FROM THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION
FROM Heaven my strains begin; from Heaven descends
The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy,
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun
Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night The moon suspended her serener lamp;
Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorned the globe, Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore; Then lived the Almighty One: then, deep-retired
In his unfathomed essence, viewed the forms,
The forms eternal of created things;
The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe, And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first Of days, on them his love divine he fixed, His admiration; till in time complete What he admired and loved, his vital smile Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
75 Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves; Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold; And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers, And all the fair variety of things.
But not alike to every mortal eye
80 Is this great scene unveiled. For since the claims Of social life to different labours urge
The active powers of man, with wise intent The hand of Nature on peculiar minds Imprints a different bias, and to each
85 Decrees its province in the common toil.
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, The golden zones of heaven: to some she gave To weigh the moment of eternal things,
90 Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, And will's quick impulse: others by the hand She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore What healing virtue swells the tender veins
Or herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn 95 Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes Were destined; some within a finer mould. She wrought, and tempered with a purer flame. To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds
100 The world's harmonious volume, there to read The transcript of Himself. On every part
They trace the bright impressions of his hand: In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores, The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portrayed That uncreated beauty, which delights The Mind supreme. They also feel her charms, Enamoured; they partake the eternal joy.
For as old Memnon's image, long renowned By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string Consenting, sounded through the warbling air Unbidden strains; even so did Nature's hand To certain species of external things, Attune the finer organs of the mind: So the glad impulse of congenial powers, Or of sweet sound, or fair proportioned form, The grace of motion, or the bloom of light, Thrills through Imagination's tender frame, From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul At length discloses every tuneful spring, To that harmonious movement from without Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain Diffuses its enchantment; Fancy dreams Of sacred fountains, and Elysian groves, And vales of bliss; the intellectual power Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear, And smiles; the passions, gently soothed away,
130 Sink to divine repose, and love and joy Alone are waking; love and joy, serene As airs that fan the summer. O! attend, Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch. Whose candid bosom the refining love
135 Of Nature warms, Oh! listen to my song; And I will guide thee to her favourite walks, And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.
Know, then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores,
140 Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms,
With love and admiration thus inflame The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons To three illustrious orders have referr'd; Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand, 145 The poet's tongue, confesses; the Sublime, The Wonderful, the Fair. I see them dawn! I see the radiant visions, where they rise, More lovely than when Lucifer displays His beaming forehead through the gates of morn, 150 To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring.
O'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight pale Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day, With bright Astræa seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs, Ye Nymphs, ye blue-eyed progeny of Thames, Who now the mazes of this rugged heath
Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air, Your lonely murmurs, tarry, and receive My offered lay. To pay you homage due, I leave the gates of sleep; nor shall my lyre Too far into the splendid hours of morn Engage your audience: my observant hand Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam Approach you. To your subterranean haunts Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care The humid sands; to loosen from the soil The bubbling sources; to direct the rills To meet in wider channels; or beneath Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon To slumber, sheltered from the burning heaven.
My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes Not unregarded of celestial powers,
I frame their language; and the Muses deign To guide the pious tenor of my lay. The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine) In early days did to my wandering sense Their secrets oft reveal; oft my raised ear
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