Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 3, by MARK AKENSIDE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: What tongue then may explain the various fate Last Line: "I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil." Subject(s): Imagination; Reason; Thought; Fancy; Intellect; Rationalism; Brain; Mind; Intellectuals; Thinking | ||||||||
WHAT tongue then may explain the various fate Which reigns o'er earth? or who to mortal eyes Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth Of joy and woe through which the feet of man Are doom'd to wander? That Eternal Mind From passions, wants, and envy far estranged, Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd Each part so richly with whate'er pertains To life, to health, to pleasure; why bade he The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute The godly scene, and with insidious rage, While the poor inmate looks around and smiles, Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul? Hard is the question, and from ancient days Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought; Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre Too sad, too deeply plaintive: nor did e'er Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands, Forget this dreadful secret when they told What wonderous things had to their favour'd eyes And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd, Or in deep cave by nymph or power divine, Portentous oft and wild. Yet one I know, Could I the speech of lawgivers assume, One old and splendid tale I would record With which the muse of Solon in sweet strains Adorn'd this theme profound, and render'd all Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon, Or gentle as the golden star of eve. Who knows not Solon? last and wisest far Of those whom Greece triumphant in the height Of glory styled her fathers? him whose voice Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath; Taught envious want and cruel wealth to join In friendship; and, with sweet compulsion, tamed Minerva's eager people to his laws, Which their own goddess in his breast inspired? 'Twas now the time when his heroic task Seem'd but perform'd in vain: when soothed by years Of flattering service, the fond multitude Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath Of great Pisistratus: that chief renown'd, Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd Even from his birth to every powerful art Of pleasing and persuading: from whose lips Flow'd eloquence which, like the vows of love, Could steal away suspicion from the hearts Of all who listened. Thus from day to day He won the general suffrage, and beheld Each rival overshadow'd and depress'd Beneath his ampler state: yet oft complain'd, As one less kindly treated, who had hoped To merit favour, but submits perforce To find another's services preferr'd, Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal. Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes, Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd Against his life. At last with trembling limbs, His hair diffused and wild, his garments loose, And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds, He burst into the public place, as there, There only were his refuge! and declared In broken words, with sighs of deep regret, The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd. Fired with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd, To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band, Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war, Decree. O still too liberal of their trust, And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, The generous people! Now behold him fenced By mercenary weapons, like a king Forth issuing from the city gate at eve To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp Crowding the public road. The swain stops short, And sighs: the officious townsmen stand at gaze, And shrinking give the sullen pageant room. Yet not the less obsequious was his brow; Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue, Of gracious gifts his hand; the while by stealth, Like a small torrent fed with evening showers, His train increased. Till, at that fatal time, Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame Startled, began to question what it saw, Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fill'd The rocky citadel with hostile arms, Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within Amid his hirelings, meditating death To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refused. Where then was Solon? After ten long years Of absence, full of haste, from foreign shores The sage, the lawgiver, had now arrived: Arrived, alas! to see that Athens, that Fair temple raised, by him, and sacred call'd To liberty and concord, now profaned By savage haste, or sunk into a den Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge, And deprecate his wrath and court his chains. Yet did not the wise pratriot's grief impede His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclined One moment with such woman-like distress To view the transient storms of civil war, As thence to yield his country and her hopes To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm, Even while the traitor's impious act is told, He buckles on his hoary head: he girds With mail his stooping breast: the shield, the spear, He snatcheth: and with swift, indignant strides The assembled people seeks: proclaims aloud It was no time for counsel: in their spears Lay all their prudence now: the tyrant yet Was not so firmly seated on his throne, But that one shock of their united force Would dash him from the summit of his pride, Headlong and grovelling in the dust. "What else Can re-assert the lost Athenian name So cheaply to the laughter of the world Betray'd; by guile beneath an infant's faith So mock'd and scorn'd? Away then: freedom now And safety dwell not but with fame in arms: Myself will show you where their mansion lies, And through the walks of danger or of death Conduct you to them." While he spake, through all Their crowded ranks his quick, sagacious eye He