ODE TO FANCY. BY THE SAME. WHERE art thou, Fancy, visionary maid? Whose lenient artifice and easy aid Can quell the fierce disorders of the breast, And soothe the pensive soul to rest? Whether along the daisy bank reclin'd, With foliage veil'd, you court the fanning wind, Or by the brook's loquacious channel stray, Where the deep dimpled eddies play; Haste thee, from the blended glow Of beauties in yon lucid bow, With fine spun light, and golden beams, Softly weave thy waking dreams: Bid the rang'd ideas fly, Opening to the ravish'd eye A glimpse of bliss, where gay Desire is found Sporting with Youth while music wakes around. Behold the variegated prospect rise! What gallant harmony! what glad surprise! The sweet Mygdonian pipe with rural strains Collects the nymphs and shepherd swains. Secure in yonder vale their fleecy breed, And heifers 'midst the neighbouring pastures feed. Meanwhile, with flowrets deck'd, each blithsome pair Have bid adieu to pine and care. See them hand in hand advance Circling in the smooth pac'd dance; Now to numbers quaint they stray, Bounding on the mazy way! The goldfinch and the linnet nigh Join the simple minstrelsy: The simple notes, and merry gambols fire (Plac'd by the hawthorn-hedge) each ancient fire. But see! where Solitude, of sober mien, With Health and Modesty, her charming maids, Leaving the straw-roof'd neighbourhood, is seen To rove beneath the venerable shades! O harmless cottages! O happy glades! Where no misfortunes factious rage deplore, No discontent the quiet breast invades: How pleasant 'tis from this far season'd shore To hear the tumbling ocean's wavy roar! Now whither, with the sun-beam's darting speed, Thy rapt enthusiast, Fancy, wilt thou lead? What other scenes of more sincere delight The goddess and her guest invite? She, like the Sybil with her golden bough, Descends to search the sacred realms below, In amaranthine bowers the blest appear, By pearly grot or fountain clear: To heroes ghosts, or scepter'd kings, The laurell'd bard divinely sings. Hark! the animating strains Warble thro' th' Elysian plains: When the pause admits delay Thus th' immortals seem to say, (Closing the accents of each tuneful voice) "For ever thus, for ever we rejoice." What sad transition! means this rising show To drive out real pain with fancied woe? I see the mourners in the darken'd room, The rustic hearse, the letter'd tomb. Still, still the wayward, wild ideas take The solemn livery of death, and wake Tender-ey'd pity, as the village train The shrouded husbandman sustain. What semblances of wretched plight 'Mid the procession strike the sight! Ah! 'tis Grief herself appears, Her flowing tresses steep'd in tears; Her garments torn, her bosom bare, Reckless of th' inclement air Three orphan children mark their mother's moan, Hang down their heads, and answer groan for groan. Hence, hence, ye hapless images; away Delusive Fancy; with thy subtle heat No more thy vain machinery display, Now the dark grave, and now the green retreat: Contentment's truth surpasses thy deceit. Sister of Wisdom she; of aspect mild: Who makes the golden mean her certain seat, And looks on casualty as nature's child; To heaven's behests still nobly reconcil'd.