"Thus does the brain awhile conceive, / Its brilliant fancies, and believe;-- / And oh! those glowing hopes remain / A dazzling, yet deceitful train;-- / And many a liken'd image find, / Upon the mirror of the mind"
— Reynolds, John Hamilton (1796-1852)
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for James Cawthorn and John Martin
Date
1814
Metaphor
"Thus does the brain awhile conceive, / Its brilliant fancies, and believe;-- / And oh! those glowing hopes remain / A dazzling, yet deceitful train;-- / And many a liken'd image find, / Upon the mirror of the mind"
Metaphor in Context
He left the ridge,--he look'd no more
On native scene of earliest joy;
The prospect on his sight before
Gave promises of travel sore,
Which hope could not destroy:
But there were in this chosen few,
Men that could bear a wasted view;
They loved their lord too well to shun
The bleak, black night, and parching sun;
They long had lived without controul,
Though slaved in body, free in soul,--
And each would in his cause be brave,
And fight like warrior, not like slave.
The bonds that custom long had bound,
By usage bland, were part unwound,--
And care and kindness eased the pains
Once fretted by oppression's chains.
He pass'd at times o'er sallow plain,
Untrodden,--save when men of gain
The long, long travel undergo,
For mercenary recompence;--
And harden'd bear the night of woe,
And in the day the heat intense.
And there no bush, nor forests lie,
To darken 'gainst the distant sky,--
And not the faintest form is given
To break the space 'twixt earth and heaven.
And oft he saw the tigers prowl,
And oft he heard the mournful howl,--
When, roused by camels' bells at night,
They feared to face the torches' light[1].
Short was his sleep and dark his dream;
He scarcely rested by a stream[2],--
Although the banks, with flowers besprent,
Seem'd to invite the spreading tent.
Through many a vale at times he pass'd,
Preserved by rocks from stormy blast,--
Where many a tender floweret fair,
Waved its light blossom in the air;--
And much the Eastern air would love
The tulip's[3] varied bud to move;--
Where, browzing over lawn and dell,
Is seen the graceful slim Gazelle,
With eye of fire, and arrowy feet,
That speed his fickle course so fleet;
Where, after eve, the fair moon lights
The hanging trees and rocky heights,--
And loves to find in trembling lake
Her playful silvery beauties shake;
Or, if the waves have ceased to dance,
To view the wide and silent trance,--
A trance that seems like Nature's death,
And see as sweet a light beneath.
Oh! there the fancy well might trace,
When gazing on the watery space,
As bright a moon, and stars as true
As those that deck the sky of blue,--
The same faint, flitting clouds that move
So free, so gracefully above;--
And it might then believe,--beneath,
So long as slept the zephyr breath,
There beam'd a sky as blue, as bright,
As that which gives the living light;--
And while the glassy lake was even,
There glow'd below as rich a heaven.--
And yet how soon the fancy loses
The fickle fairy dream it chooses;
For soon as breathes a single sigh,
The waves disperse the faithless sky,--
The moon is starr'd[4],--the stars are gone,--
The flitting clouds are quickly flown;
That moon so still!--Those stars so fair!
And all is bright commotion there.
Thus does the brain awhile conceive,
Its brilliant fancies, and believe;--
And oh! those glowing hopes remain
A dazzling, yet deceitful train;--
And many a liken'd image find,
Upon the mirror of the mind:
So when the breeze of life is felt
To ruffle, how those fancies melt;
And real woe,--ideal rest,
Flutter uncertain in the breast.
On native scene of earliest joy;
The prospect on his sight before
Gave promises of travel sore,
Which hope could not destroy:
But there were in this chosen few,
Men that could bear a wasted view;
They loved their lord too well to shun
The bleak, black night, and parching sun;
They long had lived without controul,
Though slaved in body, free in soul,--
And each would in his cause be brave,
And fight like warrior, not like slave.
The bonds that custom long had bound,
By usage bland, were part unwound,--
And care and kindness eased the pains
Once fretted by oppression's chains.
He pass'd at times o'er sallow plain,
Untrodden,--save when men of gain
The long, long travel undergo,
For mercenary recompence;--
And harden'd bear the night of woe,
And in the day the heat intense.
And there no bush, nor forests lie,
To darken 'gainst the distant sky,--
And not the faintest form is given
To break the space 'twixt earth and heaven.
And oft he saw the tigers prowl,
And oft he heard the mournful howl,--
When, roused by camels' bells at night,
They feared to face the torches' light[1].
Short was his sleep and dark his dream;
He scarcely rested by a stream[2],--
Although the banks, with flowers besprent,
Seem'd to invite the spreading tent.
Through many a vale at times he pass'd,
Preserved by rocks from stormy blast,--
Where many a tender floweret fair,
Waved its light blossom in the air;--
And much the Eastern air would love
The tulip's[3] varied bud to move;--
Where, browzing over lawn and dell,
Is seen the graceful slim Gazelle,
With eye of fire, and arrowy feet,
That speed his fickle course so fleet;
Where, after eve, the fair moon lights
The hanging trees and rocky heights,--
And loves to find in trembling lake
Her playful silvery beauties shake;
Or, if the waves have ceased to dance,
To view the wide and silent trance,--
A trance that seems like Nature's death,
And see as sweet a light beneath.
Oh! there the fancy well might trace,
When gazing on the watery space,
As bright a moon, and stars as true
As those that deck the sky of blue,--
The same faint, flitting clouds that move
So free, so gracefully above;--
And it might then believe,--beneath,
So long as slept the zephyr breath,
There beam'd a sky as blue, as bright,
As that which gives the living light;--
And while the glassy lake was even,
There glow'd below as rich a heaven.--
And yet how soon the fancy loses
The fickle fairy dream it chooses;
For soon as breathes a single sigh,
The waves disperse the faithless sky,--
The moon is starr'd[4],--the stars are gone,--
The flitting clouds are quickly flown;
That moon so still!--Those stars so fair!
And all is bright commotion there.
Thus does the brain awhile conceive,
Its brilliant fancies, and believe;--
And oh! those glowing hopes remain
A dazzling, yet deceitful train;--
And many a liken'd image find,
Upon the mirror of the mind:
So when the breeze of life is felt
To ruffle, how those fancies melt;
And real woe,--ideal rest,
Flutter uncertain in the breast.
Categories
Provenance
Searching in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Safie. An Eastern Tale. By J. H. Reynolds (London: Printed for James Cawthorn and John Martin, 1814). <Link to Google Books>
Date of Entry
10/21/2005
