Poetical Works of Akenside by Mark Akenside

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ENDNOTE LL.

_'One pursues
The vast alone'_, etc.--P. 61.

See the note to ver. 18 of this book.

ENDNOTE MM.

_'Waller longs'_, etc.--P. 61.

Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay
Under the plantane shade; and all the day
With amorous airs my fancy entertain, etc.
_WALLER, Battle of the Summer-Islands_, Canto I.

And again,
While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer
Attend my passion, and forget to fear, etc.
At Pens-hurst.

ENDNOTE NN.

_'Not a breeze'_, etc.--P. 63.

That this account may not appear rather poetically extravagant than
just in philosophy, it may be proper to produce the sentiment of one
of the greatest, wisest, and best of men on this head; one so little
to be suspected of partiality in the case, that he reckons it among
those favours for which he was especially thankful to the gods, that
they had not suffered him to make any great proficiency in the arts
of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means he should have been
diverted from pursuits of more importance to his high station.
Speaking of the beauty of universal nature, he observes, that there
'is a pleasing and graceful aspect in every object we perceive,'
when once we consider its connexion with that general order. He
instances in many things which at first sight would be thought
rather deformities; and then adds, 'that a man who enjoys a
sensibility of temper with a just comprehension of the universal
order--will discern many amiable things, not credible to every mind,
but to those alone who have entered into an honourable familiarity
with nature and her works.'
--_M. Antonin_. iii. 2.

THE

PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.

A POEM.

GENERAL ARGUMENT.

The pleasures of the imagination proceed either from natural objects,
as from a flourishing grove, a clear and murmuring fountain, a calm
sea by moonlight; or from works of art, such as a noble edifice, a
musical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem. In treating of these
pleasures, we must begin with the former class; they being original
to the other; and nothing more being necessary, in order to explain
them, than a view of our natural inclination toward greatness and
beauty, and of those appearances, in the world around us, to which
that inclination is adapted. This is the subject of the first book
of the following poem.

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, from music,
sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much more various and
complicated. In them (besides greatness and beauty, or forms proper
to the imagination) we find interwoven frequent representations of
truth, of virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to move us with
laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear, and the other passions.
These moral and intellectual objects are described in the second book;
to which the third properly belongs as an episode, though too large
to have been included in it.

With the above-mentioned causes of pleasure, which are universal in
the course of human life, and appertain to our higher faculties,
many others do generally occur, more limited in their operation, or
of an inferior origin: such are the novelty of objects, the
association of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of
education, national habits, and the like. To illustrate these, and
from the whole to determine the character of a perfect taste, is the
argument of the fourth book.

Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the human
species in general. But there are certain particular men whose
imagination is endowed with powers, and susceptible of pleasures,
which the generality of mankind never participate. These are the men
of genius, destined by nature to excel in one or other of the arts
already mentioned. It is proposed, therefore, in the last place, to
delineate that genius which in some degree appears common to them all;
yet with a more peculiar consideration of poetry: inasmuch as poetry
is the most extensive of those arts, the most philosophical, and the
most useful.

BOOK I. 1757.

ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the Supreme Being, the
exemplars of all things. The variety of constitution in the minds of
men; with its final cause. The general character of a fine
imagination. All the immediate pleasures of the human imagination
proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in external objects. The
pleasure from Greatness; with its final cause. The natural connexion
of Beauty with truth [2] and good. The different orders of Beauty in
different objects. The infinite and all-comprehending form of Beauty,
which belongs to the Divine Mind. The partial and artificial forms
of Beauty, which belong to inferior intellectual beings. The origin
and general conduct of beauty in man. The subordination of local
beauties to the beauty of the Universe. Conclusion.

With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene
Attracts the sense of mortals; how the mind
For its own eye doth objects nobler still
Prepare; how men by various lessons learn
To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill
The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd,
And what true culture guides it to renown,
My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,
Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend
Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard 10
Move in majestic measures, leading on
His doubtful step through many a solemn path,
Conscious of secrets which to human sight
Ye only can reveal. Be great in him:
And let your favour make him wise to speak
Of all your wondrous empire; with a voice
So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear
May yield perpetual homage to yourselves.
Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love,
Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored 20
By Grecian prophets; to the sons of Heaven
Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there
The perfect counsels read, the ideas old,
Of thine omniscient Father; known on earth
By the still horror and the blissful tear
With which thou seizest on the soul of man;
Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks
Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull
Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf
Where Shakspeare lies, be present. And with thee 30
Let Fiction come, on her aërial wings
Wafting ten thousand colours, which in sport,
By the light glances of her magic eye,
She blends and shifts at will through countless forms,
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,
Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend,
And join this happy train? for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,
Wise Order: and, where Order deigns to come, 40
Her sister, Liberty, will not be far.
Be present all ye Genii, who conduct
Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step
New to your springs and shades; who touch their ear
With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye
The pomp of nature, and before them place
The fairest, loftiest countenance of things.

