Rhymes On The Road. Extract IX. Venice.

The English to be met with everywhere.--Alps and Threadneedle Street.--The Simplon and the Stocks.--Rage for travelling.--Blue Stockings among the Wahabees.--Parasols and Pyramids.--Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China.


And is there then no earthly place,
    Where we can rest in dream Elysian,
Without some curst, round English face,
    Popping up near to break the vision?
Mid northern lakes, mid southern vines,
    Unholy cits we're doomed to meet;
Nor highest Alps nor Apennines
    Are sacred from Threadneedle Street!

If up the Simplon's path we wind,
Fancying we leave this world behind,
Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear
As--"Baddish news from 'Change, my dear--
"The funds--(phew I curse this ugly hill)--
"Are lowering fast--(what, higher still?)--
"And--(zooks, we're mounting up to heaven!)--
"Will soon be down to sixty-seven."

Go where we may--rest where we will.
Eternal London haunts us still.
The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch--
And scarce a pin's head difference which--
Mixes, tho' even to Greece we run,
With every rill from Helicon!
And if this rage for travelling lasts,
If Cockneys of all sects and castes,
Old maidens, aldermen, and squires,
Will leave their puddings and coal fires,
To gape at things in foreign lands
No soul among them understands;
If Blues desert their coteries,
To show off 'mong the Wahabees;
If neither sex nor age controls,
    Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids
Young ladies with pink parasols
    To glide among the Pyramids--

Why, then, farewell all hope to find
A spot that's free from London-kind!
Who knows, if to the West we roam,
But we may find some Blue "at home"
    Among the Blacks of Carolina--
Or flying to the Eastward see
Some Mrs. HOPKINS taking tea
    And toast upon the Wall of China!

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Impromptu, On Leaving Some Friends.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

They Met But Once.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Lying.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

I've A Secret To Tell Thee.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

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Lines To A Lady.[1] On Her Departure For India.

Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly,
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Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice, -
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Go where the lion in his hunger howleth,
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Go where the serpent dangerously coileth,
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Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth,
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Rhymes On The Road. Extract VII. Venice.

Lord Byron's Memoirs, written by himself.--Reflections, when about to read them.


Let me a moment--ere with fear and hope
Of gloomy, glorious things, these leaves I ope--
As one in fairy tale to whom the key
    Of some enchanter's secret halls is given,
Doubts while he enters slowly, tremblingly,
    If he shall meet with shapes from hell or heaven--
Let me a moment think what thousands live
O'er the wide earth this instant who would give,
Gladly, whole sleepless nights to bend the brow
Over these precious leaves, as I do now.

How all who know--and where is he unknown?
To what far region have his songs not flown,
Like PSAPHON'S birds^[1] speaking their master's name,
In every language syllabled by Fame?--
How all who've felt the v...

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Introductory Rhymes.

Different Attitudes in which Authors compose.--Bayes, Henry Stevens, Herodotus, etc.--Writing in Bed--in the Fields.--Plato and Sir Richard Blackmore.--Fiddling with Gloves and Twigs.--Madame de Staël.--Rhyming on the Road, in an old Calêche.


What various attitudes and ways
    And tricks we authors have in writing!
While some write sitting, some like BAYES
    Usually stand while they're inditing,
Poets there are who wear the floor out,
    Measuring a line at every stride;
While some like HENRY STEPHENS pour out
    Rhymes by the dozen while they ride.
HERODOTUS wrote most in bed;
    And RICHERAND, a French physician,
Declares the clock-work of the head
    Goes best in that reclined position.
If you consult MONTAIGNE and PLINY on
The subject, 'tis...

Thomas Moore

The Invitation: To Tom Hughes

Come away with me, Tom,
Term and talk are done;
My poor lads are reaping,
Busy every one.
Curates mind the parish,
Sweepers mind the court;
We'll away to Snowdon
For our ten days' sport;
Fish the August evening
Till the eve is past,
Whoop like boys, at pounders
Fairly played and grassed.
When they cease to dimple,
Lunge, and swerve, and leap,
Then up over Siabod,
Choose our nest, and sleep.
Up a thousand feet, Tom,
Round the lion's head,
Find soft stones to leeward
And make up our bed.
Eat our bread and bacon,
Smoke the pipe of peace,
And, ere we be drowsy,
Give our boots a grease.
Homer's heroes did so,
Why not such as we?
What are sheets and servants?
Superfluity!
Pray for wives and children
Sa...

Charles Kingsley

From The Hon. Henry ----, To Lady Emma ----.

Paris, March 30,1833.


You bid me explain, my dear angry Ma'amselle,
How I came thus to bolt without saying farewell;
And the truth is,--as truth you will have, my sweet railer,--
    There are two worthy persons I always feel loath
To take leave of at starting,--my mistress and tailor,--
    As somehow one always has scenes with them both;
The Snip in ill-humor, the Syren in tears,
    She calling on Heaven, and he on the attorney,--
Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his dears,
    A young gentleman risks being stopt in his journey.

But to come to the point, tho' you think, I dare say.
That 'tis debt or the Cholera drives me away,
'Pon honor you're wrong;--such a mere bagatelle
    As a pestilence, nobody now-a-days fea...

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. Extract III. Geneva.

Fancy and Truth--Hippomenes and Atalanta. Mont Blanc.--Clouds.


Even here in this region of wonders I find
That light-footed Fancy leaves Truth far behind;
Or at least like Hippomenes turns her astray
By the golden illusions he flings in her way.

What a glory it seemed the first evening I gazed!
MONT BLANC like a vision then suddenly raised
On the wreck of the sunset--and all his array
    Of high-towering Alps, touched still with a light
Far holier, purer than that of the Day,
    As if nearness to Heaven had made them so bright!
Then the dying at last of these splendors away
From peak after peak, till they left but a ray,
One roseate ray, that, too precious to fly,
    O'er the Mighty of Mountains still glowingly hung,
Like the last sunny ...

Thomas Moore