Page:The Pleasures of Imagination - Akenside (1744).djvu/105

Rh The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say, Is beauty then a dream because the glooms Of dullness 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 heav'n, 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, The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound Result from airy motion; and from shape The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. By what fine ties hath connected things When present in the mind; which in themselves Have no connection? Sure the rising sun, O'er the cærulean convex of the sea, With equal brightness and with equal warmth Might rowl his fiery orb; nor yet the soul Thus feel her frame expanded, and her pow'rs Exulting in the splendor she beholds; Like a young conqu'ror moving thro' the pomp Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve, Soft-murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain Attemper, could not man's discerning ear Rh