Soft is thy form—amid the unpent air,
Pay rosy exercise her just demands:
Tho' heaven thy lone hours woo
Earth still demands her due;
Gay health to guard e'en genius' palace stands—
And when she takes her flight—e'en genius, must despair.
Nor those alone doomed to incarnate birth
Painting, death-baffler, is it thine to save!
The heavenly shapes that flit,
When the entranced fit,
Is on, and the charmed soul forgets its earth,
Thou bidst to earthly eyes their sky-dipt vestments wave.
The radiant visions Fancy's wand uprears
When Poesy around has spread her spell,
Like summer flowrets dies
Refresh the enchanted skies,
Where, soft as air, and lovelier for her fears,
Bright in her golden robes flies fair-haired Florimell. [FN#24]
[FN#24] The flight of Florimell, from a scene in Spencer's Faery Queen, is an exquisite little picture by Allston, in the possession of a private gentleman.
The miracles, in holy record kept,
Done—ere one cheering ray of distant light
Thro' death's dark portals shown,
At thy command alone,
Still, still—reacted meet—the astonished sight,
Tho' rolling ages o'er the scene have swept.
In this far distant land, which the great deep
Perchance embosomed, when that dust was rife,
The pale unconscious dead
On the strown relics laid
Of old Elisha, in his passing sleep,
Still, at the hallowed touch, starts back to warmth and life. [FN#25]
[FN#25] Every one must recollect the sublime picture here alluded to.
Sweet, when the soul is weary of the ills
That stern reality presents, to dwell
On beauteous forms: they smooth
The ruffled sense, and sooth
The heart with soft perfection; till a spell
Blends with its troublous pulse, and all its achings stills.
And who can look nor own the pencil's power
Where tender Ariadne, happy yet, [FN#26]
Lies in a dream of bliss?
The last half-pitying kiss,
By falsehood given, her sleeping lip has met—
That still seems hovering there like Zephyr o'er a flower.
[FN#26] Vanderlyn's Ariadne.