Poetical Works of Akenside by Mark Akenside (classic books to read .TXT) 📖

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. Oh! still too liberal of their trust,
And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, 70
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, 80
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. 90
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 hate, 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 patriot's grief impede 100
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 110
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 reassert 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 120
And Safety dwell not but with Fame in arms;
Myself will shew 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 head, and down
Their slack hands hung; cold sighs and whisper'd doubts 130
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, 140
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 150
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 Alcmaeon, whom the Lydian king,
The mild, unhappy Croesus, 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 160
Of many sovereigns; thus requiting well
That hospitable favour which erewhile
Alcmaeon 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 Clistheues, whose hand
Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far
In Sicyon sway'd: but greater fame he drew 170
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, 180
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 190
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 Aetolia, 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 Euboean cities, who, sublime 200
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 210
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, 220
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 AEacus his ancient line;
That AEacus whose unimpeach'd renown
For sanctity and justice won the lyre 230
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