Now had Sir Owen feeling: things of late
Indifferent he began to love or hate;
What once could neither good nor ill impart
Now pleased the senses, and now touch’d the heart;
Prospects and pictures struck th’ awaken’d sight, 140
And each new object gave a new delight.
He, like th’ imperfect creature who had shaped
A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped;
Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl no more,
But a wing’d being, pleased and form’d to soar.