University of Virginia Library

VII.

Sweet Poesy! whose gentle heart is fraught
With sensibility and tender thought;
Within whose eye is seen soft Pity's tear,
Like water shining in a diamond rare,
Rendering it thence more lovely and more fair;
Whose liquid language is that of the sky,
Such as the stars' angelic symphony,
Which is too pure for the unpurged ear
Of gross unscienced mortals, who thence scorn
The things that are too high for their low-borne,
And thought-estranged souls — and name thee, wild
Enthusiast, and Fancy's maddest child —
Enthusiast! — 'tis the name that I love best —
The very name congenial to my breast! —
And when they term thee so, then most they raise,
In my esteem, her whom they would abase.—
Enthusiast of Nature! Soul enflamed
With fire from her great Altar built by God,
And good by the wise Architect proclaimed!
Thine is the bliss of Angels free from sin!
O kindle all my spirits with thy fire!—
But why? — Trade calls me down to his abode —
Still thou'rt the active principle within!
To him my passive frame alone I give,
For I have never yielded so my soul,
Though subject be my thoughts to his control; —
Albeit he smother them, yet still they live,
And from their darkening shrouds again respire!
Then there I triumph o'er his tyrant power —
Yet when will come the date of Freedom's hour?
And who will lead me up the hill of Fame,
And twine the laurels round my humble name?
How would I bless the hand! my song should crown,
And pay him back those laurels of renown!
Is none to answer? — like an eagle young,
Why leave I not mine eyry then, and dare,
Fearless, the wide and dangerous tract of air,
On the broad banner of my pinions hung?