Page:The Pleasures of Imagination - Akenside (1744).djvu/107

Rh Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds Than space, or motion, or eternal time: So sweet he feels their influence to attract The fixed soul; to brighten the dull glooms Of care, and make the destin'd road of life Delightful to his feet. So fables tell, Th' adventurous heroe, bound on hard exploits, Beholds with glad surprize, by secret spells Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, A visionary paradise disclos'd Amid the dubious wild: with streams, and shades, And airy songs, th' enchanted landskip [sic] smiles, Cheers his long labours and renews his frame.

What then is taste, but these internal pow'rs Active, and strong, and feelingly alive To each fine impulse? a discerning sense Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust From things deform'd, or disarrang'd, or gross In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow; But alone, when first his active hand Imprints the secret byass of the soul. He, mighty parent! wise and just in all, Free as the vital breeze or light of heav'n, Reveals the charms of nature. Ask the swain Who journeys homeward from a summer day's Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils And