the college, or by sedate heads anywhere, for old and young are equally attached to this class of literature, and neither the clerical gown, nor the leaden stolidity of professors of morality, are proof against it. Dr. Kearney, indeed, assisted him by lending him "Spaletti's Fac-similes," a copy of which had been presented him by his Holiness, the Pope; so that, although Anacreon in Greek was considered a fit study for grave churchmen and giddy youths, Anacreon in English was not to be sanctioned by such wise and virtuous authorities. Still young Moore laboured to complete a fit rendering of his fictitious master's works, loving them none the less that they are mere modern fabrications, having no more claim to antique authorship than the translations of this devoted pupil. His industry was great, and from the old library adjoining St. Patrick's Cathedral he acquired the materials for those erudite and engaging notes which were appended to the translations. A branch of study which led to important subsequent results was that of Irish national music, a pursuit congenial to the mind which was awakened to enthusiasm by the warm rose-hues of Anacreon's verse. The old national airs of Ireland are now, through the labours of Mr. Bunting and Thomas Moore, well known for their wild, bewitching beauty, and bear in themselves evidences of civilisation in the sister island far back in remote antiquity. The nationality of Ireland, in common with that of every other land, finds voice and impersonation in these old national airs; and when, in 1796, Mr. Bunting published his first volume of researches on the subject of Irish national song, the national spirit awakened in Ireland, coupled with the rapid spread of democratic opinion in Europe, insured for the work a cordial reception. To young Moore this work of Bunting's was a fountain of inspiration, from which he drew draughts even deeper than from his beloved Anacreon. Events, too, helped to fan the flame of national feeling in his breast; and every breath he drew, every word he heard, was as one more element in the formation of a true Irishman. Nation ality is said to make our patriotism partial, and to add force to frontier lines and sea boundaries. It may be so with men of narrow souls; but, with the generous and enthusiastic, national feeling increases fervour and sincerity, while it dries up none of the sympathies for the oppressed in whatever land or under whatever tyranny they may abide. Certainly, with Moore, nationality was a source of inspiration which rooted him in Irish hearts, without either dwarfing the man or rendering him insensible to the rights of humanity in its most cosmopolitan aspects. He loved the music of his country; and, as all men are radical reformers when they commence life, national politics added to national origin cemented the union between his heart and his native land. Moore joined a debating society, and there formed a friendship with no less a personage than Robert Emmett, whose reputation for learning, eloquence, and chastity of character was well matched with the grave suavity of his manners. This debating club, like many which exist at the present day, was at once a school for young speakers who were ambitious of oratorical distinctions, and a nucleus for the formation of a political clique, which, indeed, was then in formation, only waiting for the development of time to show itself in that threatening aspect which brought down upon so many promising youths degradation and ruin. Of the bold character of these discussions some idea may be formed from such questions as these: "Whether an aristocracy or a democracy is most favourable to the advancement of science and literature?" and, "Whether a soldier was bound on all occasions to obey the orders of his commanding officer?" and others, in debating which Emmett made eloquent and striking speeches. Here, and in the Historical Society, to which both Moore and Emmett were admitted a few months afterwards, a hotbed of intrigue was formed, whose aftergrowths were fatal to so many highminded but mistaken young men. In these debates Moore sided with the extreme radical party, of whom Emmett was the leader, and the besetting sin of satirical verse-making led him to effect as much by his pen as Emmett did by his tongue. As a candidate for the literary medal, he gave in a burlesque poem, entitled, "An Ode upon Nothing, with Notes, by Trismegistus Rustifustius, D.D., &c., &c." For this squib the medal was voted him by a triumphant majority; but, a dispute arising in consequence of a motion to rescind the vote, he withdrew his composition from the society's book. Towards the end of 1797, the celebrated revolutionary paper, The Press, was started by Arthur O'Connor, Robert Emmett, and other chiefs of the United Irish Conspiracy, with the view of propagating and ripening the public mind for the great crisis then approaching. This journal was remarkable rather for boldness than talent; and young Moore, an adherent of the ultra party, devoured its pages with avidity, and read them twice a week at home. Here was a new field for the display of his ardour in the national cause, and the exercise of his literary propensities. He had contributed to this paper a short fragment in imitation of Ossian, which passed off quietly, and he now ventured to drop into the letter-box a prose letter, addressed to, of, in which some bad flowers of rhetoric were enwreathed with a profusion of that weed which Shakspere calls "the cockle of rebellion." This letter appeared in the next print; and it was a considerable trial to its author, when perusing the paper for the amusement of the family, to accomplish the reading of that letter with an outward appearance of ease, when every nerve within was trembling. Somewhat startled was he, too, when the same letter was declared, by unsuspecting friends, to be very bold;" a verdict which was verified afterwards; for among the extracts from The Press brought forward by the Secret Committee of the House of Commons, to show how formidable had been the designs of the United Irishmen, two or three paragraphs were cited from that very letter. The day after its appearance, Edward Hudson, a friend of Moore's, who had involved himself (as it afterwards appeared) most deeply and irrevocably in the conspiracy, and to whom Moore had entrusted the secret of the letter, called to pay a morning visit, and had not been long in the room conversing with Mrs. Moore, when, looking significantly at the juvenile insurrectionist, he said, “Well, you saw". Here he stopped; but the mother's eye had followed, with the rapidity of lightning, to the son's, and, perceiving the truth, she said, That letter was yours, then?" He acknowledged the fact, when she entreated of him never again to have connection with that paper; and, yielding to a mother's wish, he readily pledged the solemn promise she required. It would be easy to sneer at such an incident; but who knows how far into future life these affections of our mothers follow