To Fancy.

Most delicate Ariel! submissive thing,
Won by the mind's high magic to its hest -
Invisible embassy, or secret guest, -
Weighing the light air on a lighter wing; -
Whether into the midnight moon, to bring
Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, -
Or rich romances from the florid West, -
Or to the sea, for mystic whispering, -
Still by thy charm'd allegiance to the will,
The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain,
As by the fingering of fairy skill, -
Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain,
Odors, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile,
Making this dull world an enchanted isle.

Thomas Hood

Thomas Hood, born May 23, 1799, and passed away on May 3, 1845, was a British humorist and poet renowned for his comic verse and sharp satire. His most famous works include 'The Song of the Shirt' and 'The Bridge of Sighs,' which highlighted social issues and the plight of the poor. Hood's legacy is celebrated for blending humor with a deep empathy for human suffering, making his poetry both entertaining and thought-provoking.

Thomas Hood

Ode To The Moon.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

A Parthian Glance.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

To A Child Embracing His Mother.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

The Forlorn Shepherd's Complaint.[1] - An Unpublished Poem, From Sydney.

Thomas Hood, Simple Poetry

English

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Fairest! Put On Awhile.

Fairest! put on awhile
    These pinions of light I bring thee,
And o'er thy own green isle
    In fancy let me wing thee.
Never did Ariel's plume,
    At golden sunset hover
O'er scenes so full of bloom,
    As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays
    And fearlessly meets the ardor
Of the warm Summer's gaze,
    With only her tears to guard her.
Rocks, thro' myrtle boughs
    In grace majestic frowning;
Like some bold warrior's brows
    That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair,
    That never hath bird come nigh them,
But from his course thro' air
    He hath been won down by them;--^[1]
Types, sweet maid, of thee,
    Whose look, whose blush inviting,
Never did Love yet...

Thomas Moore

To The Marchioness Dowager Of Donegall.

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.


Lady! where'er you roam, whatever land
Woos the bright touches of that artist hand;
Whether you sketch the valley's golden meads,
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads;^[1]
Enamored catch the mellow hues that sleep,
At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep;
Or musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline,
Mark the last shadow on that holy shrine,^[2]
Where, many a night, the shade of Tell complains
Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains;
Oh! lay the pencil for a moment by,
Turn from the canvas that creative eye,
And let its splendor, like the morning ray
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay.

Yet, Lady, no--for song so rude as mine,
Chase not the wonders of your art divine;
Still, radiant...

Thomas Moore

Fancy.

The more I've viewed this world, the more I've found,
That filled 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 tint unborrowed from the sun;
But 'tis the mental medium; it shines thro',
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light that o'er the level lake
    One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded raindrop, make
Colors as gay as those on angels' wings!

Thomas Moore

To Joseph Atkinson, Esq.

FROM BERMUDA.^[1]


"The daylight is gone--but, before we depart,
"One cup shall go round to the friend of my heart,
"The kindest, the dearest--oh! judge by the tear
"I now shed while I name him, how kind and how dear."

    'Twas thus in the shade of the Calabash-Tree,
With a few, who could feel and remember like me,
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw
Was a sigh to the past and a blessing on you.

    Oh! say, is it thus, in the mirth-bringing hour,
When friends are assembled, when wit, in full flower,
Shoots forth from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new--
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him
Who is lonely and sad in these val...

Thomas Moore

Rhymes On The Road. 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 viewed this world the more I've found,
    That, filled 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 unborrowed from the sun--
But 'tis the mental medium it shines thro'
That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue;
As the same light that o'er the level lake
    One dull monotony of lustre flings,
Will, entering in the rounded ...

Thomas Moore

To Fancy

O! what a nameless feeling of delight
Stole o'er my wondering spirit, like a gleam
From opening heaven! dost thou, then, Fancy, deign
Once more to visit me? thou dost! thou dost!
That breath of extacy, that heavenly light,
Flow'd from the wafture of thy angel wings,
And from thy smiling eyes: divinest Power!
Welcome, thrice welcome! O vouchsafe to make
My breast thy temple, and my heart thy shrine!
Still will I worship thee, and thou shalt keep,
In peace, thy new abode, nor fear the approach
Of aught profane or hostile, to disturb
Thy holy mysteries; for I will chase
Far from the hallow'd precincts where thou dwell'st
Each worldly passion, every grovelling thought,
And all the train of Vice; striving to make
The shrine well-worthy its celestial guest.
Sti...

Thomas Oldham