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Remarks on the Poetry of Thomas Moore,

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manifest so total a blindness to the only as Imogen or Uná. The smiles of charm which is deep and enduring-to which he loves to warble, are not those that of which all the rest are but the of the "Unblenched Majesty" which images and shadows-to that for which Milton worshipped. Their nature is no luxury compensates, and no passion sufficiently betrayed by the company in can atone, I have heard your fair which he places them. Listen to the countrywomen warbling the words of words which he has placed in the mouth Moore; and from their lips what can of a dying poet-for even death, that appear unclean? But in the retirement awful moment in whose contemplation of the closet, and deprived of the pro- nature and religion teach the purest to tection of their purity, the words were tremble, is represented by this songster weighed in the balance and found as the scene of calm and contented rewanting." The sinless creatures that miniscences of sensual delights-exutter them cannot understand their actly as if the mighty change were nomeaning. I do not wish to say that thing more than a revolution of corpo their meaning is any thing positively, real atoms, as if there were no soul to expressly, necessarily bad. It is enough wing an eternal flight from the lips of for my purpose that it is not positively the departed. and necessarily good. The Epicurean tinge is diffused over the whole. beautiful garlands which these chaste fingers handle have been gathered in the garden of the Sybarites. They should not twist them into their innocent locks-there is phrenzy in their odours.

The

"When in death I shall calm recline,

Oh carry my heart to my mistress dear:
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine
All the time that it lingered here."

In adopting the sentiments of ancient poets concerning women, he has widely erred. It is, however, a sad aggravation of his offence, that, among a set of One of the chief distinctions between authors, who are all impure, he has sethe poets of ancient and those of mod. lected, for the models of his special imern times, consists in the wide difference itation, those in whose productions the which may be observed in their modes common stain is foulest. It is needless of representing the character and influ- to say any thing of Anacreon, or of the ence of the female sex; and in no one perverse ingenuity which Mr. Moore point perhaps is the superiority so visi- exhibited in exaggerating the corrupbly on the side of the moderns. Of tion of that which was already abunthose modern poets, nevertheless, who dantly impure-in taking away from have been contented with the praises of the lewd verses of the Teian that simgayety, sprightliness, invention, and plicity of language and figure which spontaneously disavowed every claim formed the only offset to the pollution to the highest honours of their art, not of their ideas. If one may judge either a few have, from vice or affectation, from the text, or from the notes even of dared, in scorn of their destiny, to re- Mr. Moore's latest publications, the vive in their strains the discarded impu- chief of his antique favourites are such rity of their predecessors. It will be men as Aristophanes, Catullus, Ovid, understood that I refer not to casual or Martial, Petronius, and Lucian. In superficial impurities merely, but to truth, he is totally unacquainted with those which imply a complete and radi- the true spirit of ancient poetry, and cal pollution of all ideas concerning the admires and borrows exactly the worst nature of the softer sex-a degradation things about that which he would proof the abstract conception of their cha- fess to study with an intelligent delight. racter, and of the purposes for which The flattering ideas which Mr. Moore they have been created. This corrup has embraced concerning the measure tion has entered into the composition of of his own powers, are betrayed by the no poetry more deeply and essentially attempt which he has openly made to than into that of Moore. He never for compete with the genius of Lord Bya moment contemplates them but with ron in the choice of some of his scenes the eye of a sensualist. He has no and subjects. But, notwithstanding the capacity to understand such a character absurd eulogies of some of your review

