The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 22

Where are those valiant tenants of her sh.o.r.e, Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore?

Freeman and soldier was their common name, Who late with reapers to the furrow came, Now in the front of battle charged the foe: Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, Now in full councils check'd encroaching power, And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

2 But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine; From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones And cities looking on the Cimbric main, Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords To slavish ruffians, hired for their command: These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod: These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land.

3 Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms, Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile, With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms?

Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, The praise and envy of the nations round, What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway?

Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall, Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!

4 No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store, And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy sh.o.r.e.

What boots it? If luxurious Plenty charm Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine.

Oh, rather far be poor! Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane.

5 But what hath Force or War to do with thee?

Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Are thy fair fields: athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand-- Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith, the pilot's wavering hand?

6 For, oh! may neither Fear nor stronger Love (Love, by thy virtuous princes n.o.bly won) Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, With mighty armies station'd round the throne To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims Of Freedom! Her proud records to the flames Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine; Whate'er thy ancient patriots dared demand From furious John's, or faithless Charles' hand, Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line.

7 But if thy sons be worthy of their name, If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize, Let them from conquest, and from servile shame, In War's glad school their own protectors rise.

Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains, Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, Now not unequal to your birth be found; The public voice bids arm your rural state, Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.

8 Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care Detains you from their head, your native post?

Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most.

Each man his task in social life sustains.

With partial labours, with domestic gains, Let others dwell: to you indulgent Heaven By counsel and by arms the public cause To serve for public love and love's applause, The first employment far, the n.o.blest hire, hath given.

9 Have ye not heard of Lacedemon's fame?

Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine?

Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name?

The Fabian sons? the Scipios, matchless line?

Your lot was theirs: the farmer and the swain Met his loved patron's summons from the plain; The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew: Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household G.o.ds return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

10 Shall, then, this glory of the antique age, This pride of men, be lost among mankind?

Shall war's heroic arts no more engage The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind?

Doth valour to the race no more belong?

No more with scorn of violence and wrong Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, That, like some mystery to few reveal'd, The skill of arms abash'd and awed they yield, And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?

11 O shame to human life, to human laws!

The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose G.o.d, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore: too irksome were the pain.

12 Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allured, From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immured, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.

O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue!

The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew, The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth riot's orgies haply share, Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

13 And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude village inmates now disdain Those homely ties which ruled their fathers long.

Alas, your fathers did by other arts Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace and heaven's due rites fulfil.

14 But mark the judgment of experienced Time, Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear A state, and impotent sedition's crime?

The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there; The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame?

Oft let the marshall'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

15 Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown, Though war's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profaned by your intruding ear.

Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, And mock the old simplicity, in vain: To the time's warfare, simple or refined, The time itself adapts the warrior's mind: And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.

16 Say then, if England's youth, in earlier days, On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied, Why shall they now renounce that generous praise?

Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride?

Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd, Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd: They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.

17 Such were the laurels which your fathers won: Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast;-- Is there no voice that speaks to every son?

No n.o.bler, holier call to you address'd?

Oh! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause, Awake; attend; be indolent no more: By friendship, social peace, domestic love, Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove; And train her valiant youth, and watch around her sh.o.r.e.

ODE XII.

ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS; IN THE COUNTRY. 1758.

1 Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's Hill, Once more I seek, a languid guest: With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast Once more I climb thy steep aerial way.

O faithful cure of oft-returning ill, Now call thy sprightly breezes round, Dissolve this rigid cough profound, And bid the springs of life with gentler movement play.

2 How gladly, 'mid the dews of dawn, My weary lungs thy healing gale, The balmy west or the fresh north, inhale!

How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn, Awaked I stop, and look to find What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the grove!

3 Now, ere the morning walk is done, The distant voice of Health I hear, Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear.

'Droop not, nor doubt of my return,' she cries; 'Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon, Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower, And lenient on thy bosom pour That indolence divine which lulls the earth and skies.'

4 The G.o.ddess promised not in vain.

I found her at my favourite time.

Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, While (half-reclined, half-slumbering as I lay) She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view Thy gracious form appear'd anew, Then first, O heavenly Muse, unseen for many a day.

5 In that soft pomp the tuneful maid Shone like the golden star of love.

I saw her hand in careless measures move; I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre, While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd.

New sunshine o'er my fancy springs, New colours clothe external things, And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire.

6 O Goulder's Hill, by thee restored Once more to this enliven'd hand, My harp, which late resounded o'er the land The voice of glory, solemn and severe, My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord To thee her joyful tribute pay, And send a less ambitious lay Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear.

7 For when within thy shady seat First from the sultry town he chose, And the tired senate's cares, his wish'd repose, Then wast thou mine; to me a happier home For social leisure: where my welcome feet, Estranged from all the entangling ways In which the restless vulgar strays, Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith might roam.

8 And while around his sylvan scene My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours, Oft from the Athenian Academic bowers Their sages came: oft heard our lingering walk The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green: And oft did Tully's reverend shade, Though much for liberty afraid, With us of letter'd ease or virtuous glory talk.

9 But other guests were on their way, And reach'd ere long this favour'd grove; Even the celestial progeny of Jove, Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son, Whose golden shaft most willingly obey The best and wisest. As they came, Glad Hymen waved his genial flame, And sang their happy gifts, and praised their spotless throne.

10 I saw when through yon festive gate He led along his chosen maid, And to my friend with smiles presenting said:-- 'Receive that fairest wealth which Heaven a.s.sign'd To human fortune. Did thy lonely state One wish, one utmost hope, confess?

Behold, she comes, to adorn and bless: Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind.'