"How all impressions of the mind are chang'd! / The heart distended and the head derang'd."

— Jones, Henry (1721-1770)


Place of Publication
Isle of Wight
Publisher
Printed J. Mallett
Date
1782
Metaphor
"How all impressions of the mind are chang'd! / The heart distended and the head derang'd."
Metaphor in Context
Now wafted slowly by the indented shore,
With panting heart the needles we explore,
Nor feel the kind digressions on the way,
The beckoning welcome that invite our stay;
From banks from buildings and from smiling groves,
Or gently rising hills that Cæres loves,
No neighbouring charms attract th'impatient sight,
By distant wonders drawn and dread delight;
Forestalling Neptune at each sturdy stroke,
The Wind and Tide with passion we provoke;
Accusing time and straining for yon rock,
From his long pausing pole we tear the lock;
Such throbbing fervours fill'd our hearts the while
To reach this wonder of Medina's Isle:
The breeze at length and Neptune hears our prayer,
And quick recoiling shore our speed declare.
See backward now the Norman forest glide,
See Hurst's strong Castle rooted in the Tide,
And now the Ocean opens to our eyes,
See ships like clouds from out the offing rise;
The Needles now with dawning gleams appear
Like the grey glimpses when the morn is near,
That whiter grows as Boreas mends the breeze,
Their bluish mantle fading by degrees;
Is vanish'd now, the rocks are now express'd,
And beauty stands before us all undress'd,
With tempting Majesty serene yet coy,
That damps at once, at once provokes our joy,
Conceding gradual with a placid mien,
Where grandeur mixt with gentleness is seen;
Where both agree with wide extended arms
To clasp the gazer to their mingled charms;
The verdent velvet robe is cast above,
As needless in the naked task of love,
See! see! how fancy on that bed is caught
With all that Iris in her webb hath wrought;
Where all the tints that in her loom delight
On yonder bank, salute the raptur'd sight;
The rainbow's radiance and commingled ray
In shining strata of refulgent clay,
Seem emulous of that which reigns on high,
Here Earth contends with beauties of the Sky;
Th'inchanting slope with sweet attraction draws,
The eager heart, and yet it's ardour awes,
As conscious of some wondrous scene behind
That with prodigious grandeur damp the mind;
By some prophetic energy imprest
That from this specimen concludes the rest;
And lo! the outguards, fix'd that boldly brave
The storm indignant and the advancing wave;
In hostile wise with sharpen'd spears they stand
Amid the floods, at nature's great command;
In postures changing as we draw more near,
Like watchful warriors, old implanted there,
That face us various as we winding go,
And challenge still, and still arrest the foe:
But see Lot's wife, for fame has call'd her so,
With stately stature and with robes that flow
Majestic, lofty, like some sea born Queen,
Adjust her tresses in the mirror green,
Her tresses there assume the noblest forms,
The rocks her toilet, and her comb the storms;
Her fashions are put on by nature's hand,
And curls in characters unchanged stand,
Now swallow'd up with greatness, fear and joy,
Let taste and wonder all the soul employ,
Lo! nature's hand hath here enormous wrought
Beyond the grasp of sense, the reach of thought;
Here awe struck reason must in silence pause,
Lay down her scepter and suspend her laws,
Unable on her gradual steps to climb
The dreadful summit of this vast sublime:
How all impressions of the mind are chang'd!
The heart distended and the head derang'd,

The height above the wave fatigues the eye,
For the strain'd nerve can scarcely reach so high,
Above the proudest pitch of Roman style,
Of Pompey's theatre, or Trajan's pile;
This awful edifice commands the waves,
By nature built, the boisterous billow braves;
The God of ocean here his palace keeps,
And sends his mandates o'er the distant deeps,
The voice in eddies through the cliff is tost,
And all the sense in half the space is lost;
In half the space is mingled with the air,
By echo's force annihilated there.
Hark! how the thunders of the exploding gun,
That oft in loud prolific mazes stun
The ear, beget a thousand vollies as they run;
Whilst over head the concave seems alive;
Like bees in millions swarming from the hive;
The sea birds darken all the living space,
That look no larger than the insect race,
That wheel around, disturb'd with clamours call,
Or fall transfix'd, increasing as they fall:
Now whirling nearer to the impatient eye,
They dash upon the wave and dashing die:[5]
The billows bowing with profoundest sweep,
Would pay their homage to the amazing steep,
With grandeur rolling as they lofty climb,
For every incident must be sublime,
Now! now! through Galileo's orb we spy
These startled millions in their ranks on high,
In stories rais'd with agitated breasts
Before the portals of their guarded nests;
Tier above tier consulting in a fright,
As erst the Roman capitol by night;
How sweetly through the tellescope they shew
Their crimson heads erect, and breasts of snow!
In motion much disturb'd, with troubled mind,
Like roses ruffl'd by the invading wind;
Till scar'd again no longer watch they keep,
But sore aloft, or dive into the deep;
Or anxious flutter, flapping feebly spring
From wave to wave, upon the wounded wing.
(Canto II, cf. pp. 15-23 in 1766 ed.)
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "impression" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
2 entries in ESTC (1766, 1782).

Text from The Isle of Wight, a Poem, In Three Cantos (Isle of Wight: Printed J. Mallett, 1782).

See also Vectis. The Isle of Wight: a Poem. In Three Cantos. By Henry Jones, Author of the Earl of Essex, Kew Garden, &c. &c. &c. (Isle of Wight and London: Printed for W. Flexney, near Gray’s-Inn-Gate, Holborn, 1766). <Link to ECCO>
Date of Entry
05/15/2005

The Mind is a Metaphor is authored by Brad Pasanek, Assistant Professor of English, University of Virginia.