With quickest lustre glancing; while you view The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth With clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the round Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue Of some gay nymph amid her subject train, Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect, This kindred power of such discordant things' Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers At first were strung? Or rather from the links Which artful custom twines around her frame? For when the different images of things,
By chance combin'd, have struck the attentive soul With deeper impulse, or, connected long, Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinct The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain From that conjunction an eternal tie, And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind Recall one partner of the various league, Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise, And each his former station straight resumes: One movement governs the consenting throng, And all at once with rosy pleasures shine, Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care. "T was thus, if ancient Fame the truth unfold, Two faithful needles, from the informing touch Of the same parent-stone, together drew Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd With fatal impulse quivering to the Pole: Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars
Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserv'd The former friendship, and remember'd still The alliance of their birth: whate'er the line Which once possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew The sure associate, ere with trembling speed He found its path, and fix'd unerring there. Such is the secret union, when we feel
A song, a flower, a name, at once restore
Those long-connected scenes where first they mov' The attention: backward through her mazy walks Guiding the wanton Fancy to her scope,
To temples, courts, or fields; with all the band Of painted forms, of passions and designs Attendant: whence, if pleasing in itself, The prospect from that sweet accession gains Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind. By these mysterious ties the busy power Of Memory her ideal train preserves Entire; or when they would elude her watch, Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all The various forms of being to present, Before the curious aim of mimic Art,
Their largest choice: like spring's unfolded blooms Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee May taste at will, from their selected spoils To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse. Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm, Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens, With fairer semblance; not the sculptur'd gold More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, Than he, whose birth the sister powers of Art
Propitious view'd, and from his genial star Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind; Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve The seal of Nature.
There alone unchang'd,
The balmy walks of May
There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear, Melodious: and the virgin's radiant eye, Superior to disease, to grief, and time, Shines with un'bating lustre. Thus at length Endow'd with all that Nature can bestow, The child of Fancy oft in silence bends
O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast, With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves To frame he knows not what excelling things; And win he knows not what sublime reward Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers Labour for action: blind emotions heave
His bosom, and with loveliest frenzy caught, From Earth to Heaven he rolls his daring eye, From Heaven to Earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call, Flit swift before him. From the womb of Earth, From Ocean's bed they come; the eternal Heavens Disclose their splendours, and the dark Abyss Pours out her births unknown.
He marks the rising phantoms.
Their different forms; now blends them, now di
Enlarges, and extenuates by turns ;
Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,
And infinitely varies. Hither now,
Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,
With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan Begins to open. Lucid order dawns; And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd Each to its place, till rosy Earth unveil'd Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful Sun Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees Thus disentangled, his entire design Emerges. Colours mingle, features join; And lines converge: the fainter parts retire; The fairer eminent in light advance; And every image on its neighbour smiles. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, Into its proper vehicle he breathes
The fair conception; which, embodied thus, And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd, The various organs of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock, The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse, Beyond their proper powers attract the soul By that expressive semblance, while in sight Of Nature's great original we scan
The lively child of Art; while line by line And feature after feature we refer
To that sublime exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding love Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires
To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice Enclos'd and obvious to the beaming Sun, Collects his large effulgence; straight the Heavens With equal flames present on either hand The radiant visage: Persia stands at gaze, Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, To which his warbled orisons ascend.
Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, Favour'd of Heaven! while, plung'd in sordid cares, The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine: And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away Abash'd, and chill of heart, with sager frowns Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain, Perhaps even now, some cold fastidious judge Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil, And calls the love and beauty which I sing, The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say, Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense, To let her shine upon thee? So the man Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of Heaven, Might smile with scorn while raptur'd vision tells Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright O'er all creation. From the wise be far
Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song Descend so low; but rather now unfold, If human thought could reach, or words unfold, By what mysterious fabric of the mind,
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