Fain would I be resolved How things are done; And where the bull was calved Of bloody Phalaris, And where the tailor is That works to the man i' the moon! Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly; And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly; And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? In conceit like Phaeton, I'll mount Phoebus' chair, Having ne'er a hat on, Hurrying through the air. Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing, O, from what ground of nature That self-devouring creature, Prove so froward And untoward, Her vitals for to strain ? And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds is lying, Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by crying; And why the milk-white swan doth sing when she's a-dying. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? Fain would I conclude this, At least make essay, What similitude is; Why fowls of a feather Flock and fly together, And lambs know beasts of prey: How Nature's alchymists, these small laborious creatures, Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters, And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their features. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? I'm rapt with admiration, When I do ruminate, Men of an occupation, How each one calls him brother, Yet each envieth other, And yet still intimate! Yea, I admire to see some natures farther sun d'red, Than antipodes to us. Is it not to be wond'red? dred? Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? What multitude of notions Doth perturb my pate, Considering the motions, How the heavens are preserved, In moisture, light, and heat! If one spirit sits the outmost circle turning, If rapid circles' motion be that which they call burning! Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go! Fain also would I prove this, By considering What that, which you call love, is: Whether it be a folly Or a melancholy, Or some heroic thing! Fain I'd have it proved, by one whom love hath wounded, And fully upon one his desire hath founded, Whom nothing else could please though the world were rounded. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? To know this world's centre, Height, depth, breadth, and length, Fain would I adventure To search the hid attractions Of magnetic actions, And adamantine strength. Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain, Where the moon sojourns, if there be trees or fountain; If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to hunt in. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? Fain would I have it tried By experiment, By none can be denied! If in this bulk of nature, There be voids less or greater, Or all remains complete. Fain would I know if beasts have any reason; season. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? Hallo, my fancy, hallo! Stay, stay at home with me, It is too much for thee. Stay, stay at home with me; leave off thy lofty soaring; Stay thou at home with me, and on thy books be poring; For he that goes abroad lays little up in storing: Thou 'rt welcome home, my fancy, welcome home to me. WILLIAM CLELAND. IDEALITY. THE vale of Tempe had in vain been fair, In Delphi's cell, and old Trophonius' cave, If heaven-born phantasy no more required The mounting soul must heavenward prune her wings. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. FANCY. EVER let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloud ward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; |