Penny Dreadfuls, 1812 · page 43 of 258
Psyche, and other poems — page 43: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page 25 of a Victorian Penny Dreadful This is a text page containing poetry (page 25, marked at top). The verse describes a mysterious scenario in which supernatural or magical beings entertain a woman in an enchanted setting—they cheer her with divine songs, lead her through beautiful bowers, provide miraculous fruits and flowers, and give her a self-moving gilded chariot. However, she repeatedly asks about her lover's name and whereabouts, receiving no answer until twilight, when he mysteriously appears. The final stanza shifts to the narrator invoking the Muse for poetic inspiration. The content suggests romantic mystery and fantasy elements typical of Victorian sensational fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
29 With songs divine her anxious soul they cheer, And woo her footsteps to delicious bowers, _ They bid the fruit more exquisite appear Which at her feet its bright profusion showers : For her they cull unknown, celestial flowers ; The gilded car they bid her fearless guide, — Which at her wish self-moved with wondrous powers, The rapid bird’s velocity defied, While round the blooming isle it rolled with circuit wide. Again they spread the feast, they strike the lyre, But to her frequent questions nought reply, Her lips in vain her lover’s name require, Or wherefore thus concealed he shuns her eye. But when reluctant twilight veils the sky, And each pale lamp successively expires ; Again she trembling hears the voice of joy, Her spouse a tender confidence inspires, But with a fond embrace ere dawn again retires. To charm the languid hours of solitude He oft invites her to the Muse’s lore, For none have vainly e’er the Muse pursued, And those whom she delights, regret no more The social, joyous hours, while rapt they sear To worlds unknown, and live in fancy’s dream: Oh, Muse divine! thee only Ll implore, Shed on my soul thy sweet inspiring beams, And pleasure’s gayest scene insipid folly seems! Conmicloooks.comn) €