SCRAPS FROM THE DIARY OF A TRAVELLER.


BY THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.


O poets, poets, dream at home,
If you would _still_ have visions haunt you;
Trust me, if once abroad you roam,
That mar-all, Truth, will disenchant you.
Still think of VENICE, as in dreams
You've seen her, by her ocean-streams;--
Fancy the calm and cool delights
Of gondolas on summer nights:
Of sailing o'er the bright Lagoon,
And listening, as you glide along,
To lays from TASSO, by that moon
Whose beams, alas! he felt too strong,
And of whose mad'ning philters all,
Who feel the Muse's genuine call,
Are doom'd, at times, to drink as deep,
As did Endymion in his sleep!

Still by your fire-sides sit, and think
Of palaces, along the brink
Of ocean-floods,--whose shadows there
Look like the ruins, grand and fair,
Of some lost ATALANTIS, seen