Then with Promethean art, 410 Into its proper vehicle [Endnote KK] he breathes The fair conception; which, embodied thus, And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd, The various organs of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the featured rock, The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse, Beyond their proper powers attract the soul By that expressive semblance, while in sight Of Nature's great original we scan 420 The lively child of Art; while line by line, And feature after feature we refer To that sublime exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding Love Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice Enclosed and obvious to the beaming sun, Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens 430 With equal flames present on either hand The radiant visage; Persia stands at gaze, Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, To which his warbled orisons ascend. Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys, Favour'd of Heaven! while, plunged in sordid cares, The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine; And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 440 Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain, Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil, And calls the love and beauty which I sing, The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say, Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense, To let her shine upon thee? So the man 450 Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven, Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright O'er all creation. From the wise be far Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song Descend so low; but rather now unfold, If human thought could reach, or words unfold, By what mysterious fabric of the mind, The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound Result from airy motion; and from shape 460 The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. By what fine ties hath God connected things When present in the mind, which in themselves Have no connexion? Sure the rising sun O'er the cerulean convex of the sea, With equal brightness and with equal warmth Might roll his fiery orb, nor yet the soul Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers Exulting in the splendour she beholds, Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp 470 Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,