ODE VIII. On leaving HOLLAND. Mark Akenside Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42068 K027268.000 Akenside, Mark, 1721-1770. Odes on several subjects. London printed for R. Dodsley. And sold by M. Cooper. M.DCC.XLV. 1745 pp. 39-43. 54p.; 4⁰.

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ODE VIII . On leaving HOLLAND . ADIEU to LEYDEN'S lonely bound , The BELGIAN muse's sober seat ; Where shedding frugal gifts around On all the fav'rites at her feet , She feeds the body's bulky frame For passive , persevering toils ; And left , for some ambitious aim , The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils , She breathes maternal foggs to damp its restless flame . Adieu the grave , pacific air , Safe from the flitting mountain-breeze ; The marshy levels lank and bare , Sacred from furrows hills or trees : Adieu each mantling , fragrant flood , Untaughto to murmur or to flow : Adieu the The Frogs . music of the mud , That sooths at eve the patient lover's woe , And wakes to sprightlier thoughts the painful poet's blood . With looks so frosty , and with steps so tame , Ye careful nymphs , ye household things , adieu ; Not once ye taught me love's or friendship's flame , And where is he that ever taught it you ? And ye , the slow-ey'd fathers of the land , With whom dominion lurks from hand to hand , Unown'd , undignified by public choice , I go where freedom in the streets is known , And tells a monarch on his throne , Tells him he reigns , he lives but by her voice . O native ALBION , when to thee Shall I return to part no more ? Far from this pale , discolour'd sea , That sleeps upon the reedy shore , When shall I plow thy azure tides , And , as thy fleece-white hills aspire , Bless the fair shade that on their sides Imbow'rs the village and the sacred spire , While the green hedge , below , the golden slope divides ? Ye nymphs that guard the pathless grove , Ye blue-ey'd sisters of the streams , With whom I wont at morn to rove , With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams ; O take me to your haunts again , The rocky spring , the greenwood glade ; To prompt my slumbers in the murm'ring shade , And sooth my vacant ear with many an airy strain . And thou , my faithful harp , no longer mourn Thy drooping master's unpropitious hand ; Now brighter skies and fresher gales return , Now fairer maids thy melody demand . Daughters of ALBION , guard your votive lyre ! O blooming god of Thespia's laurell'd quire , Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own , When all the virgin-deities above With Venus and with Juno move In concert round thy list'ming father's throne ? Thee too , protectress of my lays , Elate with whose majestic call Above the soft Italian's praise , Above the slavish wreaths of Gaul , I dare from impious thrones reclaim , And wanton sloth's luxurious charms , The honours of a poet's name To The Earl of SHAFTSBURY . ASHLEY'S wisdom , or to HAMDEN'S arms . Thee , freedom , I rejoin , and bless thy genuine flame . Great citizen of Albion ! Thee Heroic Valour still attends , And useful Science pleas'd to see How Art her studious toil extends . While Truth , diffusing from on high A lustre unconfin'd as day , Fills and commands the public eye , Till pierc'd and sinking by her pow'ful ray , Tame Sloth and monkish Awe , like nightly Daemons , fly . Hence all the land the Patriot's ardour shares ; Hence dread Religion smiles with social joy ; Hence the free bosom's softest , loveliest cares , Each graceful scene of private life imploy . O fair BRITANNIA , hail ! — With partial love The tribes of men their native seats approve , Unjust and hostile to a foreign fame ; But when from gen'rous minds and manly laws A nation holds her prime applause , There public zeal defies the test of blame .