"Shall I trust the thoughts that rise / And struggle in my panting breast, / Tinted with a thousand dyes, / Image quick on image prest"
— Whalley, Thomas Sedgwick (1746-1828)
Work Title
Place of Publication
Bath
Publisher
Printed by R. Cruttwell, for J. Marshall and sold by R. Baldwin, T. Becket, and T. Hookham
Date
1788
Metaphor
"Shall I trust the thoughts that rise / And struggle in my panting breast, / Tinted with a thousand dyes, / Image quick on image prest"
Metaphor in Context
Shall I trust the thoughts that rise
And struggle in my panting breast,
Tinted with a thousand dyes,
Image quick on image prest?
Shall they dare, my trembling lays,
Lift their notes in feeble praise,
To sing a theme might well inspire
An Homer's force, a Pindar's fire?
Avaunt! avaunt! each coward fear;
I feel the swelling raptures roll
In surging tides upon my soul;
Celestial promptings strike my ear!
Reach then, reach my sounding lyre;
My panting soul is all on fire:
Swift the silver strings accord;
My eager hand,
Thy skill command;
A mighty strain be pour'd!
O! for a strain so potent to impart
The great sensations struggling in my heart!
Let but the high enthusiasms roll
Warm from my hand, as active in my soul;
Let the loud thunders of my voice declare
The vivid lightning's flashing there!
Then strong shall be the flood of rhyme,
And all be full, and all sublime.
Seize! seize! the glowing images that pass
Like transient shadows o'er the mimic glass!
Let not their fervors faint and die!
It is the hour of extacy.
All, all the Muse upon me breaks!
I hear, I know her voice, and thus she speaks:--
And struggle in my panting breast,
Tinted with a thousand dyes,
Image quick on image prest?
Shall they dare, my trembling lays,
Lift their notes in feeble praise,
To sing a theme might well inspire
An Homer's force, a Pindar's fire?
Avaunt! avaunt! each coward fear;
I feel the swelling raptures roll
In surging tides upon my soul;
Celestial promptings strike my ear!
Reach then, reach my sounding lyre;
My panting soul is all on fire:
Swift the silver strings accord;
My eager hand,
Thy skill command;
A mighty strain be pour'd!
O! for a strain so potent to impart
The great sensations struggling in my heart!
Let but the high enthusiasms roll
Warm from my hand, as active in my soul;
Let the loud thunders of my voice declare
The vivid lightning's flashing there!
Then strong shall be the flood of rhyme,
And all be full, and all sublime.
Seize! seize! the glowing images that pass
Like transient shadows o'er the mimic glass!
Let not their fervors faint and die!
It is the hour of extacy.
All, all the Muse upon me breaks!
I hear, I know her voice, and thus she speaks:--
Categories
Provenance
Searching in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in the ESTC (1788).
See Mont Blanc: An Irregular Lyric Poem: By the Revd. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley (Bath: Printed for R. Cruttwell, 1788). <Link to ECCO>
See Mont Blanc: An Irregular Lyric Poem: By the Revd. Thomas Sedgwick Whalley (Bath: Printed for R. Cruttwell, 1788). <Link to ECCO>
Date of Entry
06/03/2005
