Classic Poem

Rapt in the visionary theme,
Spirit divine, with thee I'll wander,
Where the blue, wavy, lucid stream
Mid forest glooms shall slow meander!
With thee I'll trace the circling bounds
Of thy new paradise, extended,
And listen to the varying sounds
Of winds and foamy torrents blended!

Now by the source, which lab'ring heaves
The mystic fountain, bubbling, panting,
While gossamer its network weaves
Adown the blue lawn, slanting —
I'll mark thy " sunny dome" and view
Thy " caves of ice", thy fields of dew,
Thy ever-blooming mead, whose flow'r
Waves to the cold breath of the moonlight hour!
Or, when the day-star, peering bright
On the grey wing of parting night;
While more than vegetating pow'r
Throbs, grateful to the burning hour,
As summer's whispered sighs unfold
Her million million buds of gold! —
Then will I climb the breezy bounds
Of thy new paradise, extended,
And listen to the distant sounds
Of winds and foamy torrents blended!

Spirit divine, with thee I'll trace
Imagination's boundless space!
With thee, beneath thy " sunny dome"
I'll listen to the minstrel's lay
Hymning the gradual close of day;
In " caves of ice" enchanted roam,
Where on the glitt'ring entrance plays
The moon's beam with its silv'ry rays;
Or when the glassy stream
That through the deep dell flows,
Flashes the noon's hot beam —
The noon's hot beam that midway shows
Thy flaming temple, studded o'er
With all Peruvia's lustrous store!
There will I trace the circling bounds
Of thy new paradise, extended,
And listen to the awful sounds
Of winds and foamy torrents blended.

And now I'll pause to catch the moan
Of distant breezes, cavern-pent;
Now, ere the twilight tints are flown,
Purpling the landscape far and wide,
On the dark promontory's side
I'll gather wild-flow'rs, dew-besprent,
And weave a crown for thee,
Genius of heav'n-taught poesy!
While, op'ning to my wond'ring eyes,
Thou bid'st a new creation rise,
I'll raptured trace the circling bounds
Of thy rich paradise, extended,
And listen to the varying sounds
Of winds and foamy torrents blended.

And now, with lofty tones inviting,
Thy nymph, her dulcimer swift-smiting,
Shall wake me in ecstatic measures
Far, far removed from mortal pleasures,
In cadence rich, in cadence strong,
Proving the wondrous witcheries of song!
I hear her voice — thy " sunny dome",
Thy " caves of ice" aloud repeat —
Vibrations, madd'ning sweet,
Calling the visionary wand'rer home!
She sings of thee, oh favoured child
Of minstrelsy, sublimely wild! —
Of thee whose soul can feel the tone
Which gives to airy dreams a magic all thy own!