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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454957" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode XII: To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Baronet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Behold; the Balance in the sky<br>Swift on the wintry scale inclines:<br>To earthy caves the Dryads fly,<br>And the bare pastures Pan resigns.<br>Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread<br>With recent soil the twice-mown mead,<br>Tainting the bloom which autumn knows:<br>He whets the rusty coulter now,<br>He binds his oxen to the plough,<br>And wide his future harvest throws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Now, London's busy confines round,<br>By Kensington's imperial towers,<br>From Highgate's rough descent profound,<br>Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers,<br>Where'er i pass, i see approach<br>Some rural statesman's eager coach<br>Hurried by senatorial cares:<br>While rural nymphs (alike, within,<br>Aspiring courtly praise to win)<br>Debate their dress, reform their airs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Say, what can now the country boast,<br>O Drake, thy footsteps to detain,<br>When peevish winds and gloomy frost<br>The sunshine of the temper stain?<br>Say, are the priests of Devon grown<br>Friends to this tolerating throne,<br>Champions for George's legal right?<br>Have general freedom, equal law,<br>Won to the glory of Nassau<br>Each bold Wessexian squire and knight?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>I doubt it much; and guess at least<br>That when the day, which made us free,<br>Shall next return, that sacred feast<br>Thou better may'st observe with me.<br>With me the sulphurous treason old<br>A far inferior part shall hold<br>In that glad day's triumphal strain;<br>And generous William be rever'd,<br>Nor one untimely accent heard<br>Of James or his ignoble reign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine<br>With modest cups our joy supplies,<br>We'll truly thank the power divine<br>Who bade the chief, the patriot rise;<br>Rise from heroic ease (the spoil<br>Due, for his youth's Herculean toil,<br>From Belgium to her savior son)<br>Rise with the same unconquer'd zeal<br>For our Britannia's injur'd weal,<br>Her laws defac'd, her shrines o'erthrown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>He came. The tyrant from our shore,<br>Like a forbidden demon, fled;<br>And to eternal exile bore<br>Pontific rage and vassal dread.<br>There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign:<br>New years came forth, a liberal train,<br>Call'd by the people's great decree.<br>That day, my friend, let blessings crown:<br>—Fill, to the demigod's renown<br>From whom thou hast that thou art free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part<br>The public and the private weal?)<br>In vows to her who sways thy heart,<br>Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal.<br>Whether Aglaia's blooming cheek,<br>Or the soft ornaments that speak<br>So eloquent in Daphne's smile,<br>Whether the piercing lights that fly<br>From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye,<br>Haply thy fancy then beguile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>For so it is. thy stubborn breast,<br>Though touch'd by many a slighter wound,<br>Hath no full conquest yet confess'd,<br>Nor the one fatal charmer found.<br>While I, a true and loyal swain,<br>My fair Olympia's gentle reign<br>Through all the varying seasons own.<br>Her genius still my bosom warms:<br>No other maid for me hath charms,<br>Or I have eyes for her alone.</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=454957" data-title="Ode XII: To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Baronet de Mark Akenside" data-description="I.
Behold; the Balance in the sky
Swift on the wintry scale inclines:
To earthy caves the Dryads fly,
And the bare pastures Pan resigns.
Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread
With recent soil the twice-mown mead,
Tainting the bloom which autumn kn..."></div>
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