"Instant my Sense return'd, restor'd and whole, / To re-possess its empire of the soul. / So, when o'er Phoebus low-hung clouds prevail, / Sleep on each hill, and sadden ev'ry dale; / Sudden, up-springing from the north, invades / A purging wind, which first disturbs the shades; / Thins the black phalanx; till with fury driv'n / Swift disappears the flying wreck of heav'n: / To its own native blue the sky refines, / And the sun's orb with double radiance shines."
— Harte, Walter (1708/9-1774)
Author
Place of Publication
London and Bath
Publisher
Printed for Mess. Robinson and Roberts and W. Frederick
Date
1767
Metaphor
"Instant my Sense return'd, restor'd and whole, / To re-possess its empire of the soul. / So, when o'er Phoebus low-hung clouds prevail, / Sleep on each hill, and sadden ev'ry dale; / Sudden, up-springing from the north, invades / A purging wind, which first disturbs the shades; / Thins the black phalanx; till with fury driv'n / Swift disappears the flying wreck of heav'n: / To its own native blue the sky refines, / And the sun's orb with double radiance shines."
Metaphor in Context
She spoke, and to my throbbing heart apply'd
Her tender hand; "My son, my son," she cry'd,
"Med'cines, and not complaints, thy pangs must ease;
"False greatness, and false pride, are thy disease."
Then with her other hand she touch'd my eyes,
Soft, as when Zephyr's breath o'er roses flies:
Instant my Sense return'd, restor'd and whole,
To re-possess its empire of the soul.
So, when o'er Phoebus low-hung clouds prevail,
Sleep on each hill, and sadden ev'ry dale;
Sudden, up-springing from the north, invades
A purging wind, which first disturbs the shades;
Thins the black phalanx; till with fury driv'n
Swift disappears the flying wreck of heav'n:
To its own native blue the sky refines,
And the sun's orb with double radiance shines.
Her tender hand; "My son, my son," she cry'd,
"Med'cines, and not complaints, thy pangs must ease;
"False greatness, and false pride, are thy disease."
Then with her other hand she touch'd my eyes,
Soft, as when Zephyr's breath o'er roses flies:
Instant my Sense return'd, restor'd and whole,
To re-possess its empire of the soul.
So, when o'er Phoebus low-hung clouds prevail,
Sleep on each hill, and sadden ev'ry dale;
Sudden, up-springing from the north, invades
A purging wind, which first disturbs the shades;
Thins the black phalanx; till with fury driv'n
Swift disappears the flying wreck of heav'n:
To its own native blue the sky refines,
And the sun's orb with double radiance shines.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "empire" and "soul" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in ECCO and ESTC (1767).
Walter Harte, The Amaranth: Or, Religious Poems; Consisting of Fables, Visions, Emblems, &c. (London and Bath: Robinson, Roberts, and W. Frederick, 1767). <Link to Google Books><Link to ESTC>
Walter Harte, The Amaranth: Or, Religious Poems; Consisting of Fables, Visions, Emblems, &c. (London and Bath: Robinson, Roberts, and W. Frederick, 1767). <Link to Google Books><Link to ESTC>
Date of Entry
08/11/2004
