Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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Fons Parnassi.
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
134
Fons Parnassi.
The Solace of Song.
Ever babbling, ever bubbling,
Bright as light, and calmly clear,
Cure for every trial troubling,
Solace ever new and near,
Fons Parnassi! free and flowing,
Fons Parnassi! glad and glowing,
Rarefied creative pleasure!
O they lie who say that Song
Is a merely graceful measure,
Just a luxury of leisure,
Not an anthem sweet and strong
Rich in spiritual treasure
That to Seraphs might belong,—
Not a tender consolation
All the cares of life among,
Not the balm of broad creation
In this maze of right and wrong,—
Not the secret soul's distilling,
Every nerve and fibre filling
With intense ecstatic thrilling,—
Evoe! Fons Parnassi,
Fons ebrie Parnassi!
Bright as light, and calmly clear,
Cure for every trial troubling,
Solace ever new and near,
Fons Parnassi! free and flowing,
Fons Parnassi! glad and glowing,
Rarefied creative pleasure!
O they lie who say that Song
Is a merely graceful measure,
Just a luxury of leisure,
Not an anthem sweet and strong
Rich in spiritual treasure
That to Seraphs might belong,—
Not a tender consolation
All the cares of life among,
Not the balm of broad creation
In this maze of right and wrong,—
Not the secret soul's distilling,
Every nerve and fibre filling
With intense ecstatic thrilling,—
Evoe! Fons Parnassi,
Fons ebrie Parnassi!
Ah! thou fairy fount of sweetness,
Well I wot how dear thou art
In thy purity and meetness
To my hot and thirsty heart,
When, with sympathetic fleetness,
I have raced from thought to thought,
And, array'd in maiden neatness,
By her natural taste well taught,
Thy young Naiad, thy Pieria,
My melodious Egeria,
Winsomely finds out my fancies
Frank as Sappho, as unsought,—
And with innocent wife-like glances
Close beside my spirit dances,
As a sister Ariel ought,—
Tripping at her wanton will,
With unpremeditated skill,
Like a gushing mountain rill,
Or a bright Bacchante reeling
Through the flights of thought and feeling,
Half concealing, half revealing
Whatsoe'er of Spirit's fire,
Beauty kindling with desire,
Can be caught in Word's attire!
Evoe! Fons Parnassi,
Fons ebrie Parnassi!
Well I wot how dear thou art
In thy purity and meetness
To my hot and thirsty heart,
135
I have raced from thought to thought,
And, array'd in maiden neatness,
By her natural taste well taught,
Thy young Naiad, thy Pieria,
My melodious Egeria,
Winsomely finds out my fancies
Frank as Sappho, as unsought,—
And with innocent wife-like glances
Close beside my spirit dances,
As a sister Ariel ought,—
Tripping at her wanton will,
With unpremeditated skill,
Like a gushing mountain rill,
Or a bright Bacchante reeling
Through the flights of thought and feeling,
Half concealing, half revealing
Whatsoe'er of Spirit's fire,
Beauty kindling with desire,
Can be caught in Word's attire!
Evoe! Fons Parnassi,
Fons ebrie Parnassi!
| Ballads for the Times | |