FANCY AND FACT.
As musing I lay on my pillow at morn,
I thought what bright visions would fade with the dawn;
So I strove to detain them, but vain was my care,
For soon they all vanished, my castles in air.
I thought what bright visions would fade with the dawn;
So I strove to detain them, but vain was my care,
For soon they all vanished, my castles in air.
Yet fain would we picture them, aid us, ye fays,
Let your inspiration give tone to our lays;
With quill from your pinions, what poet but knows,
How to tinge all his dreamings with couleur de rose?
Let your inspiration give tone to our lays;
With quill from your pinions, what poet but knows,
How to tinge all his dreamings with couleur de rose?
When night first descends upon hill-top and grove,
Then, truant-like Fancy prepares for a rove;
To Reason she says—"With thy pratings be still,
Like the sex, I'm determined to have my own will."
Then, truant-like Fancy prepares for a rove;
To Reason she says—"With thy pratings be still,
Like the sex, I'm determined to have my own will."
So, gaily she bears us, her captives in chains,
With the quickness of thought over mountains and plains;
One moment with fairies we sport on the green,
The next in grave concourse with sages are seen.
With the quickness of thought over mountains and plains;
One moment with fairies we sport on the green,
The next in grave concourse with sages are seen.
Where met in gay circles earth's loveliest are,
We hear one exclaim, "Of the crowd I'm the star;"
Then quitting the scene, glad to wing our way from it,
We soar through blue ether, much more like a comet.
We hear one exclaim, "Of the crowd I'm the star;"
Then quitting the scene, glad to wing our way from it,
We soar through blue ether, much more like a comet.
Though moonbeam and star-beam still bear us away,
We know our bright journey must close before day;
For jealous old Sol puts an end to our dreaming,
Shows the world as it is, and scorns all false seeming.
We know our bright journey must close before day;
For jealous old Sol puts an end to our dreaming,
Shows the world as it is, and scorns all false seeming.
Like Midas, whose touch turned sand-dust to gold,
So Fancy works wonders too great to be told;
Yet hints she has given of rich diadems,
And garlands of straw changed to chaplets of gems.
So Fancy works wonders too great to be told;
Yet hints she has given of rich diadems,
And garlands of straw changed to chaplets of gems.
But morning returns, and serves but to show
She has circled my brow with a bright wreath of snow;
Then gayly retiring her pinion has furled,
And left me to cope with this working-day world.
She has circled my brow with a bright wreath of snow;
Then gayly retiring her pinion has furled,
And left me to cope with this working-day world.