"Sure the rising sun / O'er the cærulean convex of the sea, / With equal brightness and with equal warmth / Might rowl his fiery orb; nor yet the soul / Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers / Exulting in the splendor she beholds; / Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp / Of some triumphal day."
— Akenside, Mark (1720-1771)
Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song
Descend so low; but rather now unfold,
If human thought could reach, or words unfold,
By what mysterious fabric of the mind,
The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound
Result from airy motion; and from shape
The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.
By what fine ties hath God connected things
When present in the mind, which in themselves
Have no connection? Sure the rising sun
O'er the cærulean convex of the sea,
With equal brightness and with equal warmth
Might rowl his fiery orb; nor yet the soul
Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers
Exulting in the splendor she beholds;
Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp
Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,
Soft-murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath
Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain
Attemper, could not man's discerning ear
Through all its tones the sympathy pursue;
Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy
Steal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart,
Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song.
(p. 89-90, Bk. III, ll. 454-478)<
Compare Mark Akenside, The Pleasures of the Imagination (London: 1744). <Link to Google Books>
Reading The Pleasures of Imagination (Otley, England: Woodstock Books, 2000), which reprints A. L. Barbauld's 1795 edition.