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ers, Mr. Moore's Eastern Poetry has perceive and amend one solitary fault. not, I perceive, taken any hold of the When he discovers not the inky spot, English mind; and this should be there is proof abundant that darkness is sufficient to convince that gentleman of around him. his mistake. The radical inferiority of Whatever the measure of his power Mr. Moore is abundantly visible even may be, that man is unworthy to be a in that respect where, with sorrow do I national poet, whose standard of moral speak it, it might least have been expec- purity and mental elevation falls below ted to appear. Lord Byron has done that of the people to which he would wrong in choosing to represent woman have his inspirations minister. It is the at all times as she exists in those coun- chief part of Mr. Moore's ambition to tries where her character is degraded by be received as the national bard of his the prevalence of polygamy. But he own island; and I observe, that on a has in some measure atoned for this late occasion, a very numerous and reerror. He has at least made her as spectable body of his countrymen as noble as she could be in such a situa- sembled to express, in his presence, their tion. He has poured around her every admission of his claims. No one can dignity which she could there be ima- be less inclined than I am to speak gined to possess, and ascribed to her harshly of an elegant, accomplished, every power and influence which she and, in his own person, virtuous man ; could there enjoy: nay, by the prefer- but I must say, that I should be very ence with which he has uniformly re- sorry to think so meanly of Ireland, as presented her as receiving those who to imagine her deserving of no better mingle with their love the chivalry of poetry than Mr. Moore can furnish. Christendom, he has at least insinuated The land which can look upon the what her rights are, and vindicated the principles of his poetry as worthy of conscious nobility of her nature. Mr. her, cannot herself be worthy of its geMoore has brought into the haram no nius. I trust that the gay spirits of a such reliques of the truth. In his lays,the single city are not permanently to dieSultana of the East betrays no lurking aspirations after a purer destiny; Cœlum non animum mutat qui trans mare currit; in Dublin, London, Bermuda, Khorassan, Mr. Moore sees nothing in a woman but an amiable plaything or a capricious slave.

tate the decision of a generous nation; that the pure-minded matrons and highspirited men of Ireland, will pause ere they authorize the world to seek the reflection of their character in the gaudy impurities and tinsel Jacobinism of this deluded poet. The truth is, that I am I have enlarged upon this poet's by no means apprehensive of seeing the manner of representing women, not "Green Isle" debase herself by making because in that point alone he falls be- common cause with Mr. Moore. Below the stand by which the great fore any man can become the poet of a poets of your country must be contented nation, he must do something very difto be tried, but because it is one on ferent from what has either been accomwhich every reflecting man must at once plished or promised in any of his preagree with me, while, in regard to many ductions. He must identify his own other points, I could not calculate upon spirit with that of his people, by emquite so speedy an acquiescence. But bodying in his verse those habitual and as it is said in the Scripture, that "he peculiar thoughts which constitute the who breaks one of the commandments essence of their nationality. I myself has offended against them all," so it have never been in Ireland; but I may very safely be admitted, that the strongly suspect that Moore has been poet who betrays impurity and degra- silent with respect to every part of her dation of conception in respect to one nationality-except the name. Let us point of moral feeling, can never be truly compare him for a moment with one pure and lofty in any other. In every whose position in many circumstances man's system there is some consistency; resembled his, and whose works have and Mr. Moore is a man of so much certainly obtained that power to which acuteness, that he could not fail soon to his aspire. Let us compare the poet

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Remarks on the Poetry of Thomas Moore.

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whose songs have been so effectually virgin radiance of the harvest moon. In embalmed in the heart of Scotland, with the haunts of the dissolute, the atmos

phere of corruption might seize upon him, and taint his breath with the coldness of its derision; but he returned to right thoughts in the contemplation of the good, and felt in all its fulness, when he bent his knee by the side of "the Father and the Priest," the gentle majesty of that religion which consoles the afflicted and elevates the poor.

