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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454938" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode IV: To The Honourable Charles Townshend In The Country</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. 1.<br>How oft shall i survey<br>This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade,<br>The vale with sheaves o'erspread,<br>The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray?<br>When will thy cheerful mind<br>Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem?<br>Or, tell me, dost thou deem<br>No more to join in glory's toilsome race,<br>But here content imbrace<br>That happy leisure which thou had'st resign'd?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. 2.<br>Alas, ye happy hours,<br>When books and youthful sport the soul could share,<br>Ere one ambitious care<br>Of civil life had aw'd her simpler powers;<br>Oft as your winged train<br>Revisit here my friend in white array,<br>Oh fail not to display<br>Each fairer scene where I perchance had part,<br>That so his generous heart<br>The abode of even friendship may remain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. 3.<br>For not imprudent of my loss to come,<br>I saw from contemplation's quiet cell<br>His feet ascending to another home<br>Where public praise and envied greatness dwell.<br>But shall we therefore, o my lyre<br>Reprove ambition's best desire?<br>Extinguish glory's flame?<br>Far other was the task injoin'd<br>When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd:<br>Far other faith belongs to friendship's honor'd name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 1.<br>Thee, Townshend, not the arms<br>Of slumbering ease, nor pleasure's rosy chain,<br>Were destin'd to detain:<br>No, nor bright science, nor the Muse's charms.<br>For them high heaven prepares<br>Their proper votaries, an humbler band:<br>And ne'er would Spenser's hand<br>Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell,<br>Nor Harrington to tell<br>What habit an immortal city wears,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 2.<br>Had this been born to shield<br>The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd,<br>Or that, like Vere, display'd<br>His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field.<br>Yet where the will divine<br>Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains,<br>With reason clad in strains<br>Of harmony, selected minds to inspire,<br>And virtue's living fire<br>To feed and eternize in hearts like thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 3.<br>For never shall the herd, whom envy sways,<br>So quell my purpose or my tongue controul,<br>That I should fear illustrious worth to praise,<br>Because it's master's friendship mov'd my soul.<br>Yet, if this undissembling strain<br>Should now perhaps thine ear detain<br>With any pleasing sound,<br>Remember thou that righteous fame<br>From hoary age a strict account will claim<br>Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was crown'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 1.<br>Nor obvious is the way<br>Where heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads,<br>Through flowers or fragrant meads,<br>Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay.<br>The impartial laws of fate<br>To nobler virtues wed severer cares.<br>Is there a man who shares<br>The summit next where heavenly natures dwell?<br>Ask him (for he can tell)<br>What storms beat round that rough laborious height.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 2.<br>Ye heroes, who of old<br>Did generous England freedom's throne ordain;<br>From Alfred's parent reign<br>To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold;<br>I know your perils hard,<br>Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas,<br>The night estrang'd from ease,<br>The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd,<br>The head with doubt perplex'd,<br>The indignant heart disdaining the reward</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 3.<br>Which envy hardly grants. But, o renown,<br>O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men,<br>If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown,<br>Say, who shall hesitate? or who complain?<br>And now they sit on thrones above:<br>And when among the gods they move<br>Before the sovran mind,<br>'Lo, these,' he saith, 'lo, these are they<br>'Who to the laws of mine eternal sway<br>'From violence and fear asserted human kind.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. 1.<br>Thus honor'd while the train<br>Of legislators in his presence dwell;<br>If I may aught foretell,<br>The statesman shall the second palm obtain.<br>For dreadful deeds of arms<br>Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise,<br>More glittering trophies raise:<br>But wisest heaven what deeds may chiefly move<br>To favor and to love?<br>What, save wide blessings, or averted harms?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. 2.<br>Nor to the imbattled field<br>Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown<br>The green immortal crown<br>Of valor, or the songs of conquest, yield.<br>Not Fairfax wildly bold,<br>While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way,<br>Through Nasesby's firm array,<br>To heavier dangers did his breast oppose<br>Than Pym's free virtue chose,<br>When the proud force of Strafford he controul'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV. 3.<br>But what is man at enmity with truth?<br>What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind<br>When (blighted all the promise of his youth)<br>The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd?<br>Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains,<br>Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swain<br>Let menac'd London tell<br>How impious guile made wisdom base;<br>How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place;<br>And how unbless'd he liv'd and how dishonor'd fell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. 1.<br>Thence never hath the Muse<br>Around his tomb Pierian roses flung:<br>Nor shall one poet's tongue<br>His name for music's pleasing labor chuse.<br>And sure, when nature kind<br>Hath deck'd some favor'd breast above the throng,<br>That man with grievous wrong<br>Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends<br>To guilt's ignoble ends<br>The functions of his ill-submitting mind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. 2.<br>For worthy of the wise<br>Nothing can seem but virtue; nor earth yield<br>Their fame an equal field,<br>Save where impartial freedom gives the prize.<br>There Somers fix'd his name,<br>Inroll'd the next to William. there shall Time<br>To every wondering clime<br>Point out that Somers, who from faction's croud,<br>The slanderous and the loud,<br>Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. 3.<br>Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire,<br>Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land<br>Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire,<br>Without his guidance, his superior hand.<br>And rightly shall the Muse's care<br>Wreaths like her own for him prepare,<br>Whose mind's inamor'd aim<br>Could forms of civil beauty draw<br>Sublime as ever sage or poet saw,<br>Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI. 1.<br>Let none profane be near!<br>The Muse was never foreign to his breast:<br>On power's grave seat confess'd,<br>Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear.<br>And if the blessed know<br>Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves,<br>Where haply Milton roves<br>With Spenser, hear the inchanted echos round<br>Through farthest heaven resound<br>Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI. 2.<br>He knew, the patriot knew,<br>That letters and the Muses powerful art<br>Exalt the ingenuous heart,<br>And brighten every form of just and true.<br>They lend a nobler sway<br>To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure<br>Could ever yet procure:<br>They too from envy's pale malignant light<br>Conduct her forth to sight<br>Cloath'd in the fairest colors of the day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI. 3.<br>O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe,<br>Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell:<br>And when i speak of one to freedom dear<br>For planning wisely and for acting well,<br>Of one whom glory loves to own,<br>Who still by liberal means alone<br>Hath liberal ends pursu'd;<br>Then, for the guerdon of my lay,<br>'This man with faithful friendship,' will i say,<br>'From youth to honor'd age my arts and me hath view'd.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mark+Akenside">Mark Akenside</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454938" data-title="Ode IV: To The Honourable Charles Townshend In The Country de Mark Akenside" data-description="I. 1.
How oft shall i survey
This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade,
The vale with sheaves o'erspread,
The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray?
When will thy cheerful mind
Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem?
Or, tell me..."></div>
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