"But, most of all, [the mind is subject] to that lov'd voice, whose thrill, / Rushing impetuous through each throbbing vein, / Dilates the wond'ring mind, and frees its pow'rs / From the cold chains of icy apathy / To all the vast extremes of bliss and pain!"
— Robinson [Née Darby], Mary [Perdita] (1758-1800)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by T. Spilsbury and Son, Sold by J. Evans
Date
1793
Metaphor
"But, most of all, [the mind is subject] to that lov'd voice, whose thrill, / Rushing impetuous through each throbbing vein, / Dilates the wond'ring mind, and frees its pow'rs / From the cold chains of icy apathy / To all the vast extremes of bliss and pain!"
Metaphor in Context
And yet, in such a mind, so whelm'd in gloom,
The pure affections of the soul still live!
The melancholy void is subject still
To the sweet magic of seraphic sounds;
The soothing eloquence of sacred song;
The whisp'ring gale, that mourns declining day;
Or Philomela's soul-subduing strain,
That woos lone Echo, from her viewless seat,
To sail aërial-thron'd upon the breeze!
The lulling murmurs of the wand'ring stream;
The ever rippling rill; the cataract fierce;
The lowing herds; and the small drowsy tones
That, from the insect myriads, hum around;
The love-taught minstrelsy of plumed throats;
The dulcet strains of gentle Consolation!
But, most of all, to that lov'd voice, whose thrill,
Rushing impetuous through each throbbing vein,
Dilates the wond'ring mind, and frees its pow'rs
From the cold chains of icy apathy
To all the vast extremes of bliss and pain!
For, to that voice ador'd, his quiv'ring pulse
Responsive beats! he marks its ev'ry tone,
And finds in each a sympathetic balm!
Ill-fated wretch! he knows not the sweet sense
That feeds upon the magic of a smile!
That drinks the poison of the murd'rous eye,
Or rushes, in an ecstasy of bliss,
To snatch the living roses from the cheek!
He knows not what it is to trace each charm
That plays about the symmetry of form,
And heightens ev'ry timid blushing grace,
More lovely, from the wonder it commands!
He never mark'd the soul-expressive tear!
The undescribable and speaking glance,
That promises unutterable bliss!
Then what to him avails the ruby lip,
Or the rich lustre of the silky waves,
That half conceal the azure tinctur'd eye,
As golden clouds rush on the morning star,
And glow, exulting, o'er its milder ray!
(pp. 6-8 in 1793, pp. 32-3 in 1806 ed.)
The pure affections of the soul still live!
The melancholy void is subject still
To the sweet magic of seraphic sounds;
The soothing eloquence of sacred song;
The whisp'ring gale, that mourns declining day;
Or Philomela's soul-subduing strain,
That woos lone Echo, from her viewless seat,
To sail aërial-thron'd upon the breeze!
The lulling murmurs of the wand'ring stream;
The ever rippling rill; the cataract fierce;
The lowing herds; and the small drowsy tones
That, from the insect myriads, hum around;
The love-taught minstrelsy of plumed throats;
The dulcet strains of gentle Consolation!
But, most of all, to that lov'd voice, whose thrill,
Rushing impetuous through each throbbing vein,
Dilates the wond'ring mind, and frees its pow'rs
From the cold chains of icy apathy
To all the vast extremes of bliss and pain!
For, to that voice ador'd, his quiv'ring pulse
Responsive beats! he marks its ev'ry tone,
And finds in each a sympathetic balm!
Ill-fated wretch! he knows not the sweet sense
That feeds upon the magic of a smile!
That drinks the poison of the murd'rous eye,
Or rushes, in an ecstasy of bliss,
To snatch the living roses from the cheek!
He knows not what it is to trace each charm
That plays about the symmetry of form,
And heightens ev'ry timid blushing grace,
More lovely, from the wonder it commands!
He never mark'd the soul-expressive tear!
The undescribable and speaking glance,
That promises unutterable bliss!
Then what to him avails the ruby lip,
Or the rich lustre of the silky waves,
That half conceal the azure tinctur'd eye,
As golden clouds rush on the morning star,
And glow, exulting, o'er its milder ray!
(pp. 6-8 in 1793, pp. 32-3 in 1806 ed.)
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "chain" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
Mary Robinson, Sight, the Cavern of Woe, and Solitude. Poems by Mrs. Mary Robinson (Printed by T. Spilsbury and Son, Sold by J. Evans, 1793). <Link to ECCO>
Text from "Sight. Inscribed to John Taylor, Esq. Oculist to his Majesty," in The Poetical Works of the Late Mrs Mary Robinson: Including Many Pieces Never before Published, 3 vols. (London: Printed for Richard Phillips, 1806). <Link to vol. i in Google Books>
Text from "Sight. Inscribed to John Taylor, Esq. Oculist to his Majesty," in The Poetical Works of the Late Mrs Mary Robinson: Including Many Pieces Never before Published, 3 vols. (London: Printed for Richard Phillips, 1806). <Link to vol. i in Google Books>
Date of Entry
07/19/2011
