And just before the officers His loving wife came in, Weeping unfeigned tears of wo With loud and dismal din. "Sweet Florence! now I pray forbear, Pray God that every Christian soul Sweet Florence! why these briny tears? And almost make me wish for life, 'Tis but a journey I shall go Unto the land of bliss; Now, as a proof of husband's love, Then Florence, faltering in her say, Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go The cruel axe that cuts thy neck, And now the officers came in "I go to life, and not to death; Teach them to run the noble race That I their father run, Florence! should death thee take-adiea Then Florence raved as any mad, And did her tresses tear; "Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life!"- Till tired out with raving loud, Sir Charles exerted all his might, Upon a sled he mounted then, With looks full brave and sweet. Looks that enshone no more concern Than any in the street. 1 Before him went the council-men, Then five-and-twenty archers came; Bold as a lion came Sir Charles, By two black steeds in trappings white, Behind him five-and-twenty more And after them a multitude Of citizens did throng; The windows were all full of heads, And when he came to the high cross, At the great minster window sat To see Charles Bawdin go along Soon as the sled drew nigh enough, The brave Sir Charles he did stand up, "Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile! But be assured, disloyal man, I'm greater now than thee. By foul proceedings, murder, blood, Thou thinkest I shall die to-day; I have been dead till now, And soon shall live to wear a crown For aye upon my brow; Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years, Shalt rule this fickle land, To let them know how wide the rule 'Twixt king and tyrant hand. Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave! King Edward's soul rush'd to his face, "To him, that so-much-dreaded death No ghastly terrors bring; Behold the man! he spake the truth; He's greater than a king!” "So let him die !" Duke Richard said And now the horses gently drew The axe did glister in the sun, Sir Charles did up the scaffold go, Of victory, by valorous chiefs And to the people he did say: As long as Edward rules this land, Your sons and husbands shall be slain, And brooks with blood shall flow. You leave your good and lawful king, Like me, unto the true cause stick, Then he, with priests, upon his knees, His parting soul to take. Then, kneeling down, he laid his head And out the blood began to flow, Did flow from each man's eyne. The bloody axe his body fair Into four partis cut; And every part, and eke his head, One part did rot on Kinwulph-hill, The other on Saint Paul's good gate, His head was placed on the high cross, Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate: And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul, RESIGNATION. O God, whose thunder shakes the sky, Thy mercy in thy justice praise. The mystic mazes of thy will, O teach me in the trying hour, When anguish swells the dewy tear, If in this bosom aught but Thee Then why, my soul, dost thou complain? For God created all to bless. But ah! my breast is human still- My languid vitals' feeble rill, The sickness of my soul declare. But yet, with fortitude resign'd, I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow; The gloomy mantle of the night, MARK AKENSIDE. 1721-1770. Few English poets of the eighteenth century are to be ranked before the author of "The Pleasures of the Imagination." He was born on the 9th of November, 1721, at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and was educated at the University of Edinburgh. His parents designed him for the ministry, but as his education progressed, other views governed him, and he devoted himself to the study of medicine as his future profession. After remaining three years at the Scottish capital, he went to Leyden, where he also studied three years, and took his degree of M. D. in 1744. Returning home the same year, he published his poem, "The Pleasures of the Imagination." On offering the copy to Dodsley, he demanded £120 for the manuscript, but the wary publisher hesitated at paying such a price for the work of an unknown youth of twenty. three. He therefore showed the work to Pope, when the latter, having glanced over a few pages, said, "Don't be niggardly about the terms, for this is no every-day writer." No sooner was it published than it excited great attention, and received general applause. But he could not reap from it "the means whereby to live," and he betook himself to the practice of his profession. He first settled in Northampton; but finding little encouragement there, he removed to Hampstead, and thence finally to London. Here he experienced the difficulty of getting into notice in a large city, and though he acquired several professional honors, he never obtained any large share of practice. He was busy in presenting himself to public notice, by publishing medical essays and observations, and delivering lectures, when his career was terminated by a putrid fever, on the 23d of January, 1770. The Pleasures of the Imagination is written in blank verse, with great beauty of versification, elegance of language, and splendor of imagery. Its object is to trace the various pleasures which we receive from nature and art to their respective principles in the human imagination, and to show the connection of those principles with the moral dignity of man, and the final purposes of his creation. This task Akenside has executed in a most admirable manner. If his philosophy be not always correct, his general ideas of moral truth are lofty and prepossessing. He is peculiarly eloquent in those passages in which he describes the final causes of our emotions of taste; he is equally skilful in delineating the processes of memory and association; and he gives an animating view of Genius collecting her stores for works of excellence. Of this poem Dr. Johnson remarks, "It has undoubtedly a just claim to a very particular notice, as an example of great felicity of genius and uncommon amplitude of acquisitions, of a young mind stored with images, and much exercised in combining and comparing them. The subject is well chosen, as it includes all images that can strike or please, and thus comprises every species of poetical delight." He complains, however, with equal justice, of the poet's amplitude of language, in which his meaning is frequently obscured, and sometimes wholly buried. In maturer life Akerside intended to revise and alter the whole poem, but he died before he had completed his design. The portion that he did improve" is contracted in some parts and expanded in others; but if it be more philosophically correct, it is shorn of much of its beauty and poetic fire; and 1 Campbell's Specimens, vol. vi. p. 128 |