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him who hopes to possess, in that of Ireland, a mausoleum no less august. There are few things more worthy of being studied, either in their character or in their effects, than the poems of Robert Burns. This man, born and bred a peasant, was taught, like all other Scotsmen, to read his Bible, and learned by heart in his infancy, the heroic ballads of his nation. Amidst the He is at present, the favourite poet of solitary occupations of his rural labours, a virtuous, a pious, a patriotic people; the soul of the ploughman fed itself and the first symptom of their decay in with high thoughts of patriotism and virtue, piety, and patriotism, will be religion, and with that happy instinct seen on the instant when Scotsmen shall which is the best prerogative of genius, cease to treasure in their hearts the he divined every thing that was neces- Highland Mary," the "Cotter's Satsary for being the poet of his country. urday Night," and the "Song of BanThe men of his nation, high and low, nockburn." are educated men; meditative in their Mr. Moore has attempted to do for spirit, proud in their recollections, Ireland the same service which Buros steady in their patriotism, and devout rendered to Scotland; but although his in their faith. At the time, however, genius is undoubted, he has failed to do when he appeared, the completion of so. It will be said, that the national their political union with a greater and character of his countrymen did not wealthier kingdom, and the splendid furnish such materials as fell to the share success which had crowned their efforts of his rival, and there is no doubt that in adding to the general literature of so far this is true. The Irish have not Britain-but above all, the chilling na- the same near recollections of heroic acture of the merely speculative philoso- tions, or the same proud and uncontamphy, which they had begun to cultivate, inated feeling of independence as the seemed to threaten a speedy diminution Scots. Their country has been conof their fervent attachment to that which quered, perhaps oppressed, and the was peculiarly their own. This mis- memory of those barbarous times in chievous tendency was stopped by a which they were ruled by native reguli peasant, and the noblest of his land are is long since faded into dimness and the debtors of his genius. He revived insignificance. The men themselves, the spark that was about to be extin- moreover, are deficient, it may be, in guished-and taught men to reverence some of those graver points of characwith increasing homage, that enthusiasm ter, which afford the best grappling of which they were beginning to be places for the power of poetry. All ashamed. The beauty of many of his this may perhaps be admitted; but descriptions, the coarseness of many of surely it will not be contended, but that his images, cannot conceal from our much, both of purpose and instrument, eyes the sincerity with which, at the was still left within the reach of him bottom of his heart, this man was the that would aspire to be the national worshipper of the pure genius of his poet of the Irish. Their religious feelcountry. The improprieties are super- ings are not indeed of so calm and digficial, the excellence is ever deep.-The nified a nature as those of some naman might be guilty in his own person tions, but they are strong, ardent, pasof pernicious trespasses, but his soul sionate, and, in the hands of one worthy came back, like a dove, to repose amidst to deal with them, might furnish abunimages of purity. The chaste and dantly the elements both of the beautilowly affection of the village maiden ful and the sublime. Their character was the only love that appeared worthy is not so consistent as it might be, but it in his eyes, as he wandered beneath the yields to none in the fine attributes of

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warmth, of generosity, and the whole verse which I could imagine to be imchivalry of the heart. Were these pressed upon the memory, nor brought things likely to have been left out of the together a single groupe of images calcalculation of a genuine poet of Ire- culated to ennoble the spirit of an Irish land ?-Mr. Moore addresses nothing peasant. to his countrymen that should make Were the Irish to acknowledge in them listen to him long. He seems to this man, their Burns or Camoens, they have no part nor lot with them in the would convince Europe, that they are things which most honourably and entirely deficient in every thing that most effectually distinguish them from renders men worthy of the name of a others. He writes for the dissipated nation. The "Exile of Erin," and fashionables of Dublin, and is himself the "O'Connor's Child" of Campbell, the idol in the saloons of absentees; are worth more to Ireland than all the but he has never composed a single poetry of Moore. *

*

From the New Monthly Magazine, November 1818.
MELANCHOLY.

Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego

of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes, With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast, And turns his tears to rapture!

Those sacred hours, when stealing from the noise

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Akenside.

"The joy of grief.”—Ossian. HAT the mind of man should deTHA rive gratification from the excitement of those sensations which are in themselves painful, is a paradox too mysterious to be solved; but, that the Melancholy," observes Steele, "is seeds of delight are not unfrequently the true and proper delight of men of implanted by the hand of sorrow, is an knowledge and virtue. The pleasures observation more generally allowed than of ordinary beings are in their passions, accounted for. Fontenelle says, " that but the seat of this delight is in the unthough pleasure and pain are sentiments derstanding." There is much truth in so entirely different in themselves, yet this remark. The indulgence of melthey do not differ materially in their ancholy tends frequently to strengthen cause; as it appears that the movement and ameliorate the heart. It extinof pleasure pushed too far becomes guishes the passions of envy and ill-will, pain, and the movement of pain a little corrects the pride of prosperity, and moderated becomes pleasure." Diffi- beats down that fierceness and insolence culties certainly increase passions of which is apt to get into the minds of the every kind, and by rousing our atten- daring and fortunate. Few individuals tion, and exciting our active powers, are so gross and uncultivated, as to be produce an emotion which nourishes incapable, at certain moments, and the prevailing affection. Nothing en- amid certain combinations of ideas, of dears a friend so much as sorrow for feeling that sublime influence on the his death the pleasure of his society spirits-that soft and tender abstraction has not so powerful an influence; and from the cares aud vexations of the whilst we look back with keen regret world, which steals upon the soul, on scenes of happiness, dissipated by "And fits it to hold converse with the Gods." unforeseen misfortune, and not by our own unworthiness, our woes are quali-courages that sweet and lofty enthusiasm fied by that mysterious and indescriba- which warms the imagination at the ble feeling which Ossian has so expres- sight of the glorious and stupendous sively denominated the "joy of grief." works of our Creator: it leads us

Ask the faithful youth,
Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved
So often fills his arms, so often draws
His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears.
Oh! he will tell you that the wealth of worlds

Such a frame of mind raises and en

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion, dwell,
And mortal feet have ne'er or rarely been,
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;

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There are two kinds of melancholy, which may be thus distinguished :First, that of the swain-of the mind which contemplates nature but in the grove or the cottage; secondly, that of the scholar and the philosopher; of the intellect which has ranged through the mazes of science, and which has formed its decisions upon vanity and happiness, from frequent intercourse with man, and upon extensive knowledge and experience. The melancholy of the swain is finely depicted in the following beautiful song from Beaumont and Fletcher's "Nice Valour, or the Passionate Madman."

Hence all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly;
There's nought in life so sweet,
If wise men were to see it,
But only Melancholy,
O sweetest Melancholy !
Welcome crossed arms and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,

A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound!
Fountain heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves,
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls,
A midnight bell—a parting groan,
These are the thoughts we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely Melancholy!

Of this song the construction is particularly to be admired. It is divided into three parts. The first part displays moral melancholy: the second the person or figure and the third the circumstances which create the feeling. Contemplative melancholy-that of the scholar and the philosopher, bas been finely personified by Milton in the following verses :—

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress iawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn ;
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
"With a sad leaden downward cast.-Milton.
"With leaden eye that loves the ground."-Gray

There held in holy passion, still
Forget thyself to marble, till,
With a sad leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth at last.

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Il Penseroso.

There appears to be something emblematical in these lines

Hail thou goddess sage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue.

Il Penseroso.

Contemplative melancholy is again alluded to in Comus

Musing Melancholy most affects
The pensive secresy of desert cells,

Far from the cheerful haunts of men and herds.

Some lines, prefixed to Burton's "Anatomie of Melancholy," seem also to have afforded Milton many hints for his II Penseroso

When I go musing all alone,

Thinking of divers things foreknown ;
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow, void of care,

Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet;
All my joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as Melancholy!
When to myself I act and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side, or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, and unseen,
Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities fine,
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine;
All other joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as Melancholy!

Burton's Prefatory Verses. Melancholy has elicited the praises thors; and as juxtaposition forms an also of many of our more modern au◄ elegant entertainment to the lovers of poetry, I shall conclude this article by the adduction of such passages from our later poets, as may appear to illustrate my observations.*

-There is a mood,

I sing not to the vacant or the young,
There is a kindly mood of Melancholy,
That wings the soul and points it to the skies.
Dyer's Fleece.

Few know the elegance of soul refined,
Whose short sensation feels a quicker joy
From Melancholy's scenes, that the dull pride
Of tasteless splendor and magnificence
Can e'er afford.

Warton's Pleasures of Melancholy.

As the greater part of these quotations are from memory, my readers will probably exeuse any trifling inaccuracy.

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