The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside Part 16

3 Oft I look'd forth, and oft admired; Till with the studious volume tired I sought the open day; And sure, I cried, the rural G.o.ds Expect me in their green abodes, And chide my tardy lay.

4 But ah, in vain my restless feet Traced every silent shady seat Which knew their forms of old: Nor Naiad by her fountain laid, Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade, Did now their rites unfold:

5 Whether to nurse some infant oak They turn--the slowly tinkling brook, And catch the pearly showers, Or brush the mildew from the woods, Or paint with noontide beams the buds, Or breathe on opening flowers.

6 Such rites, which they with Spring renew, The eyes of care can never view; And care hath long been mine: And hence offended with their guest, Since grief of love my soul oppress'd, They hide their toils divine.

7 But soon shall thy enlivening tongue This heart, by dear affliction wrung, With n.o.ble hope inspire: Then will the sylvan powers again Receive me in their genial train, And listen to my lyre.

8 Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade A rustic altar shall be paid, Of turf with laurel framed; And thou the inscription wilt approve: 'This for the peace which, lost by love, By friends.h.i.+p was reclaim'd'

ODE XV.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

1 To-night retired, the queen of heaven With young Endymion stays: And now to Hesper it is given A while to rule the vacant sky, Till she shall to her lamp supply A stream of brighter rays.

2 O Hesper, while the starry throng With awe thy path surrounds, Oh, listen to my suppliant song, If haply now the vocal sphere Can suffer thy delighted ear To stoop to mortal sounds.

3 So may the bridegroom's genial strain Thee still invoke to s.h.i.+ne: So may the bride's unmarried train To Hymen chant their flattering vow, Still that his lucky torch may glow With l.u.s.tre pure as thine.

4 Far other vows must I prefer To thy indulgent power.

Alas, but now I paid my tear On fair Olympia's virgin tomb: And lo, from thence, in quest I roam Of Philomela's bower.

5 Propitious send thy golden ray, Thou purest light above: Let no false flame seduce to stray Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm: But lead where music's healing charm May soothe afflicted love.

6 To them, by many a grateful song In happier seasons vow'd, These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong: Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd, Beneath yon copses stood.

7 Nor seldom, where the beechen boughs That roofless tower invade, We came while her enchanting Muse The radiant moon above us held: Till by a clamorous owl compell'd She fled the solemn shade.

8 But hark; I hear her liquid tone.

Now, Hesper, guide my feet Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown, Through yon wild thicket next the plain, Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane, Which leads to her retreat.

9 See the green s.p.a.ce; on either hand Enlarged it spreads around: See, in the midst she takes her stand, Where one old oak his awful shade Extends o'er half the level mead Enclosed in woods profound.

10 Hark, through many a melting note She now prolongs her lays: How sweetly down the void they float!

The breeze their magic path attends, The stars s.h.i.+ne out, the forest bends, The wakeful heifers gaze.

11 Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring To this sequester'd spot, If then the plaintive Syren sing, Oh! softly tread beneath her bower, And think of heaven's disposing power, Of man's uncertain lot.

12 Oh! think, o'er all this mortal stage, What mournful scenes arise: What ruin waits on kingly rage, How often virtue dwells with woe, How many griefs from knowledge flow, How swiftly pleasure flies.

13 O sacred bird, let me at eve, Thus wandering all alone, Thy tender counsel oft receive, Bear witness to thy pensive airs, And pity Nature's common cares, Till I forget my own.

ODE XVI.

TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D.

1 With sordid floods the wintry Urn [1]

Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green; Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, No longer a poetic scene.

No longer there the raptured eye The beauteous forms of earth or sky Surveys as in their Author's mind; And London shelters from the year Those whom thy social hours to share The Attic Muse design'd.

2 From Hampstead's airy summit me Her guest the city shall behold, What day the people's stern decree To unbelieving kings is told, When common men (the dread of fame) Adjudged as one of evil name, Before the sun, the anointed head.

Then seek thou too the pious town, With no unworthy cares to crown That evening's awful shade.

3 Deem not I call thee to deplore The sacred martyr of the day, By fast, and penitential lore To purge our ancient guilt away.

For this, on humble faith I rest That still our advocate, the priest, From heavenly wrath will save the land; Nor ask what rites our pardon gain, Nor how his potent sounds restrain The thunderer's lifted hand.

4 No, Hardinge; peace to church and state!

That evening, let the Muse give law; While I anew the theme relate Which my first youth enamour'd saw.

Then will I oft explore thy thought, What to reject which Locke hath taught, What to pursue in Virgil's lay; Till hope ascends to loftiest things, Nor envies demagogues or kings Their frail and vulgar sway.

5 O versed in all the human frame, Lead thou where'er my labour lies, And English fancy's eager flame To Grecian purity chastise; While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine, Beauty with truth I strive to join, And grave a.s.sent with glad applause; To paint the story of the soul, And Plato's visions to control By Verulamian laws.

[Footnote 1: 'The wintry Urn:' Aquarius.]

ODE XVII.

ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 1747.

1 Come then, tell me, sage divine, Is it an offence to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward immortal Glory's throne?

For with me, nor pomp, nor pleasure, Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, So can Fancy's dream rejoice, So conciliate Reason's choice, As one approving word of her impartial voice.

2 If to spurn at n.o.ble praise Be the pa.s.sport to thy heaven, Follow thou those gloomy ways; No such law to me was given, Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, Faring like my friends before me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire, And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

ODE XVIII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS, EARL OF HUNTINGDON, 1747.

I.--1.

The wise and great of every clime, Through all the s.p.a.cious walks of time, Where'er the Muse her power display'd, With joy have listen'd and obey'd.

For, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine Persuasive numbers, forms divine, To mortal sense impart: They best the soul with glory fire; They n.o.blest counsels, boldest deeds inspire; And high o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fixed heart.

I.--2.

Nor less prevailing is their charm The vengeful bosom to disarm; To melt the proud with human woe, And prompt unwilling tears to flow.