O pride celestial! which can pride disdain; O blest ambition! which can ne'er be vain.
From one fam'd Alpine hill, which props the sky, In whose deep womb unfathom'd waters lie, Here burst the Rhone and sounding Po; there shine, In infant rills, the Danube and the Rhine; From the rich store one fruitful urn supplies, Whole kingdoms smile, a thousand harvests rise.
In Brunswick such a source the Muse adores, Which public blessings through half Europe pours. When his heart burns with such a godlike aim, Angels and George are rivals for the fame; George, who in foes can soft affections raise, And charm envenom'd satire into praise.
Nor human rage alone his power perceives, But the mad winds, and the tumultuous waves.* E'en storms (Death's fiercest ministers!) forbear, And, in their own wild empire, learn to spare.
* The king in danger by sea.
Thus Nature's self, supporting man's decree,
Styles Britain's sovereign, sovereign of the sea.
While sea and air, great Brunswick! shook our state,
And sported with a king's and kingdom's fate,
Depriv'd of what she lov'd, and press'd by fear
Of ever losing what she held most dear,
How did Britannia, like Achilles, weep,
And tell her sorrows to the kindred deep!
Hang o'er the floods, and, in devotion warm,
Strive, for thee, with the surge, and fight the storm!
What felt thy Walpole, pilot of the realm!
Our Palinurus slept not at the helm ;
His eye ne'er clos'd; long since inur'd to wake,
And out-watch every star for Brunswick's sake:
By thwarting passions tost, by cares opprest,
He found the tempest pictur'd in his breast:
But, now, what joys that gloom of heart dispel,
No powers of language-but his own, can tell;
His own, which Nature and the Graces form,
At will, to raise, or hush the civil storm.
MARK AKENSIDE was born in 1721, at Newcas-practice and reputation increased; so that, on the tle-upon-Tyne, where his father was a substantial settlement of the Queen's household, he was apbutcher. After receiving an education, first at a pointed one of her Majesty's physicians-an honor grammar-school, and then at a private academy at for which he is supposed to have been indebted to his native place, he was sent to the University of Mr. Dyson. It is affirmed that Dr. Akenside asEdinburgh, for the purpose of being fitted for a sumed a haughtiness and ostentation of manner Dissenting minister. He soon, however, exchanged which was not calculated to ingratiate him with his his studies for those of medicine; and, after con- brethren of the faculty, or to render him generally tinuing three years at Edinburgh, he removed to acceptable. He died of a putrid fever, in June Leyden, where he took the degree of M. D. in 1744. 1770, in the forty-ninth year of his age. In the same year, his poem "On the Pleasures of the Imagination" made its appearance, which was received with great applause, and raised the author at once into poetical fame. It was soon followed by a warm invective against the celebrated Pulteney, Earl of Bath, in an "Epistle to Curio." In 1745 original, and by enriching its illustrations from the he published ten Odes on different subjects, and in stores of philosophy and poetry. No poem of so various styles and manners. All these works char-elevated and abstracted a kind was ever so popular. acterized him as a zealous votary of Grecian phi- It went through several editions soon after its aplosophy and classical literature, and an ardent lover pearance, and is still read with enthusiasm by those of liberty. He continued, from time to time, to who have acquired a relish for the conceptions of publish his poetical effusions, most of which first pure poetry, and the strains of numerous blank verse. appeared in Dodsley's collection. Of these, the most The author was known to have been employed considerable is, a "Hymn to the Naiads." many years in correcting, or rather new-modelling, this work; but the unfinished draught of this design seems to have rendered it probable that the piece would have lost as much in poetry as it would have gained in philosophy.
Respecting his poem "On the Pleasures of the Imagination," of which Addison's papers in the Spectator are the groundwork, it would be an injury to deny him the claims of an original writer, which he merited by the expansion of the plan of this prose
His professional career affords few incidents worth recording. He settled for a short time at Northampton; then removed to Hampstead; and finally fixed himself in London. While his practice was small, he was generously assisted by his friend, Mr. Jere- Of his other poems, the Hymn to the Naiads is miah Dyson, who made him an allowance of 3007. the longest and best. With the purest spirit of clas per annum. He pursued the regular course to ad- sical literature, it contains much mythological ingevancement, becoming Fellow of the Royal Society. nuity, and many poetical ideas, beautifully expressed. Physician to St. Thomas's Hospital, Doctor of Physic In his lyric productions, the copiousness and elevaby mandamus at Cambridge, and Fellow of the Lon- tion of thought does not compensate for the total don College of Physicians. He also published seve- want of grace, ease, and appropriate harmony. The ral occasional pieces on medical subjects, among only sparks of animation which they exhibit, occur which was a Treatise on the Epidemic Dysentery of when they touch on political topics; and it is in these 1764, written in elegant Latin. By these efforts his instances alone we have ventured to select them.
The bloom of Nature, and before him turn
The gayest, happiest attitude of things.
