Page:The Pleasures of Imagination - Akenside (1744).djvu/106

92 Thro' all its tones the sympathy pursue; Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy Steal thro' his veins and fan th' awaken'd heart, Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song?


 * But were not nature still indow'd at large

With all which life requires, tho' unadorn'd With such inchantment? Wherefore then her form So exquisitely fair? her breath perfum'd With such æthereal sweetness? whence her voice Inform'd at will to raise or to depress Th' impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of light Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp Than fancy can describe? Whence but from thee, O source divine of ever-flowing love, And thy unmeasur'd goodness? Not content With every food of life to nourish man, By kind illusions of the wond'ring sense Thou mak'st all nature beauty to his eye, Or music to his ear: well-pleas'd he scans The goodly prospect; and with inward smiles Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain; Beholds the azure canopy of heav'n, And living lamps that over-arch his head With more than regal splendor; bends his ears To the full choir of water, air, and earth; Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch, Nor