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PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay
The fairest, brightest hues of ether fade; The sweetest notes must terminate and die; O Friend! thy Hute has breathed a harmony Softly resounded through this rocky glade; Such strains of rapture as * the Genius played In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high; He who stood visible to Mirzah's eye, Never before to human sight betrayed. Lo, in the vale the mists of evening spread! The visionary Arches are not there, Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas; Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head, From which I have been lifted on the breeze Of harmony, above all earthly care.
* See the vision of Mirzah in the Spectator.
“ Weak is the will of Man, his judgment blind; “Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays; “ Heavy is woe;- and joy, for human-kind, “ A mournful thing,—so transient is the blaze !" Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days Who wants the glorious faculty assigned To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind, And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays. Imagination is that sacred power, Imagination lofty and refined: 'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine Flower Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
Hail Twilight,-sovereign of one peaceful hour!
THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said, “ Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright !" Forthwith, that little Cloud, in ether spread, And penetrated all with tender light, She cast away, and shewed her fulgent head Uncover'd;—dazzling the Beholder's sight As if to vindicate her beauty's right, Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged Meanwhile that Veil, removed or thrown aside, Went, floating from her, darkening as it went; And a huge Mass, to bury or to hide, Approached this glory of the firmament; Who meekly yields, and is obscur'd;-content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.