Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN HOUR WITH FANCY, by RICHARD SOLOMON GEDNEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN HOUR WITH FANCY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Up! Loved one, up! For the sun's rosy beam
Last Line: I stray thus in fancy, with you by my side!
Subject(s): Imagination; Fancy


UP! loved one, up! for the Sun's rosy beam
Is flashing o'er mountain, o'er forest and stream,
Though the Night, like a lover reluctant to go,
Still is shrouding in darkness the vallies below.
The Sun, flushed with triumph, ascends in the skies,
And the mists, at his bidding, all crimsoned arise,
And unfurl their gay banners in regal array,
While Night from the victor steals sadly away.

Let sluggards still cling to their couches and ease,
But would you lose in slumber such pleasures as these?
No dream ever painted a scene half so bright
As the landscape below, just awaking to light;
While the pure mountain-air, bringing health to the brow,
Is rich with the fragrance from blossom and bough;
And a crystalline dew-drop, like diamond, glows
In the bell of each lily, the heart of each rose.

I call you not, loved one, to join in the chase,
Where the poor panting stag toils on in the race;
While he tremblingly listens the shout and halloo,
The hunters and hounds that so fiercely pursue!
All bloodless the chase that brings pleasure to me,
My dog bounding gaily, my steed prancing free,
His eye proudly flashing, and tossing his head,
His hoof scarcely touching the ground in its tread,—
This, this is the chase I would call you to share,
The bright early morning, the fresh mountain-air!

Afar from the dwellings of folly and pride,
Away to the shade of the forest we'll ride,
Where the beeches hoar and the oak trees grim
Join with the birds in their matin hymn,—
And the fox-glove and blue-bell, the tangle among,
Are laughing and nodding, and joining the song;
And I, while you're talking so sweetly, will listen,
And you in my eyes shall see happiness glisten.

Then home through the shade of the forest well go,
By the path where the stream murmurs softly and low,
Where the birds' happy voices seem never to cease,
And the flowers blithely nod in the fresh morning-breeze.
Oh! far from the noise of the town's crowded street,
Where envy, and tumult, and clashing we meet,
'Neath the forest's green branches, where fairy-elves hide,
I stray thus in fancy, with you by my side!





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