The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
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| III, IV. |
| V. |
 | VI, VII. |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | EXTRACT V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
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| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
292
EXTRACT V.
Padua.
Fancy and Reality.—Rain-drops and Lakes.—Plan of a Story. —Where to place the Scene of it.—In some unknown Region. Psalmanazar's Imposture with respect to the Island of Formosa.
The more I've view'd this world, the more I've found,
That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands, within her own bright round,
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.
Nor is it that her power can call up there
A single charm, that's not from Nature won,
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single hue unborrow'd from the sun—
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotomy of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on Peris' wings!
And such, I deem, the diff'rence between real,
Existing Beauty and that form ideal,
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' eyes,
Like sunshine in the drop—with all those dyes,
Which Fancy's variegating prism supplies.
That, fill'd as 'tis with scenes and creatures rare,
Fancy commands, within her own bright round,
A world of scenes and creatures far more fair.
Nor is it that her power can call up there
A single charm, that's not from Nature won,
No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear
A single hue unborrow'd from the sun—
But 'tis the mental medium it shines through,
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light, that o'er the level lake
One dull monotomy of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make
Colours as gay as those on Peris' wings!
293
Existing Beauty and that form ideal,
Which she assumes, when seen by poets' eyes,
Like sunshine in the drop—with all those dyes,
Which Fancy's variegating prism supplies.
I have a story of two lovers, fill'd
With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness,
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd
Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness.
But where to choose the region of my vision
In this wide, vulgar world—what real spot
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian
For two such perfect lovers, I know not.
Oh for some fair Formosa, such as he,
The young Jew fabled of, in the' Indian Sea,
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known,
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own,
Her fairy kingdom—take its people, lands,
And tenements into her own bright hands,
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite!
With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness,
And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill'd
Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madness.
But where to choose the region of my vision
In this wide, vulgar world—what real spot
Can be found out sufficiently Elysian
For two such perfect lovers, I know not.
Oh for some fair Formosa, such as he,
The young Jew fabled of, in the' Indian Sea,
By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known,
And which Queen Fancy might make all her own,
Her fairy kingdom—take its people, lands,
And tenements into her own bright hands,
And make, at least, one earthly corner fit
For Love to live in, pure and exquisite!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |