Mark Akenside - Ode VI: Hymn To Cheerfulness lyrics

How thick the shades of evening close! How pale the sky with weight of snows! Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire, And bid the joyless day retire. —Alas, in vain i try within To brighten the dejected scene, While rouz'd by grief these fiery pains Tear the frail texture of my veins; While winter's voice, that storms around, And yon deep d**h-bell's groaning sound Renew my mind's oppressive gloom, Till starting horror shakes the room. Is there in nature no kind power To sooth affliction's lonely hour? To blunt the edge of dire disease, And teach these wintry shades to please? Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair, Shine through the hovering cloud of care: O sweet of language, mild of mien, O virtue's friend and pleasure's queen, Asswage the flames that burn my breast, Compose my jarring thoughts to rest; And while thy gracious gifts i feel, My song shall all thy praise reveal. As once ('twas in Astræa's reign) The vernal powers renew'd their train, It happen'd that immortal Love Was ranging through the spheres above, And downward hither cast his eye The year's returning pomp to spy. He saw the radiant god of day, Waft in his car the rosy May; The fragrant Airs and genial Hours Were shedding round him dews and flowers; Before his wheels Aurora pa**'d, And Hesper's golden lamp was last. But, fairest of the blooming throng, When Health majestic mov'd along, Delighted to survey below The joys which from her presence flow, While earth enliven'd hears her voice, And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice; Then mighty Love her charms confess'd, And soon his vows inclin'd her breast, And, known from that auspicious morn, The pleasing Cheerfulness was born. Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven design'd To sway the movements of the mind, Whatever fretful pa**ion springs, Whatever wayward fortune brings To disarrange the power within, And strain the musical machine; Thou, Goddess, thy attempering hand Doth each discordant string command, Refines the soft, and swells the strong; And, joining nature's general song, Through many a varying tone unfolds The harmony of human souls. Fair guardian of domestic life, Kind banisher of homebred strife, Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye Deforms the scene where thou art by: No sickening husband damns the hour Which bound his joys to female power; No pining mother weeps the cares Which parents waste on thankless heirs: The officious daughters pleas'd attend; The brother adds the name of friend: By thee with flowers their board is crown'd, With songs from thee their walks resound; And morn with welcome lustre shines, And evening unperceiv'd declines. Is there a youth, whose anxious heart Labors with love's unpitied smart? Though now he stray by rills and bowers, And weeping waste the lonely hours, Or if the nymph her audience deign, Debase the story of his pain With slavish looks, discolor'd eyes, And accents faltering into sighs; Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease Can'st yield him happier arts to please, Inform his mien with manlier charms, Instruct his tongue with nobler arms, With more commanding pa**ion move, And teach the dignity of love. Friend to the Muse and all her train, For thee i court the Muse again: The Muse for thee may well exert Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art, Who owes to thee that pleasing sway Which earth and peopled heaven obey. Let melancholy's plaintive tongue Repeat what later bards have sung; But thine was Homer's ancient might, And thine victorious Pindar's flight: Thy hand each Lesbian wreathe attir'd: Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspir'd: Thy spirit lent the glad perfume Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom; Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale Delicious blows the inlivening gale, While Horace calls thy sportive choir, Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre. But see where yonder pensive sage (A prey perhaps to fortune's rage, Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd, Or glooms congenial to his breast) Retires in desart scenes to dwell, And bids the joyless world farewell. Alone he treads the autumnal shade, Alone beneath the mountain laid He sees the nightly damps ascend, And gathering storms aloft impend; He hears the neighbouring surges roll, And raging thunders shake the pole: Then, struck by every object round, And stunn'd by every horrid sound, He asks a clue for nature's ways; But evil haunts him through the maze: He sees ten thousand demons rise To wield the empire of the skies, And chance and fate a**ume the rod, And malice blot the throne of God. —O thou, whose pleasing power i sing, Thy lenient influence hither bring; Compose the storm, dispell the gloom, Till nature wear her wonted bloom, Till fields and shades their sweets exhale, And music swell each opening gale: Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, And let him learn the timely hour To trace the world's benignant laws, And judge of that presiding cause Who founds on discord beauty's reign, Converts to pleasure every pain, Subdues each hostile form to rest, And bids the universe be bless'd. O thou, whose pleasing power i sing, If right i touch the votive string, If equal praise i yield thy name, Still govern thou thy poet's flame; Still with the Muse my bosom share, And sooth to peace intruding care. But most exert thy pleasing power On friendship's consecrated hour; And while my Sophron points the road To godlike wisdom's calm abode, Or warm in freedom's ancient cause Traceth the source of Albion's laws, Add thou o'er all the generous toil The light of thy unclouded smile. But, if by fortune's stubborn sway From him and friendship torn away, I court the Muse's healing spell For griefs that still with absence dwell, Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams To such indulgent placid themes, As just the struggling breast may cheer And just suspend the starting tear, Yet leave that sacred sense of woe Which none but friends and lovers know.