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, and on the slipping from their threading bough one by one, the fancy is content to lose the heart of the thing, the solemnity of prayer: or perhaps I do the glorious poet wrong in saying this, for the sense of a sun worship and orison in beginning its race, may have been in his mind; and so far as it was so, the passage is imaginative and not fanciful. But that which most readers would accept from it, is the mere flash of the external image, in whose truth the fancy herself does not yet believe and therefore is not yet contemplative. Here, however, is fancy believing in the images she creates:-- "It feeds the quick growth of the serpent-vine, And the dark linked ivy tangling wild And budding, blown, or odor faded blooms, Which _star the winds with points of colored light_ As they rain through them; and _bright golden globes Of fruit suspended in their own green heaven_." It is not, observe, a mere likeness that is caught here; but the flowers and fruit are entirely deprived by the fancy of their material existence, and contemplated by her seriously and faithfully as stars and worlds; yet it is only external likeness that she catches; she forces the resemblance, and lowers the dignity of the adopted image. Next take two delicious stanzas of fancy regardant, (believing in her creations,) followed by one of heavenly imagination, from Wordsworth's address to the daisy:-- "A Nun demure--of lowly port; Or sprightly maiden--of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations. A Queen in crown of rubies drest, A starveling in a scanty vest, Are all as seems to suit thee best,-- Thy appellations. I see thee glittering from afar, And then thou art a pretty star,-- Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee. Yet like a star, with glittering crest, Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;-- May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee. Sweet flower--for by that name at last, When all my reveries are past, I call thee, and to that cleave fast. Sweet silent creature, That breath'st with me, in
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