TO THE POWERS OF FANCY. Он ye wild Powers of Fancy! from whom springs Whate'er of rapture or of bliss adorns The bloom of youth; ye whose ambrosial wings Shower down life's blessings, but withhold its thorns, Still may your dear illusions o'er my soul What though cold Apathy would curb your sway, Let others boast their bosoms never knew The phantasies with which your thraldom teems; Let others their unvaried course pursue; For me....my heart your sway a blessing deems. Oft has your influence led, my feet have strayed Through dells enlightened by the moon's pale beam, Have sought the silence of the pathless glade, The vaulted rock, or long-resounding stream. Then would the murmurs of the passing wind, That breathed, soft sighing, through the rustling sprays, Create strange feelings in my melting mind, maze. Then would the cataract's impetuous sound Sweet were ye, dreams of Fancy, when my soul First felt the bosom-spring of young desire, When first Love's dear enchantment o'er me stole, And every pulse confessed his thrilling fire. Then first did Hope unveil her laughing eyes, Then Love was all to me; all nature round Seemed full of Love; in every leaf and flower Something congenial with his flame I found, Some apt memorial of his wide-spread power. Oft as I shunned the busy haunts of care, That floated buoyant on the wings of air And now, while undiminished through my frame Glows the fierce fire, and burns in every pore, Still join your genial influence to the flame, And add some new-born charm unknown before. "Oh ye wild Powers of Fancy! from whom springs Whate'er of rapture or of bliss adorns The bloom of youth, ye whose ambrosial wings Shower down life's blessings, but withhold its thorns, |