Poetical Works of Akenside by Mark Akenside (suggested reading TXT) 📕

the splendid hours of morn
Engage your audience; my observant hand
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts
Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care
The humid sands; to loosen from the soil
The bubbling sources; to direct the rills
To meet in wider channels; or beneath
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 20
To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven.

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs, or end?
Wide is your praise and copious--first of things,
First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose,
Were Love and Chaos. Love,[A] the sire of Fate; [B]
Elder than Chaos. [C] Born of Fate was Time, [D]
Who many sons and many comely births
Devour'd, [E] relentless father; till the child
Of Rhea [F] drove him from the upper sky, [G]
And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 30
The kindred powers, [H] Tethys, and reverend Ops,
And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway
Remain'd the Cloud-Compeller. From the couch
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, [I]
Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime,
Send tribute to their parent; and from them
Are ye, O Naiads: [J] Arethusa fair,
And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name,
Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt
With Syrian Daphne; [K] and the honour'd tribes 40
Beloved of Paeon. [L] Listen to my strain,
Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, [M] which of old
Aurora to divine Astraeus bore,
Owns, and your aid beseecheth. When the might
Of Hyperion, [N] from his noontide throne,
Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you
They ask; Pavonius and the mild South-west
Prom you relief implore. Your sallying streams [O]
Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 50
Again they fly, disporting; from the mead
Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn,
To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel
Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth
Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve.
Along the river and the paved brook,
Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards
Who, fast by learned Cam, the AEolian lyre
Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth
Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclined 60
O'er rushing Arno, with a pious hand
The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes,
Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp
Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves
The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confess, and still prepare
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands,
Oft as the Delian king [P] with Sirius holds 70
The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes
To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god
Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray,
Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path
With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts
The laughing Chloris, [Q] with profusest hand,
Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you 80
Pomona seeks to dwell; and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames
Ye love to wander, Amalthea [R] pours,
Well-pleased, the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles
Nysaean or Atlantic. Nor canst thou
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn,
O Bromius, O Lenaean), nor canst thou
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 90
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me,
Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre,
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim,
Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. [S]

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire,
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills
Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives,
Delighted; and your piety applauds;
And bids his copious tide roll on secure,
For faithful are his daughters; and with words 100
Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now
His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts
Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn,
When Hermes, [T] from Olympus bent o'er earth
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill
Stoops lightly sailing; oft intent your springs
He views: and waving o'er some new-born stream
His bless'd pacific wand, 'And yet,' he cries,
'Yet,' cries the son of Maia, 'though recluse 110
And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs,
Flows wealth and kind society to men.
By you my function and my honour'd name
Do I possess; while o'er the Boetic rale,
Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms
By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct
The English merchant; with the buxom fleece
Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe
Sarmatian kings; or to the household gods
Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 120
Dispense the mineral treasure [U] which of old
Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land
Was yet unconscious of those generous arts,
Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime
Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven.'

Such are the words of Hermes: such the praise,
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power:
And those who, sedulous in prudent works,
Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays 130
With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth,
Pit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns
Not vainly to the hospitable arts
Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs,
Hath he not won [V] the unconquerable queen
Of arms to court your friendship You she owns
The fair associates who extend her sway
Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things
Of you she littereth, oft as from the shore 140
Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks
Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads
To Calpe's [W] foaming channel, or the rough
Cantabrian surge; her auspices divine
Imparting to the senate and the prince
Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings,
The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings
Was ever scorn'd by Pallas; and of old
Rejoiced the virgin, from the brazen prow
Of Athens o'er AEgina's gloomy surge, [X] 150
To drive her clouds and storms; o'erwhelming all
The Persian's promised glory, when the realms
Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime,
When Libya's torrid champaign and the rocks
Of cold Imaues join'd their servile bands,
To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth.
In vain; Minerva on the bounding prow
Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice
Denounced her terrors on their impious heads,
And shook her burning aegis. Xerxes saw; [Y] 160
From Heracleum, on the mountain's height
Throned in his golden car, he knew the sign
Celestial; felt unrighteous hope forsake
His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.

Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power;
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war,
And give to the renown'd Britannic name
To awe contending monarchs: yet benign,
Yet mild of nature, to the works of peace
More prone, and lenient of the many ills 170
Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid
Hygeia well can witness; she who saves,
From poisonous dates and cups of pleasing bane,
The wretch, devoted to the entangling snares
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils,
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn
At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds,
She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams,
And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze, 180
And where the fervour of the sunny vale
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease,
Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd
His eager bosom, does the queen of health
Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board
She guards, presiding, and the frugal powers
With joy sedate leads in; and while the brown
Ennaean dame with Pan presents her stores,