Oft have the laws of each poetic strain
The critic-verse employ'd; yet still unsung
Lay this prime subject, though importing most
A poet's naine: for fruitless is th' attempt,
By dull obedience and by creeping toil
Obscure to conquer the severe ascent
Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath
Must fire the chosen genius; Nature's hand
Epict. apud Arrian. II. 13.
Ασεβῦσμέν ἐςιν ἀνθρωπε τὰς παρὰ τῦ θεω χάρθας ἀτιμάζειν. Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings
Impatient of the painful steep, to soar
High as the summit; there to breathe at large
Ethereal air; with bards and sages old,
Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes,
To this neglected labor court my song;
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task
To paint the finest features of the mind,
And to most subtle and mysterious things
Give color, strength, and motion. But the love
Of Nature and the Muses bids explore,
Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man,
The fair poetic region, to detect
Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts,
And shade my temples with unfading flowers
Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess,
Where never poet gain'd a wreath before.
From Heaven my strains begin; from Heaven
descends
PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
PUBLISHED IN THE YEAR 1744.
The subject proposed. Difficulty of treating it
poetically. The ideas of the Divine Mind, the
origin of every quality pleasing to the imagina-
tion. The natural variety of constitution in the
minds of men; with its final cause. The idea
of a fine imagination, and the state of the mind
in the enjoyment of those pleasures which it af-
fords. All the primary pleasures of the imagina-
tion result from the perception of greatness, or
wonderfulness, or beauty, in objects. The plea- The flame of genius to the human breast,
sure from greatness, with its final cause. Pleasure And love and beauty, and poetic joy
from novelty or wonderfulness, with its final And inspiration. Ere the radiant Sun
cause. Pleasure from beauty, with its final cause. Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night
The connexion of beauty with truth and good, The Moon suspended her serener lamp;
applied to the conduct of life. Invitation to the Ere mountains, woods, or streams, adorn'd the globe,
study of moral philosophy. The different degrees Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore;
of beauty in different species of objects: color; Then liv'd th' Almighty One: then, deep retir'd
shape; natural concretes; vegetables; animals; In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms,
the mind. The sublime, the fair, the wonderful The forms eternal of created things;
of the mind. The connexion of the imagination
and the moral faculty. Conclusion.
The radiant Sun, the Moon's nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods and streams, the rolling globe,
And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first
Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd,
His admiration: till in time complete,
What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital smile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves
Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold
And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers,
And all the fair variety of things.
But not alike to every mortal eye
WITH what attractive charms this goodly frame
Of Nature touches the consenting hearts
Of mortal men; and what the pleasing stores
Which beauteous imitation thence derives
To deck the poet's, or the painter's toil;
My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers
Of musical delight! and while I sing
Your gifts, your honors, dance around my strain.
Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast,
Indulgent Fancy! from the fruitful banks
Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull
Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf
Where Shakspeare lies, be present: and with thee
Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings
Wafting ten thousand colors through the air,
Which, by the glances of her magic eye,
She blends and shifts at will, through countless forms, To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony! descend
And join this festive train? for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,
Her sister Liberty will not be far.
The changeful Moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of Heaven; to some she gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things,
Of time, and space, and Fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick impulse: others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue swells the tender veins
Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn
Draw forth, distilling from the clefted rind
Be present, all ye genii, who conduct
The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,
New to your springs and shades: who touch his ear In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes
With finer sounds: who heighten to his eye
Were destin'd; some within a finer mould
Is this great scene unveil'd. For since the claims
Of social life, to different labors urge
The active powers of man! with wise intent
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds
The world's harmonious volume, there to read
The transcript of himself. On every part
They trace the bright impressions of his hand :
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The Moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portray'd
That uncreated beauty, which delights
The mind supreme. They also feel her charms,
Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.
For as old Memmon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
Unbidden strains; even so did Nature's hand
To certain species of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind:
So the glad impulse of congenial powers,
Or of sweet sounds, or fair-proportion'd form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive,
They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul
At length discloses every tuneful spring,
To that harmonious movement from without
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Diffuses its enchantment: Fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
And vales of bliss: the intellectual power
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy serene
As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,
Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch,
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of Nature warms, O listen to my song;
And I will guide thee to her favorite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.
Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores, Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms With love and admiration thus inflame The powers of fancy, her delighted sons To three illustrious orders have referr'd; Three sister-graces, whom the painter's hand, The poet's tongue, confesses; the sublime, The wonderful, the fair. I see them dawn! I see the radiant visions, where they rise, More lovely than when Lucifer displays His beaming forehead through the gates of morn, To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.
That breathes from day to day sublimer things,
And mocks possession? wherefore darts the mind,
With such resistless ardor to embrace
Majestic forms; impatient to be free,
Spurning the gross control of wilful might;
Proud of the strong contention of her toils;
Proud to be daring? Who but rather turns
To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame?
