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Akenside, Mark, 1721-1770

"Poetical Works of Akenside"

'--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.


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