e,
Why the idols of the masses have an entree to Parnassus,
While a want of mere invention is an obstacle to me!

FRAGMENT OF A JARGONIAD

Arise, my _Muse_, and ply th' extended Wing!
It is of Language that I mean to sing.
Thou mighty Medium, potent to convey
The clearest Notions in the darkest Way,
Diffus'd by thee, what Depth of verbal Mist
Veils now the Realist, now th' Idealist!
Our mental Processes more complex grow
Than those our Sires were privileged to know.
In Ages old, ere Time Instruction brought,
A Thought or Thing was but a Thing or Thought:
Such simple Names are now forever gone--
A Concept this, that a Noumenon:
As _Cambria's_ Sons their Pride of Race increase
By joining _Ap_ to _Evan_, _Jones_, or _Rees_,
A prouder Halo decks the Sage's Brow,
Perceptive once, he's Apperceptive now!
Here sits Mentality (that erst was Mind),
By correlated Entities defin'd:
Here Monads lone Duality express
In bright Immediacy of Consciousness:
O who shall say what Obstacles deter
The Youth who'd fain commence Philosopher!
The painful Public with bewilder'd Brain
For Metaphysic pants, but pants in vain:
Too hard the Names, too weighty far the Load:
Language forbids, and _Br-dl-y_ blocks the Road.
From Themes like these I willingly depart,
And pass (discursive) to the Realms of Art.
Ye _Muses_ nine! what Phrases ye employ,
What wondrous Terms t' express aesthetic Joy!
As once in Years ere _Babel's_ Turrets rose
Contented Nations talk'd the self-same Prose:
As early _Christians_ in the Days of Yore
Took what they wanted from a common Store:
So different Arts th' astonished Reader sees
Pool all their Terms, then choose whate'er they please.
'Mid critick Crews (where Intellect abounds)
Sound sings in Colours, Colours shine in Sounds:
When mimick Groves _Apelles_ decks with green,
Or _Zeuxis_ limns the vespertinal Scene,
_Staccato Tints_ delight th' auscultant Eye
And soft _Andantes_ paint the conscious Sky:
Nor less, when Musick holds the list'ning Throng,
How crisply lucent glows th' entrancing Song!
Each loud _Sonata_ boasts its lively Hue,
And _Fugues_ are red, and _Symphonies_ are blue.
Not mine to deem your Epithets misplac'd,
Ye learned Arbiters of publick Taste!
Yet such th' Effect on merely human Wit,
That _Esperanto_ is a Joke to it.