It is a sunny vision — a deep dream— Too full of beauty for the heart to dwell, Unpained, upon the dazzling rays that stream Around the Bard's creations. Music's swell Voluptuous on the ear; — the camel-bell, Borne softly on the distance; — banners bright, Instinct with gems; — that angel ere he fell, And starry Eblis, — in their mingled might, Deluge each weary pulse with too intense delight.
We turn away with dim, delirious sense From that so fervid blaze; and seek repose From Eastern splendour and magnificence, From gorgeous palaces and clouds of rose, Sceptres and thrones, and diamond-crested brows,— Pluming our spirits' pinions at the page, Where sweet Floranthe warbles forth her woes In strains, of power each turbulent thought to 'suage, And bid the Passions cease their fierce, wild war, to wage!
Surpassing Lyrist! from thy powerful hand, The thunders and keen lightnings of the Muse Speed forth in glorious might: — thou canst command The noon-tide burst of poesy; — yet infuse Its twilight calms and bloom-refreshing dews Amid thy deep conceptions; and canst braid Wreaths, rich and bright, with variegated hues, As those on an Arabian Heaven displayed, Ere day's last rainbow-beams have vanished into shade!