Nor thou, my Dyson, [3] to the lay refuse
Thy wonted partial audience. What though first,
In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports 50
Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay
With many splendid prospects, many charms,
Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung,
Nor heedful of their end? yet serious Truth
Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme
Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood,
Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once
Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil
Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid
Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 60
The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet
Preserving: nor to Truth's recess divine,
Through this wide argument's unbeaten space,
Withholding surer guidance; while by turns
We traced the sages old, or while the queen
Of sciences (whom manners and the mind
Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice
Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp
Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates
Have other tasks imposed;--to thee, my friend, 70
The ministry of freedom and the faith
Of popular decrees, in early youth,
Not vainly they committed; me they sent
To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge,
Inglorious; not ignoble, if my cares,
To such as languish on a grievous bed,
Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill
Conciliate; nor delightless, if the Muse,
Her shades to visit and to taste her springs,
If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse 80
Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone,
Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths
Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd
Wear in Elysium, and which never felt
The breath of envy or malignant tongues,
That these my hand for thee and for myself
May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend,
O early chosen, ever found the same,
And trusted and beloved, once more the verse
Long destined, always obvious to thine ear, 90
Attend, indulgent: so in latest years,
When time thy head with honours shall have clothed
Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind,
Amid the calm review of seasons past,
Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace,
Or public zeal, may then thy mind well pleased
Recall these happy studies of our prime.
From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends
The flame of genius to the chosen breast,
And beauty with poetic wonder join'd, 100
And inspiration. Ere the rising sun
Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon her silver lamp suspended; ere
The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves
Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd;
Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore,
Within his own deep essence view'd the forms,
The forms eternal of created things:
The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal lamp;
The mountains and the streams; the ample stores 110
Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first,
On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,
His admiration: till, in time complete,
What he admired and loved his vital power
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame:
Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves:
Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold;
And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers,
And all the fair variety of things. 120
But not alike to every mortal eye
Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims
Of social life to different labours urge
The active powers of man, with wisest care
Hath Nature on the multitude of minds
Impress'd a various bias, and to each
Decreed its province in the common toil.
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave 130
To search the story of eternal thought;
Of space, and time; of fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick movement; others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue dwells in every vein
Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes
Were destined; some within a finer mould
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds,
In fuller aspects and with fairer lights, 140
This picture of the world. Through every part
They trace the lofty sketches of his hand;
In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien
Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd
(As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan)
Those lineaments of beauty which delight
The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force,
Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 150
Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch
Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth
Spontaneous music, so doth Nature's hand,
To certain attributes which matter claims,
Adapt the finer organs of the mind;
So the glad impulse of those kindred powers
(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound
Melodious, or of motion aptly sped),
Detains the enliven'd sense; till soon the soul
Feels the deep concord, and assents through all 160
Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared
Diffuseth its enchantment Fancy dreams,
Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,
And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves,
Whose walks with godlike harmony resound:
Fountains, which Homer visits; happy groves,
Where Milton dwells; the intellectual power,
On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares,
And smiles; the passions, to divine repose 170
Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone
Are waking: love and joy, such as await
An angel's meditation. Oh! attend,
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch;
Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb
Can thus command; oh! listen to my song;
And I will guide thee to her blissful walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her gracious features to thy view.

Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store, 180
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes,
With love and admiration thus inspire
Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons
In two illustrious orders comprehend,
Self-taught: from him whose rustic toil the lark
Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts
Range the full orb of being, still the form,
Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair,
Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn:
I see the radiant visions where they rise, 190
More lovely than when Lucifer displays
His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.

