The Pleasures of Imagination, Book the First

With what attractive charms this goodly frame
Of nature touches the consenting hearts
Of mortal men; and what the pleasing stores
Which beauteous imitation thence derives
To deck the poet’s, or the painter’s toil;
My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle POW’RS
OF MUSICAL DELIGHT! and while I sing
Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.
Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast,
Indulgent FANCY! from the tuneful banks
Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull
Fresh flow’rs and dews to sprinkle on the turf
Where Shakespeare lies, be present: and with thee
Wasting ten thousand colours thro’ the air,
And, by the glances of her magic eye,
Combining each in endless, fairy forms,
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal HARMONY! descend, 
And join this festive train? for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
Majestic TRUTH; and where TRUTH deigns to come
Her sister LIBERTY will not be far.
Be present all ye GENII who conduct
The wand’ring footsteps of the youthful bard,
New to your springs and shades: who touch his ear
With finer founds; who heighten to his eye
The bloom of nature, and before him turn
The gayest, happiest attitudes of things.

Oft have the laws of each poetic strain
The critic-verse imploy’d; yet still unsung
Lay this prime subject, tho’ importing most
A poet’s name: for fruitless is th’ attempt
By dull obedience and the curb of rules,
For creeping toil to climb the hard ascent
Of high Parnassus. Nature’s kindling breath
Must fire the chosen genius; nature’s hand
Must point the path, and imp his eagle-wings
Exulting o’er the painful steep to soar
High as the summit; there to breath at large
Aetherial air; with bards and sages old,
Immortal sons of praise. These flatt’ring scenes
To this neglecting labour court my song;
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task
To paint the finest features of the mind,
And to most subtile and mysterious things
Give colour, strength and motion. But the love
Of nature and the muses bids explore,
Thro’ secret paths erewhile untrod by man,
The fair poetic region, to detect
Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts;
And shade my temples with unfading flow’rs.
Cull’d from the laureate vale’s profound recess,
Where never poet gain’d a wreath before.

From heav’n my strains begin; from heaven descends
The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love and beauty, and poetic joy
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun
Sprung from the east, or ’mid the vault of night
The moon suspended her serener lamp;
Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn’d the globe;
Or wisdom taught the sons of men her lore;
Then liv’d th’ eternal ONE: then deep-retir’d
In his unfathom’d essence, view’d at large
The uncreated images of things;
The radiant sun, the moon’s nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods and streams, the rolling globe,
And wisdom’s form coelestial. From the first
Of days, on them his love divine he fix’d,
His admiration: till in time compleat,
What he admir’d and lov’d, his vital smile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves;
Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold;
And clear autumnal skies and vernal show’rs,
And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye
Is this great scene unveil’d. For since the claims
Of social life, to diff’rent labours urge
The active pow’rs of man; with wise intent
The hand of nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a diff’rent byass, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the starrs,
The golden zones of heav’n: to some she gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things,
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain,
And will’s quick impulse: others by the hand
She led o’er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue swells the tender veins
Of herbs and flow’rs; or what the beams of morn
Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind
In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes
Were destin’d; some within a finer mould
She wrought, and temper’d with a purer flame.
To these the sire omnipotent unfolds
The world’s harmonious volume, there to read
The transcript of himself. On every part
They trace the bright impressions of his hand:
In earth or air, the meadow’s purple stores,
The moon’s mild radiance, or the virgin’s form
Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portray’d
That uncreated beauty, which delights
The mind supreme. They also feel her charms,
Enamour’d; they partake th’ eternal joy.

As Memnon’s marble harp, renown’d of old
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan’s ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded thro’ the warbling air
Unbidden strains; ev’n so did nature’s hand
To certain species of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind:
So the glad impulse of congenial pow’rs,
Or of sweet sound, or fair-proportion’d form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills thro’ imagination’s tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive
They catch the spreading rays: till now the soul
At length discloses every tuneful spring,
To that harmonious movement from without,
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Diffuses its inchantment: fancy dreams
Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
And vales of bliss: the intellectual pow’r
Bends from his awful throne a wond’ring ear,
And smiles: the passions gently sooth’d away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy, serene
As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,
Whoe’er thou art whom these delights can touch,
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of nature warms, O! listen to my song;
And I will guide thee to her fav’rite walks,
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
And point her loveliest features to thy view.

