Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON A LANDSCAPE OF GASPAR POUSSIN, by ROBERT SOUTHEY



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON A LANDSCAPE OF GASPAR POUSSIN, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Poussin! How pleasantly thy pictured scenes
Last Line: Beats hard and heavy through his dungeon bars.
Subject(s): Comfort; Imagination; Paintings And Painters; Poussin, Gaspar (1613-1675); Fancy


POUSSIN! how pleasantly thy pictured scenes
Beguile the lonely hour! I sit and gaze
With lingering eye, till charmed fancy makes
The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul
From the foul haunts of herded human-kind
Flies far away with spirit speed, and tastes
The untainted air, that with the lively hue
Of health and happiness illumes the cheek
Of mountain liberty. My willing soul,
All eager, follows on thy fairy flights,
Fancy! best friend; whose blessed witcheries
With loveliest prospects cheat the traveller
O'er the long wearying desert of the world.
Nor dost thou, fancy! with such magic mock
My heart, as, demon-born, old Merlin knew,
Or Alquif, or Zarzafiel's sister sage,
Whose vengeful anguish for so many a year
Held in the jacinth sepulchre entranced
Lisvart and Perion, pride of chivalry.
Friend of my lonely hours! thou leadest me
To such calm joys as nature, wise and good,
Proffers in vain to all her wretched sons;
Her wretched sons who pine with want amid
The abundant earth, and blindly bow them down
Before the Moloch shrines of wealth and power,
Authors of evil. Oh, it is most sweet
To medicine with thy wiles the wearied heart,
Sick of reality. The little pile
That tops the summit of that craggy hill
Shall be my dwelling: craggy is the hill
And steep; yet through yon hazles upward leads
The easy path, along whose winding way,
Now close embowered, I hear the unseen stream
Dash down, anon behold its sparkling foam
Gleam through the thicket; and ascending on,
Now pause me to survey the goodly vale
That opens on my vision. Half-way up,
Pleasant it were upon some broad smooth rock
To sit and sun myself, and look below,
And watch the goatherd down yon high-banked path
Urging his flock grotesque; and bidding now
His lean rough dog from some near cliff to drive
The straggler; while his barkings loud and quick
Amid their trembling bleat arising oft,
Fainter and fainter, from the hollow road
Send their far echoes, till the waterfall,
Hoarse bursting from the caverned cliff beneath,
Their dying murmurs drown. A little yet
Onward, and I have gained the upmost height.
Fair spreads the vale below: I see the stream
Stream radiant on beneath the noontide sky.
A passing cloud darkens the bordering steep,
Where the town-spires behind the castle towers
Rise graceful; brown the mountain in its shade,
Whose circling grandeur, part by mists concealed,
Part with white rocks resplendent in the sun,
Should bound mine eyes,—ay, and my wishes too,—
For I would have no hope or fear beyond.
The empty turmoil of the worthless world,
Its vanities and vices, would not vex
My quiet heart. The traveller, who beheld
The low tower of the little pile, might deem
It were the house of God: nor would he err,
So deeming, for that home would be the home
Of peace and love, and they would hallow it
To Him. Oh, life of blessedness! to reap
The fruit of honourable toil, and bound
Our wishes with our wants! Delightful thoughts,
That soothe the solitude of maniac hope,
Ye leave her to reality awaked,
Like the poor captive, from some fleeting dream
Of friends and liberty and home restored,
Startled and listening, as the midnight storm
Beats hard and heavy through his dungeon bars.





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