Say, why was man so eminently raised
Amid the vast creation; why empower'd
Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,
In sight of angels and immortal minds,
As on an ample theatre to join 200
In contest with his equals, who shall best
The task achieve, the course of noble toils,
By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd?
Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn;
To chase each meaner purpose from his breast;
And through the mists of passion and of sense,
And through the pelting storms of chance and pain,
To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye
Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm,
The approving smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns 210
In mortal bosoms this unquenchèd hope,
That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,
Happy, though restless? Why departs the soul
Wide from the track and journey of her times,
To grasp the good she knows not? In the field
Of things which may be, in the spacious field
Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,
To raise up scenes in which her own desires
Contented may repose; when things, which are,
Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale: 220
Her temper, still demanding to be free;
Spurning the rude control of wilful might;
Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured,
Her strength severely proved? To these high aims,
Which reason and affection prompt in man,
Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed
His bold imagination. For, amid
The various forms which this full world presents
Like rivals to his choice, what human breast
E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, 230
To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime?
Who, that from heights aërial sends his eye
Around a wild horizon, and surveys
Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave
Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old,
And regions dark with woods, will turn away
To mark the path of some penurious rill
Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul
Consent her soaring fancy to restrain,
Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 240
Destined for highest heaven; or which of fate's
Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight
To any humbler quarry? The rich earth
Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air
With all its changes. For a while with joy
She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small
Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam,
Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles
Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye
Reflect the gleams of morning; for a while 250
With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway
Bend the reluctant planets to move each
Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits
That prospect; meditating loftier views,
She darts adventurous up the long career
Of comets; through the constellations holds
Her course, and now looks back on all the stars
Whose blended flames as with a milky stream
Part the blue region. Empyréan tracts,
Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven 260
Abide, she then explores, whence purer light
For countless ages travels through the abyss,
Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived.
Upon the wide creation's utmost shore
At length she stands, and the dread space beyond
Contemplates, half-recoiling: nathless, down
The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd,
She plungeth; down the unfathomable gulf
Where God alone hath being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth 270
Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said
That not in humble, nor in brief delight,
Not in the fleeting echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
The soul should find contentment; but, from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection fill the scene.

But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp, 280
With comely steps advancing, claims the verse
Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise,
Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things;
O thou that kindlest in each human heart
Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue
Would teach to other bosoms what so charms
Their own; O child of Nature and the soul,
In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb
Of words, of earthly language, all too mean,
Too lowly I account, in which to clothe 290
Thy form divine; for thee the mind alone
Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal
Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch
O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse,
If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou
Thy favourable seasons; then, while fear
And doubt are absent, through wide nature's bounds
Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 300
To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise,
And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend
Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles
Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,
Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on,
And learn from him; while, as he roves around,
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
The branches bloom with gold; where'er his foot
Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell,
Turning aside their foliage, and come forth 310
In purple lights, till every hillock glows
As with the blushes of an evening sky?
Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace,
Where slow Penéus his clear glassy tide
Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs
Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn
That wave o'er huge Olympus? Down the stream,
Look how the mountains with their double range
Embrace the vale of Tempé: from each side
Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 320
Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs
That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain.
Fair Tempé! on whose primrose banks the morn
Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed
In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime:
Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet
Had traced an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt
Of sylvan powers immortal: where they sate
Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns,
Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, 330
And leaning round hung on the instructive lips
Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale
Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe,
While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path
Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews,
And one perpetual spring. But if our task
More lofty rites demand, with all good vows
Then let us hasten to the rural haunt
Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse
The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat, 340
But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn:
Here, to thy own unquestionable theme,
O fair, O graceful, bend thy polish'd brow,
Assenting; and the gladness of thy eyes
Impart to me, like morning's wishèd light
Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream,
Where beech and elm along the bordering mead
Send forth wild melody from every bough,
Together let us wander; where the hills
Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale 350
Reply; where tidings of content and peace
Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun
O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul,
Diffuseth glad repose! There,--while I speak
Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou
Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell
How first from Heaven she came: how, after all
The works of life, the elemental scenes,
The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored,
At length her favourite mansion and her throne 360
She fix'd in woman's form; what pleasing ties
To virtue bind her; what effectual aid
They lend each other's power; and how divine
Their union, should some unambitious maid,
To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen,
Add sanctity and wisdom; while my tongue
Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou may'st feign
To wonder whence my rapture is inspired;
But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip
Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all 370
That soft cheek springing to the marble neck,
Which bends aside in vain, revealing more
What it would thus keep silent, and in vain
The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song
Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform
With joy and love the rugged breast of man,
Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme:
While all whose souls have ever felt the force
Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre
Should throng attentive, and receive once more 380
Their influence, unobscured by any cloud
Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand
Of Fortune can bestow; nor, to confirm
Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn
To join his dictates to the genuine strain
Of Pleasure's tongue; nor yet should Pleasure's ear
Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band
Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish
And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene
Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured 390
By various Beauty, if the pleasing toil
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean on bless'd Religion's seat,
Presenting Superstition's gloomy form,
To dash your soothing hopes; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth,
And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song
With happier omens calls you to the field, 400
Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,
And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know),
Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use
And aptitude are strangers? is her praise
Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends
Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature mean
This pleasing call the herald of a lie,
To hide the shame of discord and disease,
And win each fond admirer into snares,
Foil'd, baffled? No; with better providence 410
The general mother, conscious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
Thus, to the choice of credulous desire,
Doth objects the completest of their tribe
Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank
Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring,
Will not the flocks approve it? will they ask
The reedy fen for pasture? That clear rill
Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock,
Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 420
And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool
With muddy weeds o'ergrown? Yon ragged vine
Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage
Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl
Report of her, as of the swelling grape
Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem
When first it meets the sun. Or what are all
The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd?
Are they not pledges of a state entire,
Where native order reigns, with every part 430
In health, and every function well perform'd?

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