Know then, whate’er of nature’s pregnant stores,
Whate’er of mimic art’s reflected forms
With love and admiration thus inflame
The pow’rs of fancy, her delighted sons
To three illustrious orders have referr’d;
Three sister-graces, whom the painter’s hand,
The poet’s tongue confesses; the sublime,
The wonderful, the fair. I see them dawn!
I see the radiant visions, where they rise,
More lovely than when Lucifer displays
His beaming forehead thro’ the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring.

Say, why was man so eminently rais’d
Amid the vast creation; why ordain’d
Thro’ life and death to dart his piercing eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
But that th’ Omnipotent might send him forth
In sight of mortal and immortal pow’rs,
As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of justice; to exalt
His gen’rous aim to all diviner deeds;
To shake each partial purpose from his breast;
And thro’ the mists of passion and of sense,
And thro’ the tossing tide of chance and pain
To hold his course unfalt’ring, while the voice
Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent
Of nature, calls him to his high reward,
Th’ applauding smile of heav’n? Else wherefore burns
In mortal bosoms, this unquenched hope
That breathes from day to day sublimer things,
And mocks possession? wherefore darts the mind,
With such resistless ardor to embrace
Majestic forms? impatient to be free,
Spurning the gross controul of wilful might;
Proud of the strong contention of her toils;
Proud to be daring? Who but rather turns
To heav’n’s broad fire his unconstrained view,
Than to the glimm’ring of a waxen flame?
Who that, from Alpine heights, his lab’ring eye
Shoots round the wide horizon to survey
The Nile or Ganges rowl his wasteful tide
Thro’ mountains, plains, thro’ empires black with shade,
And continents of sand; will turn his gaze
To mark the windings of a scanty rill
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul
Disdains to rest her heav’n-aspiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tir’d of earth
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
Thro’ fields of air; pursues the flying storm;
Rides on the volley’d lightning thro’ the heav’ns;
Or yok’d with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars
The blue profound, and hovering o’er the sun,
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
The fated rounds of time. Thence far effus’d
She darts her swiftness up the long career
Of devious comets; thro’ its burning signs
Exulting circles the perennial wheel
Of nature, and looks back on all the starrs,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invests the orient. Now amaz’d she views
Th’ empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold,
Beyond this concave heav’n, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light
Has travell’d the profound six thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
Ev’n on the barriers of the world untir’d
She meditates th’ eternal depth below;
Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep
She plunges; soon o’erwhelm’d and swallow’d up
In that immense of being. There her hopes
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the sov’reign Maker said,
That not in humble or in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Pow’rs purple robes, or pleasure’s flow’ry lap,
The soul should find injoyment: but from these
Turning disdainful to an equal good,
Thro’ all th’ ascent of things inlarge her view,
Till every bound at length should disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.

Call now to mind what high, capacious pow’rs
Lie folded up in man; how far beyond
The praise of mortals, may th’ eternal growth
Of nature to perfection half divine,
Expand the blooming soul? What pity then
Should sloth’s unkindly fogs depress to earth
Her tender blossom; choak the streams of life,
And blast her spring! Far otherwise design’d
Almighty wisdom; nature’s happy cares
Th’obedient heart far otherwise incline.
Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active pow’r
To brisker measures: witness the neglect
Of all familiar prospects, tho’ beheld
With transport once; the fond, attentive gaze
Of young astonishment; the sober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For such the bounteous providence of heav’n,
In every breast implanting this desire
Of objects new and strange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to pursue
Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul,
In truth’s exhaustless bosom. What need words
To paint its pow’r? For this, the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother’s anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove: the pensive sage
Heedless of sleep, or midnight’s harmful damp,
Hangs o’er the sickly taper; and untir’d
The virgin follows, with inchanted step,
The mazes of some wild and wond’rous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin’d. Hence finally, by night
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth,
Suspends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,
And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
To him who robb’d the widow, and devour’d
The orphan’s portion; of unquiet souls
Ris’n from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal’d; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murd’rer’s bed.
At every solemn pause the croud recoil
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal’d
With shiv’ring sighs: till eager for th’ event,
Around the beldame all arrect they hang,
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell’d.

