"The soul's impression they no longer share; / His soul is hovering round his distant fair."
— Stockdale, Percival (1736-1811)
Work Title
Date
1777, 1810
Metaphor
"The soul's impression they no longer share; / His soul is hovering round his distant fair."
Metaphor in Context
Stranger to rest, he'll often roam
(Where can the wounded lover find a home?)
Alas! the fatal dart
Still rankles in his heart!
In the full town, or solitary grove,
Objects that gained high lustre from his love,
Gave ten-fold pleasure to the happy swain,
With fate capricious now conspire,
With hostile gloom reproach his hopeless fire,
And mock intolerable pain.
Dusky, to him, and vapid is the rose,
How fragrant, and how bright soe'er it blows.
In him the senses are all dead;
Their animating friend is fled;
The soul's impression they no longer share;
His soul is hovering round his distant fair.
In ardent thought when he hath passed the night;
Just when the dawn restores her sober light,
Sleep seals his eyes, and a delusive dream,
With flowery prospect, brings his constant theme.
In some soft region like Cythera's isle,
He hears the nymph converse; he sees her smile;
While vernal glories decorate the ground;
While myrtle bowers their odour shed around,
And amorous musick breathes a tender sound.
More soothing is her voice:--but lo! he wakes;--
What barbarous dæmon this fair vision breaks!--
While the gay forms of airy fiction fly,
And real objects wound his eye,
The sun invades him with obtrusive ray,
And his benighted soul o'erwhelms with day.
Long hath he sickened at the light,
And courted, long, the hospitable night.
For when inveloped in her friendly shade,
And on the couch, remote from every witness laid;
He vainly there anticipates relief;
There the fond sigh, unnoticed he can heave;
Give scope to all the luxury of grief,
Unchecked by a tormenting world he longs to leave.
(Where can the wounded lover find a home?)
Alas! the fatal dart
Still rankles in his heart!
In the full town, or solitary grove,
Objects that gained high lustre from his love,
Gave ten-fold pleasure to the happy swain,
With fate capricious now conspire,
With hostile gloom reproach his hopeless fire,
And mock intolerable pain.
Dusky, to him, and vapid is the rose,
How fragrant, and how bright soe'er it blows.
In him the senses are all dead;
Their animating friend is fled;
The soul's impression they no longer share;
His soul is hovering round his distant fair.
In ardent thought when he hath passed the night;
Just when the dawn restores her sober light,
Sleep seals his eyes, and a delusive dream,
With flowery prospect, brings his constant theme.
In some soft region like Cythera's isle,
He hears the nymph converse; he sees her smile;
While vernal glories decorate the ground;
While myrtle bowers their odour shed around,
And amorous musick breathes a tender sound.
More soothing is her voice:--but lo! he wakes;--
What barbarous dæmon this fair vision breaks!--
While the gay forms of airy fiction fly,
And real objects wound his eye,
The sun invades him with obtrusive ray,
And his benighted soul o'erwhelms with day.
Long hath he sickened at the light,
And courted, long, the hospitable night.
For when inveloped in her friendly shade,
And on the couch, remote from every witness laid;
He vainly there anticipates relief;
There the fond sigh, unnoticed he can heave;
Give scope to all the luxury of grief,
Unchecked by a tormenting world he longs to leave.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "soul" and "impression" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Only 1 entry in ESTC (1777). [Note, ESTC does not provide any attribution for the work.]
Text from The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale. 2 vols. (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, and W. Clarke, By W. Pople, 1810).
See also Poetical excursions in the Isle of Wight. (London: Printed for N. Conant (successor to Mr. Whiston), in Fleet-Street, 1777). <Link to ESTC>
Text from The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale. 2 vols. (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, and W. Clarke, By W. Pople, 1810).
See also Poetical excursions in the Isle of Wight. (London: Printed for N. Conant (successor to Mr. Whiston), in Fleet-Street, 1777). <Link to ESTC>
Date of Entry
05/17/2005
