102
THE TRIUMPHS
CANTO V.
WHY art thou fled, O blest poetic time!
When Fancy wrought the miracles of rhyme;
When, darting from her star-encircled throne,
Her poet's eye commanded worlds unknown;
When, by her fiat made a mimic god,
He saw existence waiting on his nod,
And at his pleasure into being brought
New shadowy hosts, the vassals of his thought,
In Joy's gay garb, in Terror's dread array,
Darker than night, and brighter than the day;
Who at his bidding, thro' the wilds of air,
Rais'd willing mortals far from earthly care,
And led them wondering thro' his wide domain,
Beyond the bounds of Nature's narrow reign;
While their rapt spirits, in the various flight,
Shook with successive thrills of new delight?
When Fancy wrought the miracles of rhyme;
When, darting from her star-encircled throne,
Her poet's eye commanded worlds unknown;
When, by her fiat made a mimic god,
He saw existence waiting on his nod,
And at his pleasure into being brought
New shadowy hosts, the vassals of his thought,
In Joy's gay garb, in Terror's dread array,
Darker than night, and brighter than the day;
Who at his bidding, thro' the wilds of air,
Rais'd willing mortals far from earthly care,
And led them wondering thro' his wide domain,
Beyond the bounds of Nature's narrow reign;
While their rapt spirits, in the various flight,
Shook with successive thrills of new delight?
