"And thou, sublimest Essence! hear the prayer; / Who, hid from outward sense, on the mind's eye / Pour'st thy refulgent evidence."
— Mason, William (1725-1797); Rousseau, Jean-Jacques (1712-1778)
Date
1811
Metaphor
"And thou, sublimest Essence! hear the prayer; / Who, hid from outward sense, on the mind's eye / Pour'st thy refulgent evidence."
Metaphor in Context
Belov'd, distraction!
It cannot be, O torment, rage, despair,
O hopeless, horrible, distracting passion!
The pains of hell rack my desponding soul.
Beings of power! Beings of mercy hear me!
Hear me, ye gods! before whose awful shrines
The people kneel because ye know their frailty;
Yes, ye have oft for vainer purposes
Lavish'd your miracles; look then with pity
On this fair form, look on this tortur'd breast,
Be just to both, and merit our oblations.
[With a more pathetic degree of enthusiasm.
And thou, sublimest Essence! hear the prayer;
Who, hid from outward sense, on the mind's eye
Pour'st thy refulgent evidence. O hear me
Parent of Worlds! Soul of the Universe!
Thou, at whose voice, the plastic power of Love
Gives to the elements their harmony,
To matter life, to body sentiment,
To all the tribes of being, place, and form.
Hear me, thou sacred, pure, coelestial fire!
Thou all-producing, all-preserving power,
Venus Urania hear me! where is now
Thy all-adjusting poize, thy force expansive,
Where is dread Nature's universal law
In my sensations? What a void is here!
Ah tell me why thy vivifying warmth
Fills not that void, and bids my wishes live?
Thy fires are all concenter'd in this breast,
While, on yon form, the icy hand of Death
Keeps its chill hold. Pigmalion perishes
By that excess of life yon marble wants.
Goddess, I do not ask a miracle,
See, she exists, she ought to be annull'd,
Fair Order is disturb'd, all Nature outrag'd;
O vindicate her rights; resume again
Thy course beneficent, and shed thy blessings
In just equality. Yes, Venus, yes,
Two beings here are wanting to complete
The plenitude of things; divide to each
Its share of that fierce fire which scorches one,
And leaves the other lifeless. Well thou know'st
'Twas thou that form'd by my deputed hand
Those charms, those features; all they want is life
And soul--my goddess, give her half of mine,
Give her the whole, and let me live in her,
Such life will well suffice. O as thou lovest
Our mortal homage hear me! they alone,
Whom life gives consciousness of Heav'n, and thee,
Can pay thee that due homage; let thy works
Extend thy glory. Queen of Beauty, hear me!
Nor let this model of perfection stand
An image vain of unexisting grace. [He returns to himself by degrees with an expression of assurance and joy.
Reason returns. What unexpected calm,
What fortitude unhop'd for arms my breast!
The balm of peace and confidence has cool'd
My boiling blood. I feel as born anew.
Thus is it still with heav'n-dependent man,
The very trust and feel of that dependence
Consoles his grief. How heavily soe'er
Misfortune flings her load upon his shoulder,
Let him but pray to Heav'n, that load is lighten'd.
Yet, when to Heav'n we lift a foolish prayer,
Our confidence is vain, and we deceiv'd.
Alas! alas! in such a state as mine
We pray to all, and nothing hears our prayer;
The very hope that chears us is more vain
Than the desire that rais'd it. O shame, shame
On such extravagance. I dare no longer
Reflect upon its cause, and yet, whene'er
I cast my eye upon yon fatal object,
Fresh palpitations, new disquiets choak me,
A secret fear restrains--
It cannot be, O torment, rage, despair,
O hopeless, horrible, distracting passion!
The pains of hell rack my desponding soul.
Beings of power! Beings of mercy hear me!
Hear me, ye gods! before whose awful shrines
The people kneel because ye know their frailty;
Yes, ye have oft for vainer purposes
Lavish'd your miracles; look then with pity
On this fair form, look on this tortur'd breast,
Be just to both, and merit our oblations.
[With a more pathetic degree of enthusiasm.
And thou, sublimest Essence! hear the prayer;
Who, hid from outward sense, on the mind's eye
Pour'st thy refulgent evidence. O hear me
Parent of Worlds! Soul of the Universe!
Thou, at whose voice, the plastic power of Love
Gives to the elements their harmony,
To matter life, to body sentiment,
To all the tribes of being, place, and form.
Hear me, thou sacred, pure, coelestial fire!
Thou all-producing, all-preserving power,
Venus Urania hear me! where is now
Thy all-adjusting poize, thy force expansive,
Where is dread Nature's universal law
In my sensations? What a void is here!
Ah tell me why thy vivifying warmth
Fills not that void, and bids my wishes live?
Thy fires are all concenter'd in this breast,
While, on yon form, the icy hand of Death
Keeps its chill hold. Pigmalion perishes
By that excess of life yon marble wants.
Goddess, I do not ask a miracle,
See, she exists, she ought to be annull'd,
Fair Order is disturb'd, all Nature outrag'd;
O vindicate her rights; resume again
Thy course beneficent, and shed thy blessings
In just equality. Yes, Venus, yes,
Two beings here are wanting to complete
The plenitude of things; divide to each
Its share of that fierce fire which scorches one,
And leaves the other lifeless. Well thou know'st
'Twas thou that form'd by my deputed hand
Those charms, those features; all they want is life
And soul--my goddess, give her half of mine,
Give her the whole, and let me live in her,
Such life will well suffice. O as thou lovest
Our mortal homage hear me! they alone,
Whom life gives consciousness of Heav'n, and thee,
Can pay thee that due homage; let thy works
Extend thy glory. Queen of Beauty, hear me!
Nor let this model of perfection stand
An image vain of unexisting grace. [He returns to himself by degrees with an expression of assurance and joy.
Reason returns. What unexpected calm,
What fortitude unhop'd for arms my breast!
The balm of peace and confidence has cool'd
My boiling blood. I feel as born anew.
Thus is it still with heav'n-dependent man,
The very trust and feel of that dependence
Consoles his grief. How heavily soe'er
Misfortune flings her load upon his shoulder,
Let him but pray to Heav'n, that load is lighten'd.
Yet, when to Heav'n we lift a foolish prayer,
Our confidence is vain, and we deceiv'd.
Alas! alas! in such a state as mine
We pray to all, and nothing hears our prayer;
The very hope that chears us is more vain
Than the desire that rais'd it. O shame, shame
On such extravagance. I dare no longer
Reflect upon its cause, and yet, whene'er
I cast my eye upon yon fatal object,
Fresh palpitations, new disquiets choak me,
A secret fear restrains--
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "eye" in HDIS (Poetry)
Theme
Mind's Eye
Date of Entry
04/17/2006
