The very tones in which we Spake

blad something strange I could lout markets
The leaves of memory demed to make
I moumful susiting in the dark.

Solenny W. Longfellow


Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of nature warms ; 0, listen to my song,
And I will guide thee to her favorite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.


BREAK, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud,

And spread thy purple wings,
Now all thy figures are allowed,

And various shapes of things ;
Create of airy forms a stream,
It must have blood, and naught of phlegm ;
And though it be a waking dream,
Yet let it like an odor rise

To all the senses here,
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,
Or music in their ear.


FANCY. Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home : At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage-door, She 'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.


FROM " THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION." As Memnon's marble harp renowned of old By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string Consenting, sounded through the warbling air Unbidden strains ; e'en 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, 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,

() sweet Fancy ! let her loose ;
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming :
Autumn's red-lipped fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting. What do then ?
Sit thet by the ingle, when
The sear fagot Hazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night ;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the plough boy's heavy shoon ;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
-- Sit thee there, and send abroad
With a inind self-overawed
Fancy, high-commissioned : - send her!
She has vassals to attend her ,
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost ;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather ;
All the buds and bells of May
From dewy sward or thorny spray ;

Quickly break her prison-string,
And such joys as these she 'll bring :
- Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.


All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth ;
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it; --- thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear ;
Rustle of the reaper' corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn;
And in the same moment - hark !
'T is the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw,
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold ;
White-plumed lilies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May ;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearlèd with the self-same shower.
Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny bank its skin ;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
Hatching in the hawthorn tree,
When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When tne bee-hive casts its swarm ;
Acorns ripe down-pattering
While the autumn breezes sing.


In melancholic fancy,

Out of myself,
In the vulcan dancy,
All the world surveying,
Nowhere staying,

Just like a fairy elf ;
Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping,
Out o'er the hills, the trees and valleys tripping,
| Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Amidst the misty vapors,

Fain would I know
What doth cause the tapers ;
Why the clouds benight us,
And affright us

While we travel here below.
Fain would I know what makes the roaring

thunder, And what these lightnings be that rend the

clouds asunder, And what these comets are on which we gaze

and wonder. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I know the reason

Why the little ant,
All the summer season,
Layeth up provision,
On condition

To know no winter's want :
And how these little fishes, that swim beneath

salt water, Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater !

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go

D sweet Fancy ! let her loose ;
Everything is spoilt by use :
Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new ?
Where's the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where's the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft ?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let then winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind :
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter,
Ere the god of torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide ;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet
While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash ;

Fain would I be resolved

How things are done ;
And where the bull was calved
of bloody Phalaris,
And where the tailor is

That works to the man i' the moon !
Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly ;
And how these little fairies do dance and leap

so lightly ; And where fair ('ynthia makes her ambles

nightly. 1 Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go !

In conceit like Phaeton,

| If one spirit sits the outnost circle turning, I'll mount Phæbus' chair,

Or one turns another, continuing in journeying, Having ne'er a hat on,

If rapid circles' motion be that which they call All my hair a-burning

burning! In my journeying,

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
Hurrying through the air.
Fair would I hear his fiery horses neighing,

Fain also would I prove this,
And see how they on foamy bits are playing ; : . By considering
All the stars and planets I will be surveying! What that, which you call love, is :
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Whether it be a folly

Or a melancholy,
O, from what ground of nature

Or some heroi thing!
Doth the pelican,

Fain I'd have it proved, by one whom love hath That self-devouring creature,

wounded, Prove so froward

And fully upon one his desire hath founded, And untoward,

Whom nothing else could please though the Her vitals for to strain ?

world were roun.led. And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thon go ? is lying, Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by

To know this world's centre, crying ;

Height, depth, breadth, and length, And why the milk-white swan doth sing when

Fain would I ailventure she's a-dying.

To search the hid attractions Hallo, my faucy, whither wilt thou go?

Of magnetic actions,

And adamantine strength. Fain would I conclude this,

Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain, At least make essay,

Where the moon sojourns, if there be trees or What similitude is;

fountain ; Why fowls of a feather

If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to Flock and fly together,

hunt in. And lambs know beasts of prey :

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? How Nature's alchymists, these small laborious creatures,

Fain would I have it tried Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their

By experiment, matters,

By none can be denied ! And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their

If in this bulk of nature, features.

There be voids less or greater, Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Or all remains complete.

|Fain would I know if beasts have any reason ; I'm rapt with admiration,

If falcons killing eagles do commit a treason ; When I do ruminate,

If fear of winter's waut make swallows fly the Men of an occupation,

season. How each one calls him brother,

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
Yet each envieth other,
And yet still intimate !

Hallo, my fancy, hallo!
Yea, I admire to see some natures farther sun-

Stay, stay at home with me, d'red,

I can thee no longer follow, Than antipodes to us. Is it not to be wond'red ?

For thou hast betrayed me, In myriads ye'll find, of one mind scarce a hun

And bewrayed me ; dred?

It is too much for thee. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Stay, stay at home with me ; leave off thy lofty

soaring; What multitude of notions

Stay thou at honie with me, and on thy books Doth perturb my pate,

be poring ; ('onsidering the motions,

For he that yocs abroad lays little in storing: llow the heavens are preserved,

Thou 'rt welcome home, my faney, welcome Aud this world served

home to me. In moisture, light, and heat !



| And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees, I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, From the seas and the streams; .

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, In their noonday dreams.

Are each paved with the moon and these. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one,

I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, ' And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; As she dances about the sun.

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. And whiten the green plains under ; From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, And then again I dissolve it in rain,

Over a torrent sea, And laugh as I pass in thunder.

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The inountains its columns be. I sift the snow on the mountains below,

The triumphal arch through which I march And their great pines groan aghast ;

With hurricane, fire, and snow, And all the night 't is my pillow white,

When the powers of the air are chained to my While I sleep in the arms of the blast.

chair, Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers

Is the million-colored bow; Lightning, my pilot, sits :

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, In a cavern under is fettered the thunder ;

While the moist earth was laughing below. It struggles and howls by fits. Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,

I am the daughter of the earth and water ; This pilot is guiding me,

And the nursling of the sky; Lured by the love of the genii that move

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ; In the depths of the purple sea;

I change, but I cannot die. Over the rills and the crays and the hills,

For after the rain, when, with never a stain, Over the lakes and plains,

The pavilion of heaven is bare, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,

And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex The spirit he loves remains ;

gleams, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile. Build up the blue dome of air, — Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from And his burning plumes outspread,

the tomb, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

I rise and upbuild it again. When the morning star shines dead.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. As, on the jag of a mountain crag

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle, alit, one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings;
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,

Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
Its ardors of rest and of love,

To make the shifting clouds be what you please, And the crimson pall of eve may fall

Or let the easily persuaded eyes From the depth of heaven above,

Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest, Of a friend's fancy ; or, with head bent low, As still as a brooding dove.

And cheek aslant, see rivers flow of gold,

"Twixt crimson banks; and then a traveller go That orbed maiden with white fire laden,

From mount to mount, through Cloudland, gor Whom mortals call the moon,

geous land ! Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor Or, listening to the tide with closed sight, By the midnight breezes strewn ;

Be that blind Bard, who on the Chian strand, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, Which only the angels hear,

Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssey,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.
The stars peep behind her and peer;


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