To Fancy
Far away, Despair, Dismay,
Care and Anguish, far away;
Fancy's charms withstand them all,
Fancy rules the rolling ball.
All the fairest forms we see,
Are not half so fair as she:
Ever lovely, ever young,
Goddess, listen to my song;
Tune the harp, and smoothe the lays,
Soothe and suit them to thy praise,
That the tribute may not be
Unacceptable to thee;
So may sweeter sacrifice
Hourly on thy altars rise,
So may greener garlands twine
Round about thy sacred shrine.
How wild the haunts where Fancy lives;
How sweet the joys which Fancy gives;
How soft the soul, to guile unknown,
Which Fancy forms and calls her own;
There every virtue blossoms fair,
And every generous germ is there,
There Truth presides in fiction drest;
And Nature dwells a constant guest;
And Love, and Joy, and Art combine,
To rear their lovely Sovereign's shrine.
The Passions, they who rule o'er all,
Themselves are ruled at Fancy's call.
Revenge in midnight murders dyed,
And Guilt and Anger near allied,
Consuming Grief, corroding Care,
And withering Rage, and black Despair,
All, all submit to Fancy's chain,
And strive to burst their bonds in vain.
What are the thousand ills of life,
Bewildering Woe, and Fear, and strife,
The miseries which mankind distress.
To him whom Fancy loves to bless?
For she can bid the desert bloom
With fairest flowers of sweet perfume;
Transform the dens where darkness reigns,
To flowery fields and fertile plains,
And make the pensive prisoner's cell,
A place for Freedom's self to dwell.
Where Fancy waves her magic wand
Rich fruits adorn the barren land;
And Ceres spreads her golden store,
Where Desolation rul'd before;
The dismal caves, and yawning graves,
Where Envy pines, and Madness raves,
By Fancy touch'd in scenes abound
With Nature's greenest glories crown'd;
And rising hill, and verdant vale,
With joy the sweet magician hail.
Happy he whom Fancy leads,
Thro' her wild sequester'd meads,
Over valley, over hill,
By the torrent, by the rill,
She will lead him to her bow'rs,
Cull for him the fairest flow'rs,
Sweetest pleasures he shall find,
Greenest bays his temples bind;
All throughout the livelong day,
She will sing his cares away;
And her notes of soft delight,
Lull his soul to rest by night;
By the torrent, by the rill,
Over valley, over hill,
Thro' her wild sequester'd meads,
Happy he whom Fancy leads.
Care and Anguish, far away;
Fancy's charms withstand them all,
Fancy rules the rolling ball.
All the fairest forms we see,
Are not half so fair as she:
Ever lovely, ever young,
Goddess, listen to my song;
Tune the harp, and smoothe the lays,
Soothe and suit them to thy praise,
That the tribute may not be
Unacceptable to thee;
So may sweeter sacrifice
Hourly on thy altars rise,
So may greener garlands twine
Round about thy sacred shrine.
How wild the haunts where Fancy lives;
How sweet the joys which Fancy gives;
How soft the soul, to guile unknown,
Which Fancy forms and calls her own;
There every virtue blossoms fair,
And every generous germ is there,
There Truth presides in fiction drest;
And Nature dwells a constant guest;
And Love, and Joy, and Art combine,
To rear their lovely Sovereign's shrine.
The Passions, they who rule o'er all,
Themselves are ruled at Fancy's call.
Revenge in midnight murders dyed,
And Guilt and Anger near allied,
Consuming Grief, corroding Care,
And withering Rage, and black Despair,
All, all submit to Fancy's chain,
And strive to burst their bonds in vain.
What are the thousand ills of life,
Bewildering Woe, and Fear, and strife,
The miseries which mankind distress.
To him whom Fancy loves to bless?
For she can bid the desert bloom
With fairest flowers of sweet perfume;
Transform the dens where darkness reigns,
To flowery fields and fertile plains,
And make the pensive prisoner's cell,
A place for Freedom's self to dwell.
Where Fancy waves her magic wand
Rich fruits adorn the barren land;
And Ceres spreads her golden store,
Where Desolation rul'd before;
The dismal caves, and yawning graves,
Where Envy pines, and Madness raves,
By Fancy touch'd in scenes abound
With Nature's greenest glories crown'd;
And rising hill, and verdant vale,
With joy the sweet magician hail.
Happy he whom Fancy leads,
Thro' her wild sequester'd meads,
Over valley, over hill,
By the torrent, by the rill,
She will lead him to her bow'rs,
Cull for him the fairest flow'rs,
Sweetest pleasures he shall find,
Greenest bays his temples bind;
All throughout the livelong day,
She will sing his cares away;
And her notes of soft delight,
Lull his soul to rest by night;
By the torrent, by the rill,
Over valley, over hill,
Thro' her wild sequester'd meads,
Happy he whom Fancy leads.
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