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Craig Phadric; Visions of Sensibility, With Legendary Tales, and Occasional Pieces
Craig Phadric Visions of Sensibility With Legendary Tales and Occasional Pieces Author:David Carey General Books publication date: 2009 Original publication date: 1811 Original Publisher: Printed for the author, and sold by J. Young Notes: This is a black and white OCR reprint of the original. It has no illustrations and there may be typos or missing text. When you buy the General Books edition of this book you get free trial access to Mi... more »llion-Books.com where you can select from more than a million books for free. Excerpt: VISIONS OF SENSIBILITY, PART I. V Hy falls t, he tear for Beauty's faded bloom Where flowery garlands deck yon Virgin tomb ? Why mourns the heart when sad and far away The lov'd companions of Life's happier day, Whose presence taught her vernal scenes to shine Whose image lives in every soften'd line ? Why throbs the breast with feeling's softest glow To share the bliss that Nature's charms bestow ; While Fancy pictures in romantic mood The heaven of joy that waits the wise and good ? 'Tis Love's soft power, 'tis Friendship, Taste refin'd, Prompts each fond thought, and sways the gentle mind For her shall Virtue, heavenly fair, be seen To shed o'er life's dim path a ray serene: For her shall Science spread her ample page, And sister Arts with kindred charms engage ; For her the tuneful Virgins raise the strain, And bounteous Nature never smiles in vain. When, fled afar, the Angel of the Lyre Wakes not its music with celestial fire; When o'er the chords no wandering seraphs move, And raise no chaunt to Freedom or to Love, But Fancy fades, and Night her shadow flings, And Silence sleeps on the reposing strings, Ah ! who has power to say what numbers dwell, What spirits slumber in their magic cell ? What mortal hand, with passion-kindling power, Shall wake to life in Inspiration's hour The charmed wires, that, warbling unconfin'd, Pour the full tide of rapture o'sr the mind, And warm with high-born energies the soul, Or o'er the heart the stream of pity roll ? In vision deep methinks I see him stand, The wild harp rings to his impetuous ...« less