Who that, from Alpine heights, his laboring eye
Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave
Through mountains, plains, through empires black
with shade
Say, why was man so eminently rais'd Amid the vast creation; why ordain'd Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame; But that the Omnipotent might send him forth In sight of mortal and immortal powers, As on a boundless theatre, to run The great career of justice; to exalt His generous aim to all diviner deeds; To chase each partial purpose from his breast; And through the mists of passion and of sense, And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent Of Nature, calls him to his high reward,
And continents of sand; will turn his gaze
To mark the windings of a scanty rill
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of Earth
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm;
Rides on the volley'd lightning through the Heavens;
Or, yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars
The blue profound, and hovering round the Sun
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of Time. Thence far effus'd
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets; through its burning signs
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invests the orient. Now amaz'd she views
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold,
Beyond this concave Heaven, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light
Has travell'd the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world untir'd
She meditates the eternal depth below;
Till half recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd up
In that immense of being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of Renown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find enjoyment: but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.
Call now to mind what high capacious powers
Lie folded up in man; how far beyond
The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth
Of Nature to perfection half divine,
Expand the blooming soul? What pity then
Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to Earth
Her tender blossom; choke the streams of life,
And blast her spring! Far otherwise design'd
Almighty Wisdom; Nature's happy cares
The obedient heart far otherwise incline.
Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power
To brisker measures: witness the neglect
The applauding smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns Of all familiar prospects, though beheld In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope,
With transport once; the fond attentive gaze
Of
young astonishment; the sober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things,
For such the bounteous Providence of Heaven,
In every breast implanting this desire
Of objects new, and strange, to urge us on
With unremitted labor to pursue
:
To thee nor Tempé shall refuse; nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits
From thy free spoil. O bear then, unreprov'd
Thy smiling treasures to the green recess
Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs
Entice her forth to lend her angel-form
For Beauty's honor'd image. Hither turn
Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid
Incline thy polish'd forehead: let thy eyes
Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn;
And may the fanning breezes waft aside
Thy radiant locks: disclosing, as it bends
With airy softness from the marble neck,
The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip,
Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love
With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend
Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force
Of Nature, and her kind parental care,
Worthier I'd sing then all the enamour'd youth,
With each admiring virgin, to my lyre
Should throng attentive, while I point on high
Where Beauty's living image, like the morn
That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,
Moves onward; or as Venus, when she stood
Effulgent on the pearly car, and smil'd,
Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form,
To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells,
And each cerulean sister of the flood
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band
Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze
Of young desire with rival steps pursue
This charm of beauty; if the pleasing toil
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
Your favorable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
Of Superstition dress'd in Wisdom's garb,
To damp your tender hopes; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning Earth
To fright you from your joys: my cheerful song
With better omens calls you to the field,
Pleas'd with your generous ardor in the chase,
And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,
Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health
And active use are strangers? Is her charm
Confess'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends
Are lame and fruitless? Or did Nature mean
This pleasing call the herald of a lie;
To hide the shame of discord and disease,
And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart
Of idle faith? O no! with better cares
The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illustrious image, in each kind
Still most illustrious where the object holds
Its native powers most perfect, she by this
Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire,
And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract
Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul,
The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,
And every charm of animated things,
Are only pledges of a state sincere,
The integrity and order of their frame,
When all is well within, and every end
Accomplish'd. Thus was Beauty sent from Heaven,
The lovely ministress of truth and good
In this dark world: for truth and good are one,
3 D 2
Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul,
In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need words
To paint its power? For this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove: the pensive sage,
Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the sickly taper; and untir'd
The virgin follows, with enchanted step,
The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth,
Suspends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,
And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet souls
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of Hell around the murderer's bed.
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil,
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd
With shivering sighs; till eager for the event,
Around the beldame all erect they hang,
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.
But lo! disclos'd in all her smiling pomp,
Where beauty onward moving claims the verse
Her charms inspire: the freely-flowing verse
In thy immortal praise, O form divine,
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty, thee,
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray
The mossy roofs adore: thou, better Sun!
For ever beamest on the enchanted heart
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight
Poetic. Brightest progeny of Heaven!
How shall I trace thy features? where select
The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom?
Haste then, my song, through Nature's wide expanse,
Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth,
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,
To deck thy lovely labor. Wilt thou fly
With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles,
And range with him the Hesperian field, and see
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
The branches shoot with gold; where'er his step
Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow
With purple ripeness, and invest each hill
As with the blushes of an evening sky?
Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume,
Where gliding through his daughter's honor'd shades,
The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempé's pleasant scene?
Fair Tempé! haunt belov'd of sylvan powers,
Of Nymphs and Fauns; where in the golden age
They play'd in secret on the shady brink
With ancien: Pan: while round their choral steps
Young Hours and genial Gales with constant hand
Shower'd blossoms, odors, shower'd ambrosial dews,
And Spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store
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