The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 20

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire, Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire, Without his guidance, his superior hand.

And rightly shall the Muse's care Wreaths like her own for him prepare, Whose mind's enamour'd aim Could forms of civil beauty draw Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.

VI.--1.

Let none profane be near!

The Muse was never foreign to his breast: On power's grave seat confess'd, Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear.

And if the blessed know Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves, Where haply Milton roves With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round Through farthest heaven resound Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.

VI.--2.

He knew, the patriot knew, That letters and the Muse's powerful art Exalt the ingenuous heart, And brighten every form of just and true.

They lend a n.o.bler sway To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure Could ever yet procure: They, too, from envy's pale malignant light Conduct her forth to sight, Clothed in the fairest colours of the day.

VI.--3.

O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell: And when I speak of one to Freedom dear For planning wisely and for acting well, Of one whom Glory loves to own, Who still by liberal means alone Hath liberal ends pursued; Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 'This man with faithful friendship,' will I say, 'From youth to honour'd age my arts and me hath view'd.'

ODE V.

ON LOVE OF PRAISE.

1 Of all the springs within the mind Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze, From none more pleasing aid we find Than from the genuine love of praise.

2 Nor any partial, private end Such reverence to the public bears; Nor any pa.s.sion, virtue's friend, So like to virtue's self appears.

3 For who in glory can delight Without delight in glorious deeds?

What man a charming voice can slight, Who courts the echo that succeeds?

4 But not the echo on the voice More than on virtue praise depends; To which, of course, its real price The judgment of the praiser lends.

5 If praise, then, with religious awe From the sole perfect judge be sought, A n.o.bler aim, a purer law, Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught.

6 With which in character the same, Though in an humbler sphere it lies, I count that soul of human fame, The suffrage of the good and wise.

ODE VI.

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE; WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU.

1 Attend to Chaulieu's wanton lyre; While, fluent as the skylark sings When first the morn allures its wings, The epicure his theme pursues: And tell me if, among the choir Whose music charms the banks of Seine, So full, so free, so rich a strain E'er dictated the warbling Muse.

2 Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear Admires the well-dissembled art That can such harmony impart To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes; While wit from affectation clear, Bright images, and pa.s.sions true, Recall to thy a.s.senting view The envied bards of n.o.bler times;

3 Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong?

This priest of Pleasure, who aspires To lead us to her sacred fires, Knows he the ritual of her shrine?

Say (her sweet influence to thy song So may the G.o.ddess still afford), Doth she consent to be adored With shameless love and frantic wine?

4 Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here Need we in high indignant phrase From their Elysian quiet raise: But Pleasure's oracle alone Consult; attentive, not severe.

O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee; Nor emulate the rigid knee Which bends but at the Stoic throne.

5 We own, had fate to man a.s.sign'd Nor sense, nor wish but what obey, Or Venus soft, or Bacchus gay, Then might our bard's voluptuous creed Most aptly govern human kind: Unless perchance what he hath sung Of tortured joints and nerves unstrung, Some wrangling heretic should plead.

6 But now, with all these proud desires For dauntless truth and honest fame; With that strong master of our frame, The inexorable judge within, What can be done? Alas, ye fires Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles, Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils,-- Ye have no bribe his grace to win.

ODE VII.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754.

I.--l.

For toils which patriots have endured, For treason quell'd and laws secured, In every nation Time displays The palm of honourable praise.

Envy may rail, and Faction fierce May strive; but what, alas, can those (Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes) To Grat.i.tude and Love oppose, To faithful story and persuasive verse?

I.--2.

O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, Thou tamer of despotic sway, What man, among thy sons around, Thus heir to glory hast thou found?

What page, in all thy annals bright, Hast thou with purer joy survey'd Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid, Shines through imposture's solemn shade, Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

I.--3.

To him the Teacher bless'd, Who sent religion, from the palmy field By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth conceal'd, To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd: 'Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure: Let not my peaceful name be made a lure, Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid: Let not my words be impious chains to draw The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe, To faith without a.s.sent, allegiance unrepaid.'

II.--1.

No cold or unperforming hand Was arm'd by Heaven with this command.

The world soon felt it; and, on high, To William's ear with welcome joy Did Locke among the blest unfold The rising hope of Hoadly's name; G.o.dolphin then confirm'd the fame; And Somers, when from earth he came, And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

II.--2.