darted; where no cheerful voice was heard Of social daring; no stretch'd arm was seen Hastening their common task: but pale mistrust Wrinkled each brow: they shook their heads, and down Their slack hands hung: cold sighs and whisper'd doubts From breath to breath stole round. The sage meantime Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heaved, Struggling with shame and sorrow: till at last A tear broke forth; and, "O immortal shades! O Theseus!" he exclaim'd; "O Codrus! where, Where are ye now? behold for what ye toil'd Through life! behold for whom ye chose to die!" No more he added; but with lonely steps Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd, And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground, Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd. There o'er the gate his armour, as a man Whom from the service of the war his chief Dismisseth after no inglorious toil, He fix'd in general view. One wishful look He sent, unconscious, toward the public place At parting; then beneath his quiet roof Without a word, without a sigh, retired. Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores, When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet Of four Athenians by the same sad care Conducted all: than whom the state beheld None nobler. First came Megacles, the son Of great Alcmæon whom the Lydian King, The mild, unhappy Crœsus, in his days Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd, Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctured webs And heaps of treasured gold beyond the lot Of many sovereigns; thus requiting well That hospitable favour which erewhile Alcmæon to his messengers had shown, Whom he with offerings worthy of the god Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore, The virtuous child of Clisthenes whose hand Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far In Sicyon sway'd: but greater fame he drew From arms controll'd by justice, from the love Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once His warlike steeds the hero led, and there Contended through the tumult of the course With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal, Amid the applauses of assembled Greece, High on his car he stood and waved his arm. Silence ensued: when straight the herald's voice Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, Whom Clisthenes content might call his son, To visit, ere twice thirty days were pass'd, The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed, Within the circuit of the following year, To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand With his fair daughter, him among the guests Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from all The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came: From rich Hesperia; from the Illyrian shore Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge Looks on the setting sun; from those brave tribes Chaonian or Molossian whom the race Of great Achilles governs, glorying still In Troy o'erthrown; from rough Ætolia, nurse Of men who first among the Greeks threw off The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms Devoted; from Thessalia's fertile meads, Where flows Peneus near the lofty walls Of Cranon old; from strong Eretria, queen Of all Eubœan cities, who, sublime On the steep margin of Euripus, views Across the tide the Marathonian plain, Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too, Minerva's care, among her graceful sons Found equal lovers for the princely maid: Nor was proud Argos wanting; nor the domes Of sacred Elis; nor the Arcadian groves That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft Some shepherd's song. But through the illustrious band Was none who might with Megacles compare In all the honours of unblemish'd youth. His was the beauteous bride; and now their son Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate Stood anxious; leaning forward on the arm Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet, And cheeks now pale, now glowing; for his heart Throbb'd full of bursting passions, anger, grief With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, Are destined for his country and himself In riper years to bring forth fruits divine Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd Two brave companions whom one mother bore To different lords; but whom the better ties Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more Than brothers: first Miltiades, who drew From godlike Æacus his ancient line; That Æacus whose unimpeach'd renown For sanctity and justice won the lyre Of elder bards to celebrate him throned In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees The guilty soul within the burning gates Of Tartarus compel, or send the good To inhabit with eternal health and peace The valleys of Elysium. From a stem So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring Than this Miltiades; whose aid ere long The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways Sent by the inspired foreknowing maid who sits Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now Save for his injured country, here he stands In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd: Unconscious both what widely-different lots Await them, taught by nature as they are To know one common good, one common ill. For Cimon not his valour, not his birth Derived from Codrus, not a thousand gifts Dealt round him with a wise benignant hand; No, not the Olympic olive by himself From his own brow transferr'd to soothe the mind Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons, And their assassin dagger. But if death Obscure upon his gentle steps attend, Yet fate an ample recompense prepares In his victorious son, that other great Miltiades, who o'er the very throne Of glory shall with Time's assiduous hand In adamantine characters engrave The name of Athens; and, by freedom arm'd 'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king, Shall all the achievements of the heroes old Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy. Such were the patriots who within the porch Of Solon had assembled. But the gate Now opens, and across the ample floor Straight they proceed into an open space Bright with the beams of morn: a verdant spot, Where stands a rural altar, piled with sods Cut from the grassy turf, and girt with wreaths Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd With leaves of olive on his reverend brow. He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream; Calling meantime the Muses to accept His simple offering, by no victim tinged With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire, But such as for himself Apollo claims In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt Is thence the Altar of the Pious named. Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd That worship; till the hero priest his eye Turn'd toward a seat on which prepared there lay A branch of laurel. Then his friends confess'd Before him stood. Backward his step he drew, As loath that care or tumult should approach Those early rites divine; but soon their looks, So anxious, and their hands, held forth with such Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce To speak to their affliction. "Are ye come," He cried, "to mourn with me this common shame? Or ask ye some new effort which may break Our fetters? Know then, of the public cause Not for yon traitor's cunning or his might Do I despair: nor could I wish from Jove Aught dearer than at this late hour of life, As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms From impious violation to assert The rights our fathers left us. But, alas! What arms? or who shall wield them? Ye beheld The Athenian people. Many bitter days Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room For just resentment, or their hands endure To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all Their hopes, so oft admired, so long beloved. That time will come, however. Be it yours To watch its fair approach, and urge it on With honest prudence: me it ill beseems Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold That envied power which once with eager zeal They offer'd to myself; nor can I plunge In counsels deep and various, nor prepare For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold What care employs me now. My vows I pay To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth And solace of my age. If right I deem Of the still voice that whispers at my heart, The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues With sacred silence favour what I speak, And haply shall my faithful lips be taught To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm As with impenetrable steel your breasts For the long strife before you, and repel The darts of adverse fate." He said, and snatch'd The laurel bough, and sate in silence down, Fix'd, wrapt in solemn musing, full before The sun, who now from all his radiant orb Drove the gray clouds and poured his genial light Upon the breast of Solon. Solon raised Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began: "Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove And Memory divine, Pierian maids, Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life, When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled, To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains Of flowing harmony to soften war's Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm The public eye, to clothe the form austere Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age Neglected, and supplanted of the hope On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you, To your mild wisdom flies, refuge beloved Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach The visions of my bed whate'er the gods In the rude ages of the world inspired, Or the first heroes acted: ye can make The morning light more gladsome to my sense Than ever it appear'd to active youth Pursuing careless pleasure; ye can give To this long leisure, these unheeded hours, A labour as sublime, as when the sons Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood To hear pronounced for all their future deeds The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers, I feel that ye are near me: and behold, To meet your energy divine, I bring A high and sacred theme; not less than those Which to the eternal custody of fame Your lips entrusted, when of old ye deign'd With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent The groves of Hæmus or the Chian shore. "Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all My various life was e'er from you estranged?) Oft hath my solitary song to you Reveal'd that duteous pride which turn'd my steps To willing exile; earnest to withdraw From envy and the disappointed thirst Of lucre, lest the bold, familiar strife, Which in the eye of Athens they upheld Against her legislator, should impair With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws. To Egypt therefore through the Ægean isles My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes Of Saï's, and the rites to Isis paid, I sought, and in her temple's silent courts, Through many changing moons, attentive heard The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue At morn or midnight the deep story told Of her who represents whate'er has been, Or is, or shall be; whose mysterious veil No mortal hand hath ever yet removed. By him exhorted, southward to the walls Of On I pass'd, the city of the sun, The ever-youthful god. 'Twas there amid His priests and sages, who the live-long night Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere, Or who in wondrous fables half disclose The secrets of the elements, 'twas there That great Psenophis taught my raptured ears The fame of old Atlantis, of her chiefs, And her pure laws, the first which earth obey'd. Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale; And often, while I listen'd, did my mind Foretell with what delight her own free lyre Should sometime for an Attic audience raise Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs Call forth those ancient demigods to speak Of justice and the hidden providence That walks among mankind. But yet meantime The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed On that tame garb and those unvarying paths To which the double yoke of king and priest Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last, with hymns Invoking our own Pallas and the gods Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave To Egypt, and before a southern wind Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey'd, What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm Of Crœsus or upon the Cyprian shore, The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now Consent that I reveal. But when at length Ten times the sun returning from the south Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fill'd The groves with music, pleased I then beheld The term of those long errors drawing nigh. 'Nor yet,' I said, 'will I sit down within The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod The Cretan soil, have pierced those reverend, haunts Whence law and civil concord issued forth As from their ancient home, and still to Greece Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.' Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships, Appears beneath famed Cnossus and her towers, Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen, I check'd my prow, and thence with eager steps The city of Minos enter'd. O ye gods Who taught the leaders of the simpler time By written words to curb the untoward will Of mortals, how within that generous isle Have ye the triumphs of your power display'd Munificent! Those splendid merchants, lords Of traffic and the sea, with what delight I saw them at their public meal, like sons Of the same household, join the plainer sort Whose wealth was only freedom! whence to these Vile envy, and to those fantastic pride, Alike was strange: but noble concord still Cherish'd the strength untamed, the rustic faith, Of their first fathers. Then the growing race, How pleasing to behold them in their schools, Their sports, their labours, ever placed within, O shade of Minos, thy controlling eye! Here was a docile band in tuneful tones Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve Their country's heroes from oblivious night, Resounding what the muse inspired of old; There, on the verge of manhood, others met, In heavy armour through the heats of noon To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb With measured swiftness, from the hard-bent bow To send resistless arrows to their mark, Or for the fame of prowess to contend, Now wrestling, now with fists and staves opposed, Now with the biting falchion, and the fence Of brazen shields; while still the warbling flute Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains Grave, solemn, soft; and changing headlong spite To thoughtful resolution cool and clear. Such I beheld those highlanders renown'd, So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war Each bold invader, and in peace to guard That living flame of reverence for their laws Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood Of foreign wealth diffused o'er all the land, Could quench or slacken. First of human names In every Cretan's heart was Minos still; And holiest far, of what the sun surveys Through his whole course, were those primeval seats Which with religious footsteps he had taught Their sires to approach; the wild Dictæan cave Where Jove was born; the ever-verdant meads Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne Yet stands mysterious; whither Minos came Each ninth returning year, the king of gods And mortals there in secret to consult On justice, and the tables of his law To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates Men visit; nor less oft the antique fane Built on that sacred spot, along the banks Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove And his majestic consort join'd their hands And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas! 'twas there That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds I first received; what time an annual feast Had summon'd all the genial country round, By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind That first great spousal; while the enamour'd youths And virgins, with the priest before the shrine, Observe the same pure ritual and invoke The same glad omens. There, among the crowd Of strangers from those naval cities drawn Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore, A merchant of Ægina I descried, My ancient host: but, forward as I sprung To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow, Stopp'd half averse; and, 'O Athenian guest,' He said, 'art thou in Crete; these joyful rites Partaking? Know thy laws are blotted out: Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne!' He added names of men, with hostile deeds Disastrous; which obscure and indistinct I heard: for, while he spake, my heart grew cold And my eyes dim; the altars and their train No more were present to me: how I fared, Or whither turn'd, I know not; nor recall Aught of those moments other than the sense Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep; And, from the toils of some distressful dream To break away, with palpitating heart, Weak limbs, and temples bathed in death-like dew, Makes many a painful effort. When at last The sun and nature's face again appear'd, Not far I found me; where the public path, Winding through cypress groves and swelling meads, From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends. Heedless I follow'd on; till soon the skirts Of Ida rose before me, and the vault, Wide-opening, pierced the mountain's rocky side, Entering within the threshold, on the ground I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MILLE ET UN SENTIMENTS (PREMIERS CENTS) by DENISE DUHAMEL SUNDAY AFTERNOON by CLARENCE MAJOR I BROOD ABOUT SOME CONCEPTS, FOR EXAMPLE by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER EASY LESSONS IN GEOPHAGY by KENNETH REXROTH GENTLEMEN, I ADDRESS YOU PUBLICLY by KENNETH REXROTH ON FLOWER WREATH HILL: 1 by KENNETH REXROTH THE VIRTUOSO; IN IMITATION OF SPENCER'S STYLE AND STANZA by MARK AKENSIDE |
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