William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
To the Evening StarMark Akenside (17211770)
T
With young Endymion stays:
And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of brighter rays.
With awe thy path surrounds,
Oh, listen to my suppliant song,
If haply now the vocal sphere
Can suffer thy delighted ear
To stoop to mortal sounds.
Thee still invoke to shine;
So may the bride’s unmarried train
To Hymen chaunt their flattering vow,
Still that his lucky torch may glow
With lustre pure as thine.
To thy indulgent power.
Alas! but now I paid my tear
On fair Olympia’s virgin tomb;
And lo, from thence, in quest I roam
Of Philomela’s bower.
Thou purest light above:
Let no false flame seduce to stray
Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm;
But lead where music’s healing charm
May soothe afflicted love.
In happier seasons vow’d,
These lawns, Olympia’s haunt, belongs:
Oft by yon silver stream we walk’d,
Or fix’d, while Philomela talk’d,
Beneath yon copses stood.
That roofless tower invade,
We came while her enchanting Muse
The radiant moon above us held;
Till, by a clamorous owl compell’d,
She fled the solemn shade.
Now, Hesper, guide my feet
Down the red marl with moss o’ergrown,
Through yon wild thicket next the plain,
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane,
Which leads to her retreat.
Enlarg’d it spreads around:
See, in the midst she takes her stand,
Where one old oak his awful shade
Extends o’er half the level mead
Inclos’d in woods profound.
She now prolongs her lays:
How sweetly down the void they float!
The breeze their magic path attends;
The stars shine out; the forest bends;
The wakeful heifers gaze.
To this sequest’d spot,
If then the plaintive Siren sing,
O softly tread beneath her bower,
And think of heaven’s disposing power,
Of man’s uncertain lot.
What mournful scenes arise;
What ruin waits on kingly rage;
How often virtue dwells with woe;
How many griefs from knowledge flow;
How swiftly pleasure flies.
Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
Bear witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Nature’s common cares
Till I forget my own.