THE
POWER
OF
FANCY
.
WRITTEN
FOR
THE
VASE
AT
BATH-EASTON
.
Fancy
,
come
!
—
thou
fertile
theme
,
And
thy
choicest
colours
spread
,
Airy
phantom
,
waking
dream
,
Show'r
thy
odours
on
my
head
!
Sweet
enchantress
,
tune
my
lyre
,
Gently
place
me
on
thy
wing
,
Robe
me
in
thy
gay
attire
,
Whilst
thy
power
I
strive
to
sing
.
Then
thy
pinions
wide
expand
,
Swift
pursue
thine
eagle
flight
,
Guide
me
with
thy
magic
wand
,
Bear
me
past
the
reach
of
sight
.
Waft
me
thro'
those
fragrant
gales
,
Which
exhale
from
Pindus'
hill
,
Lead
me
to
those
flowery
vales
,
Water'd
by
Castalia's
rill
.
Give
me
of
that
limpid
stream
,
Which
the
sportive
muses
sip
,
So
should
I
that
draught
esteem
Sweet
as
nectar
to
my
lip
.
Thence
on
fam'd
Parnassus'
mount
,
Kind
conductress
,
let
me
light
,
There
would
I
thy
power
recount
,
If
to
me
thou
would'st
indite
.
Offering
meet
I
then
might
bring
To
the
Muse's
fav'rite
Vase
,
And
to
strains
melodious
sing
Carols
in
the
Donor's
praise
.
But
me
,
alas
!
no
muse
inspires
,
Nor
fancy
aids
,
nor
sylphs
indite
,
No
whispering
gales
,
nor
sounding
lyres
To
numbers
sweet
my
pen
invite
.
Yet
tho'
no
laurels
I
can
claim
,
No
plaudits
from
your
circle
meet
,
Still
shall
it
be
my
humble
aim
To
lay
my
offerings
at
your
feet
.