But lo! disclos’d in all her smiling pomp,
Where BEAUTY onward moving claims the verse
Her charms inspire: the freely-flowing verse
In thy immortal praise, O form divine,
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, BEAUTY, thee
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray
The mossy roofs adore: thou, better sun!
For ever beamest on th’ inchanted heart
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight
Poetic. Brightest progeny of heav’n!
How shall I trace thy features? where select
The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom?
Haste then, my song, thro’ nature’s wide expanse,
Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth,
Whate’er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
Whate’er the waters, or the liquid air,
To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly
With laughing Autumn to th’Atlantic isles,
And range with him th’Hesperian field, and see,
Where’er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
The branches shoot with gold; where’er his step
Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters glow
With purple ripeness, and invest each hill
As with the blushes of an evening sky?
Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume,
Where, gliding thro’ his daughter’s honour’d shades,
The smooth Penéus from his glassy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempe’s pleasant scene?
Fair Tempe! haunt belov’d of fylvan pow’rs,
Of nymphs and fauns; where in the golden age
They play'd in secret on the shady brink
With ancient Pan: while round their choral steps
Young hours and genial gales with constant hand
Show’r’d blossoms, odours, show’r’d ambrosial dews,
And spring’s Elysian bloom. Her flow’ry store
To thee nor Tempe shall refuse; nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits
From thy free spoil. O bear then, unreprov’d,
Thy smiling treasures to the green recess
Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs
Intice her forth to lend her angel-form
For beauty’s honour’d image. Hither turn
Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,
Incline thy polish’d forehead: let thy eyes
Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn;
And may the fanning breezes waft aside
Thy radiant locks, disclosing as it bends
With airy softness from the marble neck
The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip
Where winning smiles and pleasure sweet as love,
With sanctity and wisdom, temp’ring blend
Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force
Of nature, and her kind parental care,
Worthier I’d sing: then all th’ enamour’d youth,
With each admiring virgin to my lyre
Should throng attentive, while I point on high
Where beauty’s living image, like the morn
That wakes in Zephyr’s arms the blushing May,
Moves onward; or as Venus, when she stood
Effulgent on the pearly car, and smil’d,
Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form,
To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells,
And each coerulean sister of the flood
With fond acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
To seek th’ Idalian bow’r. Ye smiling band
Of youths and virgins, who thro’ all the maze
Of young desire with rival-steps pursue
This charm of beauty; if the pleasing toil
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
Of superstition drest in wisdom’s garb,
To damp your tender hopes; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thund’rer fire the heav’ns,
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth
To fright you from your joys: my chearful song
With better omens calls you to the field,
Pleas’d with your gen’rous ardour in the chace,
And warm as you. Then tell me, for you know,
Does beauty ever deign to dwell where health
And active use are strangers? Is her charm
Confess’d in aught, whose most peculiar ends
Are lame and fruitless? Or did nature mean
This awful stamp the herald of a lye;
To hide the shame of discord and disease,
And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart
Of idle faith? O no! with better cares,
Th’ indulgent mother, conscious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illustrious image, in each kind
Still most illustrious where the object holds
Its native pow’rs most perfect, she by this
Illumes the headlong impulse of desire,
And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract
Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul,
The bloom of nectar’d fruitage ripe to sense,
And every charm of animated things,
Are only pledges of a state sincere,
Th’ integrity and order of their frame,
When all is well within, and every end
Accomplish’d. Thus was beauty sent from heav’n,
The lovely ministress of truth and good
In this dark world: for truth and good are one,
And beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore then,
O sons of earth! would you dissolve the tye?
O wherefore, with a rash, imperfect aim,
Seek you those flow’ry joys with which the hand
Of lavish fancy paints each flatt’ring scene
Where beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire
Where is the sanction of eternal truth,
Or where the seal of undeceitful good,
To save your search from folly? Wanting these,
Lo! beauty withers in your void imbrace,
And with the glitt’ring of an idiot’s toy
Did fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam
Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts,
Be chill’d or clouded at this awful task
To learn the lore of undeceitful good,
And truth eternal. Tho’ the pois’nous charms
Of baleful superstition, guide the feet
Of servile numbers, thro’ a dreary way
To their abode, thro’ desarts, thorns and mire;
And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn
To muse, at last, amid the ghostly gloom
Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister’d cells;
To walk with spectres thro’ the midnight shade,
And to the screaming owl’s accursed song
Attune the dreadful workings of his heart;
Yet be not you dismay’d. A gentler star
Your lovely search illumines. From the grove
Where wisdom talk’d with her Athenian sons,
Could my ambitious hand intwine a wreath
Of PLATO’S olive with the Mantuan bay,
Then should my pow’rful voice at once dispel
These monkish horrors: then in light divine
Disclose th’ Elysian prospect, where the steps
Of those whom nature charms, thro’ blooming walks,
Thro’ fragrant mountains and poetic streams,
Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards,
Led by their winged Genius and the choir
Of laurell’d science and harmonious art,
Proceed exulting to th’ eternal shrine,
Where truth inthron’d with her coelestial twins,
The undivided part’ners of her sway,
With good and beauty reigns. O let not us,
Lull’d by luxurious pleasure’s languid strain,
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot-rage,
O let not us a moment pause to join
The god-like band. And if the gracious pow’r
That first awaken’d my untutor’d song,
Will to my invocation breathe anew
The tuneful spirit; then thro’ all our paths,
Ne’er shall the sound of this devoted lyre
Be wanting; whether on the rosy mead,
When summer smiles, to warn the melting heart
Of luxury’s allurement; whether firm
Against the torrent and the stubborn hill
To urge bold virtue’s unremitted nerve,
And wake the strong divinity of soul
That conquers chance and fate; or whether struck
For sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toils
Upon the lofty summit, round her brow
To twine the wreathe of incorruptive praise;
To trace her hallow’d light thro’ future worlds,
And bless heav’n’s image in the heart of man.

