ODE X. On LYRIC Poetry. 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. 48-54. 54p.; 4⁰.

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ODE X. On LYRIC Poetry . ONCE more I join the Thespian quire , And taste th' inspiring fount again : O parent of the Graecian lyre , Admit me to thy secret strain — And lo ! with ease my step invades The pathless vale and opening shades , Till now I spy her verdant seat , And now at large I drink the sound , While these her offspring , list'ning round , By turns her melody repeat . I see ANACREON smile and sing : His silver tresses breathe persume ; His cheek displays a second spring Of roses taught by wine to bloom . Away , deceitful cares away ! And let me listen to his lay , While flow'fy dreams my soul employ ; While turtle-wing'd the laughing hours Lead hand in hand the festal pow'rs , Lead youth and love , and harmless joy . Broke from the fetters of his native land , Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords With louder impulse and a threat'ning hand , The ALCAEUS of Mitylene , the capital of Lesbos , who fled from his native city to escape the oppression of those who had inslav'd it , and wrote against them in his exile those noble invectives which are so much applauded by the ancient Critics . Lesbian patriot smites the sounding chords : Ye wretches , ye perfidions train , Ye curst of Gods and freeborn men , Ye murd'rers of the laws , Tho' now you glory in your lust , Tho' now you tread the feeble neck in dust , Yet Time and righteous JOVE will judge your dreadful cause . But lo , to SAPPHO'S mournful airs Descends the radiant Queen of love ; She smiles , and asks what fonder cares Her suppliant's plaintive measures move . Why is my faithful maid distrest ? Who , SAPPHO , wounds thy tender breast ? Say , flies he ? — Soon he shall pursue : Shuns he thy gifts ? — HE too shall give : Slights he thy sorrows ? — HE shall grieve , And bend him to thy haughtiest vow . But , O MELPOMENE , for whom Awakes thy golden shell again ? What mortal breath shall e'er presume To eccho that unbounded strain ? Majestic in the frown of years , Behold , the PINDAR . Man of Thebes appears : For some there are , whose mighty frame The hand of JOVE at birth indow'd With hopes that mock the gazing crowd ; As eagles drink the noontide flame , While the dim raven beats his weary wings , And clamours far below . — Propitious Muse , While I so late unlock thy hallow'd springs , And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse , To polish Albion's warlike ear This long-lost melody to hear , Thy sweetest arts imploy ; As when the winds from shore to shore , Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore , Till towns and isles , and seas return'd the vocal joy . But oft amid the Graecian throng , The loose-rob'd forms of wild desire With lawless notes intun'd thy song , To shameful steps dissolv'd thy quire . O fair , O chaste be still with me From such profaner discord free : While I frequent thy tuneful shade , No frantic shouts of Thracian dames , No Satyrs fierce with savage flames Thy pleasing accents shall invade . Queen of the lyre , in thy retreat The fairest flow'rs of Pindus glow ; The vine aspires to crown thy seat , And myrtles round thy laurel grow . Thy strings attune their varied strain , To every pleasure , every pain , Which mortal tribes were born to prove , And strait our passions rise or fall , As at the wind's imperious call The ocean swells the billows move . When midnight listens o'er the slumb'ring earth , Let me , O Muse , thy solemn whispers hear : When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth , With airy murmurs touch my opening ear . And ever watchful at thy side , Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide The tenour of thy lay : To her of old by JOVE was giv'n To judge the various deeds of earth and heay'n ; 'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her sway . Oft as from stricter hours resign'd I quit the maze where science toils , Do thou refresh my yielding mind With all thy gay , delusive spoils . But , O indulgent , come not nigh The busy steps , the jealous eye Of gainful care and wealthy age , Whose barren souls thy joys disdain , And hold as foes to reason's reign Whome'er thy lovely haunts ingage . With me , when mirth's consenting band Around fair friendship's genial board Invite thy heart-awakening hand , With me salute the Teian chord , Or if invok'd at softer hours , O seek with me the happy bow'rs . That hear DIONE 'S gentle tongue ; To beauty link'd with virtue's train , To love devoid of jealous pain , There let the Sapphic lute be strung . But when from envy and from death to claim A hero bleeding for his native land ; Or when to nourish freedom's vestal flame , I hear my Genius utter his command . Nor Theban voice , nor Lesbian lyre From thee , O Muse , do I require , While my prophetic mind , Conscious of pow'rs she never knew , Astonish'd grasps at things beyond her view , Nor by another's fate hath felt her own confin'd .