, Thee to severer toils thy fate requires: The fate which form'd thee in a chosen mould, The grateful country of thy sires, Thee to sublimer paths demand; Sublimer than thy sires could trace, Or thy own Edward teach his race, Though Gaul's proud genius sank beneath his hand.

V.--1.

From rich domains, and subject farms, They led the rustic youth to arms; And kings their stern achievements fear'd, While private strife their banners rear'd.

But loftier scenes to thee are shown, Where empire's wide establish'd throne No private master fills: Where, long foretold, the People reigns; Where each a va.s.sal's humble heart disdains; And judgeth what he sees; and, as he judgeth, wills.

V.--2.

Here be it thine to calm and guide The swelling democratic tide; To watch the state's uncertain frame, And baffle Faction's partial aim: But chiefly, with determined zeal, To quell that servile band, who kneel To Freedom's banish'd foes; That monster, which is daily found Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound; Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.

V.--3.

'Tis highest Heaven's command, That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue; That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand, And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too.

But look on Freedom;--see, through every age, What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd!

What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd!

For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains Of happy swains, Which now resound Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures bound, Bear witness;--there, oft let the farmer hail The sacred orchard which embowers his gate, And show to strangers pa.s.sing down the vale, Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate; When, bursting from their country's chain, Even in the midst of deadly harms, Of papal snares and lawless arms, They plann'd for Freedom this her n.o.blest reign.

VI.--1.

This reign, these laws, this public care, Which Na.s.sau gave us all to share, Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, Could Fear have silenced Freedom's claim.

But Fear in vain attempts to bind Those lofty efforts of the mind Which social good inspires; Where men, for this, a.s.sault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires.

VI.--2.

Say, was it thus, when late we view'd Our fields in civil blood imbrued?

When fortune crown'd the barbarous host, And half the astonish'd isle was lost?

Did one of all that vaunting train, Who dare affront a peaceful reign, Durst one in arms appear?

Durst one in counsels pledge his life?