Thus with a faithful aim have we presum’d,
Advent’rous, to delineate nature’s form;
Whether in vast, majestic pomp array’d,
Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene
In beauty’s rosy smile. It now remains,
Thro’ various being’s fair-proportion’d scale,
To trace the rising lustre of her charms,
From their first twilight, shining forth at length
To full meridian splendour. Of degree
The least and lowliest, in th’effusive warmth
Of colours mingling with a random blaze,
Doth beauty dwell. Then higher in the line
And variation of determin’d shape,
Where truth’s eternal measures mark the bound
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent
Unites this varied symmetry of parts
With colour’s bland allurement; as the pearl
Shines in the concave of its azure bed,
And painted shells indent their speckled wreathe.
Then more attractive rise the blooming forms
Thro’ which the breath of nature has infus’d
Her genial pow’r to draw with pregnant veins
Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth,
In fruit and seed prolific: thus the flow’rs
Their purple honours with the spring resume;
And such the stately tree which autumn bends
With blushing treasures. But more lovely still
Is nature’s charm, where to the full consent
Of complicated members, to the bloom
Of colour, and the vital change of growth,
Life’s holy flame and piercing sense are giv’n,
And active motion speaks the temper’d soul:
So moves the bird of Juno; so the steed
With rival ardour beats the dusty plain,
And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy
Salute their fellows. Thus doth beauty dwell
There most conspicuous, ev’n in outward shape,
Where dawns the high expression of a mind:
By steps conducting our inraptur’d search
To that eternal origin, whose pow’r,
Thro’ all th’ unbounded symmetry of things,
Like rays effulging from the parent sun,
This endless mixture of her charms diffus’d.
MIND, MIND alone, bear witness, earth and heav’n!
The living fountains in itself contains
Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand,
Sit paramount the Graces; here inthron’d,
Coelestial Venus, with divinest airs,
Invites the soul to never-fading joy.
Looks then abroad thro’ nature, to the range
Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres
Wheeling unshaken thro’ the void immense;
And speak, O man! does this capacious scene
With half that kindling majesty dilate
Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose
Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar’s fate,
Amid the croud of patriots; and his arm
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove
When guilt brings down the thunder, call’d aloud
On Tully’s name, and shook his crimson steel,
And bade the father of his country, hail!
For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust,
And Rome again is free? — Is aught so fair
In all the dewy landscapes of the spring,
In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn,
In nature’s fairest forms, is aught so fair
As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush
Of him who strives with fortune to be just?
The graceful tear that streams for other's woes?
Or the mild majesty of private life,
Where peace with ever-blooming olive crowns,
The gate; where honour’s liberal hands effuse
Unenvy’d treasures, and the snowy wings
Of innocence and love protect the scene?
Once more search, undismay’d, the dark profound
Where nature works in secret; view the beds
Of min’ral treasure, and th’ eternal vault
That bounds the hoary ocean; trace the forms
Of atoms moving with incessant change
Their elemental round; behold the seeds
Of being, and the energy of life
Kindling the mass with ever-active flame:
Then to the secrets of the working mind
Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call
Her fleet, ideal band; and bid them, go!
Break thro’ time’s barrier, and o’ertake the hour
That saw the heav’ns created: then declare
If aught were found in those external scenes
To move thy wonder now. For what are all
The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears,
Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts?
Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows
The superficial impulse; dull their charms,
And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.
Not so the moral species, or the pow’rs
Of genius and design; th’ ambitious mind
There sees herself: by these congenial forms
Touch’d and awaken’d, with intenser act
She bends each nerve, and meditates well-pleas’d
Her features in the mirror. For of all
Th’ inhabitants of earth, to man alone
Creative wisdom gave to lift his eye
To truth’s eternal measures; thence to frame
The sacred laws of action and of will,
Discerning justice from unequal deeds,
And temperance from folly. But beyond
This energy of truth, whose dictates bind
Assenting reason, the benignant sire,
To deck the honour’d paths of just and good,
Has added bright imagination’s rays:
Where virtue rising from the awful depth
Of truth’s mysterious bosom, doth forsake
The unadorn’d condition of her birth;
And dress’d by fancy in ten thousand hues,
Assumes a various feature, to attract,
With charms responsive to each gazer’s eye,
The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk,
Th’ ingenuous youth whom solitude inspires
With purest wishes, from the pensive shade
Beholds her moving, like a virgin-muse
That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme
Of harmony and wonder: while among
The herd of servile minds, her strenuous form
Indignant flashes on the patriot’s eye,
And thro’ the rolls of memory appeals
To ancient honour; or in act serene,
Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword
Of public pow’r, from dark ambition’s reach
To guard the sacred volume of the laws.

Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps
Well-pleas’d I follow thro’ the sacred paths
Of nature and of science; nurse divine
Of all heroic deeds and fair desires!
O! let the breath of thy extended praise
Inspire my kindling bosom to the height
Of this untemper’d theme. Nor be my thoughts
Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm
That sooths this vernal evening into smiles,
I steal impatient from the sordid haunts
Of strife and low ambition, to attend
Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade,
By their malignant footsteps ne’er profan’d.
Descend, propitious! to my favour’d eye;
Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air,
As when the Persian tyrant, foil’d and stung
With shame and desperation, gnash’d his teeth
To see thee rend the pageants of his throne;
And at the lightning of thy lifted spear
Crouch’d like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,
Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,
Thy smiling band of arts, thy godlike sires
Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth
Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way
Thro’ fair Lycéum’s walk, the green retreats
Of Academus, and the thymy vale,
Where oft inchanted with Socratic sounds,
Ilissus pure devolv’d his tuneful stream
In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store
Of these auspicious fields, may I unblam’d
Transplant some living blossoms to adorn
My native clime: while far above the flight
Of fancy’s plume aspiring, I unlock
The springs of ancient wisdom; while I join
Thy name, thrice honour’d! with th’immortal praise
Of nature; while to my compatriot youth
I point the high example of thy sons,
And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.