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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454955" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode XI: To The Country Gentlemen Of England</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled?<br>Where are those valiant tenants of her shore,<br>Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped,<br>Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore?<br>Freeman and soldier was their common name.<br>Who late with reapers to the furrow came,<br>Now in the front of battle charg'd the foe:<br>Who taught the steer the wintry plough to indure,<br>Now in full councils check'd incroaching power,<br>And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons<br>To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine;<br>From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones<br>And cities looking on the Cimbric main,<br>Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords<br>Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords<br>To slavish ruffians, hir'd for their command:<br>These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod,<br>See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod:<br>These are the public will, the reason of the land.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III. <br>Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while<br>Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,<br>Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile,<br>With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms?<br>Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,<br>The praise and envy of the nations round,<br>What care hast thou to guard from fortune's sway?<br>Amid the storms of war, how soon may all<br>The lofty pile from its foundations fall,<br>Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales<br>Add industry's wise gifts to nature's store:<br>And every port is crouded with thy sails,<br>And every wave throws treasure on thy shore.<br>What boots it? If luxurious plenty charm<br>Thy selfish heart from glory, if thy arm<br>Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain,<br>Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine.<br>Oh rather far be poor. Thy gold will shine<br>Tempting the eye of force, and deck thee to thy bane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>But what hath force or war to do with thee?<br>Girt by the azure tide and thron'd sublime<br>Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see,<br>With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime<br>Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe<br>Are thy fair fields. athwart thy guardian prow<br>No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand—<br>Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind<br>Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd<br>To the sky's fickle faith? the pilot's wavering hand?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>For oh may neither fear nor stronger love<br>(Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won)<br>Thee, last of many wretched nations, move,<br>With mighty armies station'd round the throne<br>To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims<br>Of freedom! Her proud records to the flames<br>Then bear, an offering at ambition's shrine;<br>Whate'er thy ancient patriots dar'd demand<br>From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand,<br>Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>But if thy sons be worthy of their name,<br>If liberal laws with liberal hearts they prize,<br>Let them from conquest, and from servile shame<br>In war's glad school their own protectors rise.<br>Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultur'd plains,<br>Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains,<br>Now not unequal to your birth be found:<br>The public voice bids arm your rural state,<br>Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait,<br>And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care<br>Detains you from their head, your native post?<br>Who most their country's fame and fortune share,<br>'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most.<br>Each man his task in social life sustains.<br>With partial labours, with domestic gains<br>Let others dwell: to you indulgent heaven<br>By counsel and by arms the public cause<br>To serve for public love and love's applause,<br>The first imployment far, the noblest hire, hath given.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>Have ye not heard of Lacedæmon's fame?<br>Of Attic chiefs in freedom's war divine?<br>Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name?<br>The Fabian sons? the Scipios, matchless line?<br>Your lot was theirs. the farmer and the swain<br>Met his lov'd patron's summons from the plain;<br>The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew:<br>Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd;<br>The conquerors to their houshold gods return'd,<br>And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>Shall then this glory of the antique age,<br>This pride of men, be lost among mankind?<br>Shall war's heroic arts no more ingage<br>The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind?<br>Doth valour to the race no more belong?<br>No more with scorn of violence and wrong<br>Doth forming nature now her sons inspire,<br>That, like some mystery to few reveal'd,<br>The skill of arms abash'd and aw'd they yield,<br>And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>O shame to human life, to human laws!<br>The loose adventurer, hireling of a day,<br>Who his fell sword without affection draws,<br>Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay,<br>This man the lessons of the field can learn;<br>Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn,<br>And every pledge of conquest: while in vain,<br>To guard your altars, your paternal lands,<br>Are social arms held out to your free hands:<br>Too arduous is the lore; too irksome were the pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>Meantime by pleasure's lying tales allur'd,<br>From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray;<br>And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd,<br>Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.<br>O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue!<br>The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew,<br>The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend;<br>While he doth riot's orgies haply share,<br>Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare,<br>Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain<br>That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng;<br>That the rude village-inmates now disdain<br>Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long.<br>Alas, your fathers did by other arts<br>Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts,<br>And led in other paths their ductile will;<br>By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer,<br>Won them the ancient manners to revere,<br>To prize their country's peace and heaven's due rites fulfill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>But mark rhe judgement of experienc'd Time,<br>Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear<br>A state? and impotent sedition's crime?<br>The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there;<br>The powers who to command and to obey,<br>Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway<br>The rising race to manly concord tame?<br>Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite,<br>And in glad splendor bring before their sight<br>One common cause and one hereditary fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>Nor yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown,<br>Though war's proud votaries look on severe;<br>Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone,<br>They deem profan'd by your intruding ear.<br>Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell,<br>Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell,<br>And mock the old simplicity, in vain:<br>To the time's warfare, simple or refin'd,<br>The time itself adapts the warrior's mind;<br>And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>Say then; if England's youth, in earlier days,<br>On glory's field with well-train'd armies vy'd,<br>Why shall they now renounce that generous praise?<br>Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride?<br>Though Valois brav'd young Edward's gentle hand,<br>And Albret rush'd on Henry's way-worn band,<br>With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd,<br>Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd,<br>Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd:<br>They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>Such were the laurels which your fathers won;<br>Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast:<br>—Is there no voice that speaks to every son?<br>No nobler, holier call to You address'd?<br>O! by majestic freedom, righteous laws,<br>By heavenly truth's, by manly reason's cause,<br>Awake; attend; be indolent no more:<br>By friendship, social peace, domestic love,<br>Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove;<br>And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore.</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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Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled?
Where are those valiant tenants of her shore,
Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped,
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore?
Freeman and soldier was their common name.
Who late with reapers to ..."></div>
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