There, on a bank of flowery verdure clad, List’ning the harmony of wild songster sweet, Half-dreaming sunk, with look nor blithe nor sad, Where playful thought and muse inspired meet, A noble countenance did beholder greet; Whereat each wondered at that face divine, And eagerly their guide ’gan loud entreat Knowledge of him, whose form drew gazers’ eyne, That paragon ’mong men, that did all men outshine. CXXV. “Those lineaments divine ye now behold” (He answering spake, with animated tone), “Of one whose name, to ages yet untold, Shall like a phœnix rise and blaze alone; No living wight can e’er approach his throne; Born for all time, nature’s decipherer, His likeness vain it is to look upon; Famed son, of Tudor’s age the boast. Draw near, Mark how the spirit’s glow lights up those features clear.” CXXVI. In fancy’s mood on gentle slope reclined, Besprent with flowers that shed sweet fragrance round, The poet, wrapt in vision of the mind, Soared to fair regions of delight and sound; The lovely haunts of fairy troop he found, And there disporting hied right merrily; No footing pleased him like to fairy ground, Or so entic’d in musing’s hour to lie, And ken the blissful bowers of clouds in amber sky. CXXVII. Inspired they saw the Swan of Avon stream, Whose eye it glanced on earth, from earth to heav’n, In a fine frenzy rolling, poet’s dream; To him, supreme of mortals, gifts were giv’n, That did partake ethereal baser riv’n, As gold from dross or spark the metal flies; The spirit’s essence, over matter striv’n, And lief t’ escape its prison house ytries, Far into empty space, winged sprite that never dies. CXXVIII. To him the air sent forth an aerial sound, In strains unearthly borne, remote, then near: Music of fairies as they feat the ground By glimpse of moonbeam, heard to mortal ear, And ply their tasks, and quaff their elfish cheer; All nature vocal, every purling brook Danced eddying forth in gurglings loud and clear; And satyrs stole to gaze, from hidden nook, While nymphs of glade and stream their secret haunts forsook. CXXIX. Leaving th’ enchantment of this wizard spot, Whereto the Muses haunt th’ Aonian spring, For genius culture fitted most, I wot, When Nature lavish doth her dainties fling, Hill, spring, and valley, all that she can bring, To lap the soul in one Elysium dream, And sing herself away on soaring wing; Rapt poet’s land, and sweet enchanting stream, Where fancy plumes her flight, as sinks Sol’s prancing team. CXXX.