Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON THE LAKE OF WINDEMERE, by ELIZABETH COBBOLD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON THE LAKE OF WINDEMERE, by                    
First Line: Haste, airy fancy! And assist my song
Last Line: And overlook the errors of eighteen.
Alternate Author Name(s): Knipe, Eliza
Subject(s): Nature; Windermere, Lake (england)


Haste, airy Fancy! and assist my song;
To thee each thought poetic must belong:
Whilst led by thee I tune the soften'd lay,
Windermere, pleas'd, shall own thy magic sway.
That beauteous lake! whose charming prospects shew,
In varied lights, as thou dost bid them glow.
And lo! attentive to her suppliant's pray'r,
The goddess, swiftly, cleaves the ambient air:
Drawn by six harness'd griffins, see! she rides;
Di'monds and sapphires deck her chariot sides;
The laughing loves around her person play,
And spread their plumage to the sunny ray:
The goddess' self, in painted vest array'd,
Has, o'er her head, Thaumantia's bow display'd,
Whose changing shades, presented to the sight,
Display rich scenes of variegated light.
Here, the full purple tinct imperial glows;
There, blooming lustre emulates the rose;
The edges glist'ning with the hue of day,
In golden beams reluctant melt away:
With hair loose floating, and disorder'd mein,
Swift from her car steps the fantastic queen:
Her right hand holds a book, whose leaves close seal'd,
Were ne'er, save to the eye of thought, reveal'd:
Her left an ebon wand, whose magic power
Varies the face of Nature ev'ry hour;
Transports the lively soul to realms unknown,
Or wafts th' ideas o'er each distant zone.
Blest with imagination's subtle fire!
I feel the goddess all my soul inspire:
I range, with her, o'er each Arcadian scene,
The waving wood, and primrose-dimpled green:
But all ideal beauties disappear,
When, once, compar'd with lovely Windermere.
Here, bounteous Nature holds her rural court,
Where the delighted Graces all resort.
Forgive, Oh Muse! if I attempt to paint
Those prospects, where the boldest tincts prove faint.
First, from Lowe Wood, across the watry plain
Cast your pleas'd eye, and view the wide domain
Where all the fairest of the Naiads reign:
Mark the rich lustre of each golden ray,
When, on the curling waves, the sun beams play.
The cooling zephyrs now their wings expand,
We hoist our sails, and leave the lessening land:
See, o'er the gentle flood the vessel dance,
As swift she cleaves the liquid wide expanse:
Wantonly gay, her milk-white sides she laves,
And gladly kisses the translucent waves:
As now, more distant from Lowe Wood she flies,
What pleasing prospects strike our ravish'd eyes!
The White House peeping thro' the tufted grove,
The rising mount, and bowling-green alcove;
While, in perspective, distant hills arise,
Whose airy summits seem to touch the skies.
Now, Bowness comes in sight, turn round and say,
If with indiff'rence, you can well survey
The scene, where Nature's greatest charms unite,
To form such mingled hues of shade and light,
That e'en the pencil of a Claude must fail—
How little, here, would all his art avail!
The dark slope interspers'd with broken rocks,
The verdant meadows, and the fleecy flocks;
The isle where winter hardly dares appear,
But spring eternal blossoms thro' the year:
The bold rotunda, full before us plac'd,
By situation, more than stile, is grac'd;
And while the scenes a double beauty wear,
We bless the Architect who rais'd it there.
How pleasant, on the surface of the lake,
With hook and line, the scaly fry to take!
Dear sport! congenial to the pensive mind,
To soft ideas, and a soul refin'd:
Where, gazing on the wonders of the deep,
We lull each wild, tumultuous, thought to sleep.
Reader, forgive, if fancy tir'd, omits
Some striking beauties, and the less forgets;
Benevolence will surely intervene,
And overlook the errors of eighteen.





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