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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454951" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode VIII: On Leaving Holland</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I 1.<br>Farewell to Leyden's lonely bound,<br>The Belgian Muse's sober seat;<br>Where dealing frugal gifts around<br>To all the favorites at her feet,<br>She trains the body's bulky frame<br>For passive, persevering toils;<br>And lest, from any prouder aim,<br>The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils,<br>She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. 2.<br>Farewell the grave, pacific air,<br>Where never mountain zephyr blew:<br>The marshy levels lank and bare,<br>Which Pan, which Ceres never knew:<br>The Naiads, with obscene attire,<br>Urging in vain their urns to flow;<br>While round them chaunt the croking choir,<br>And haply sooth some lover's prudent woe,<br>Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. 3.<br>Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain<br>Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of love:<br>She render'd all his boasted arrows vain;<br>And all his gifts did he in spite remove.<br>Ye too, the slow-ey'd fathers of the land,<br>With whom dominion steals from hand to hand,<br>Unown'd, undignify'd by public choice,<br>I go where liberty to all is known,<br>And tells a monarch on his throne,<br>He reigns not but by her preserving voice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 1.<br>O my lov'd England, when with thee<br>Shall i sit down, to part no more?<br>Far from this pale, discolor'd sea,<br>That sleeps upon the reedy shore,<br>When shall i plough thy azure tide?<br>When on thy hills the flocks admire,<br>Like mountain snows; till down their side<br>I trace the village and the sacred spire,<br>While bowers and copses green the golden slope divide?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 2.<br>Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove,<br>Ye blue-ey'd sisters of the streams,<br>With whom i wont at morn to rove,<br>With whom at noon i talk'd in dreams;<br>O! take me to your haunts again,<br>The rocky spring, the greenwood glade;<br>To guide my lonely footsteps deign,<br>To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade,<br>And sooth my vacant ear with many an airy strain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II. 3.<br>And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn<br>Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand:<br>Now brighter skies and fresher gales return,<br>Now fairer maids thy melody demand.<br>Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre!<br>O Phœbus, guardian of the Aonian choir,<br>Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own,<br>When all the virgin deities above<br>With Venus and with Juno move<br>In concert round the Olympian father's throne?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 1.<br>Thee too, protectress of my lays,<br>Elate with whose majestic call<br>Above degenerate Latium's praise,<br>Above the slavish boast of Gaul,<br>I dare from impious thrones reclaim,<br>And wanton sloth's ignoble charms,<br>The honors of a poet's name<br>To Somers' counsels, or to Hamden's arms,<br>Thee, freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 2.<br>Great citizen of Albion. Thee<br>Heroic valour still attends,<br>And useful science pleas'd to see<br>How art her studious toil extends.<br>While truth, diffusing from on high<br>A lustre unconfin'd as day,<br>Fills and commands the public eye;<br>Till, pierc'd and sinking by her powerful ray,<br>Tame faith and monkish awe, like nightly demons, fly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. 3.<br>Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares:<br>Hence dread religion dwells with social joy;<br>And holy passions and unsullied cares,<br>In youth, in age, domestic life imploy.<br>O fair Britannia, hail!—With partial love<br>The tribes of men their native seats approve,<br>Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame:<br>But when for generous minds and manly laws<br>A nation holds her prime applause,<br>There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim.</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=454951" data-title="Ode VIII: On Leaving Holland de Mark Akenside" data-description="I 1.
Farewell to Leyden's lonely bound,
The Belgian Muse's sober seat;
Where dealing frugal gifts around
To all the favorites at her feet,
She trains the body's bulky frame
For passive, persevering toils;
And lest, from any prouder aim,
The daring..."></div>
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