us, checking us in our wild career, recalling, amid the fever of folly, and the shamelessness of sin, the happy home of youth, and the counsels which have served to guide us in paths of virtue. With him, at least, the mother's watchfulness was not lost; without it he might not have escaped the fate which befel so many in that wild struggle; and the world, now revering his memory for the imperishable literature he has bequeathed, might have only known his name as one, who, rash for one hour, paid its penalty in the next. Meantime the conspiracy hastened on with fearful precipitancy, and the self-delusion of its votaries giving way at last, the mystery which was hung over their plans was rent asunder by the stern hand of power. It is known how frightful was the explosion of 98; how, on March 12th, numerous treasonable plots were discovered; how, on the 2d of April, open rebellion broke out in the South of Ireland; how, on the 20th of the same month, the Habeas Corpus Act was suspended, and both England and Ireland engulphed in the vortex of a fearful panic. The College authorities at Dublin had gained information of the rapid spread of the principles and organisa tion of the Irish Union among the students. In the Report from the Secret Committee of the Irish House of Lords, this extension of the plot to the College is noticed, as “a desperate project to corrupt the youth of the country, by introducing their organised system of treason into the University." A solemn visitation was held by Lord Clare, the Vice-Chancellor of that University, with the view of inquiring into the extent of this branch of the plot, and dealing summarily with those engaged in it. It seemed a harsh proceeding, but subsequent disclosures but too fully proved its stern necessity. Robert Emmett, John Brown, and others, fled, and the deep silence that followed the calling scenes and events by the way. None of these, however, have so fresh a spirit, or so intimate an association with the scenes they describe, as the "Canadian Boat Song," a gem which only Moore could have produced, and which has acquired a popularity second to none of the few good ballads we possess. The history of this song is as curious as the air and words of it are exquisitely beautiful. "In my passage down the St. Lawrence," says Moore, "I had with me two travelling companions, one of whom, named Harkness, the son of a wealthy Dublin merchant, has been some years dead. To this young friend, on parting with him at Quebec, I gave, as a keepsake, a volume I had been reading on the way, 'Priestley's Lectures on History; and it was on a flyleaf of this volume I found I had taken down, in pencilling, both the notes and a few of the words of the original song by which my own boat-glee had been suggested. Then follows the first verse of my 'Canadian Boat Song,' with air and words as they are at present. From all this, it will be perceived that in my setting of the air, I departed in almost every respect but the tune from thestrain our voyageurs had sung to us, leaving the music of the glee nearly as much my own as the words. Yet how strongly impressed I had become with the notion that this was the identical air sung by the boatmen,-how closely it linked itself in my imagination with the scenes and sounds amidst which it had occurred to me,-may be seen by reference to a note appended to the glee as first published." The note is as follows:-"I wrote these words to an air which our boatmen sung to us frequently. The wind was so unfavourable that they were obliged to row all the way, and we were five days in descending the river from Kingston to Montreal, exposed to an intense sun during the day, and at night forced to take shelter from the dews in any miserable hut upon the banks that would receive us. But the magnificent scenery of the St. Lawrence repays all such difficulties. Our voyageurs had good voices, and sung perfectly in time together. The original words of the air, to which I adapted these stanzas, appeared to be a long, incoherent story, of which I could understand but little, from the barbarous pronunciation of the Canadians. It begins Dans mon chemin j'ai rencontré Deux cavaliers très-bien montés ;* and the refrain to every verse was— A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais jouer, A l'ombre d'un bois je m'en vais danser.+ I ventured to harmonise this air, and have published it. Without that charm which association gives to every little memorial of scenes or feelings that are past, the melody may perhaps be thought common and trifling; but I remember, when we have entered at sunset upon one of those beautiful lakes into which the St. Lawrence so grandly and unexpectedly opens, I have heard this simple air with a pleasure which the finest compositions of the first masters have never given me; and now there is not a note of it which does not recal to my memory the dip of our oars in the St. Lawrence, the flight of our boat down the rapids, and all those new and fanciful impressions to which my heart was alive during the whole of this very interesting voyage." Presuming as we may that the lines are original, and taking Moore's assurance that he has observed the "time" only of the boatman's air, we must confess that this is one of the most elegant songs in our language; and to those who can realise, from their own past experiences of travel in the western world, the scenes enshrined in these simple but picturesque verses, it must ever be accompanied with a thrill of delight. Its popularity in this country has exceeded that of many of our choicest songs; and there is scarce a square mile of inhabited land in the world where it is unknown. Captain Basil Hall, who testifies to the accuracy of Moore's descriptions of Bermuda, says of this glee: "While the poet has retained all that is essentially characteristic and pleasing in these boat songs, and rejected all that is not so, he has contrived to borrow his inspiration from numerous surrounding circumstances, presenting nothing remarkable to the dull senses of ordinary travellers. Yet these highly-poetical images, drawn in this way, as it were, carelessly and from every hand, he has combined with such graphic-I had almost said geographical-truth, that the effect is great even upon those who have never with their own eyes seen the Utawa's tide,' nor 'flown down the rapids,' nor heard the bell of St. Ann's toll its evening chime ;' while the same lines give to distant regions, previously consecrated to our imagination, a vividness of interest, when viewed on the spot, of which it is difficult to say how much is due to the magic of the poetry, and how much to the beauty of the scene." Having pursued this history so far and so minutely, we must beg the reader's patience for the last fact in connection with the song, as related by Moore himself. He says: "While on the subject of the 'Canadian Boat Song,' an anecdote connected with that once popular ballad may, for my musical readers at least, possess some interest. A few years since, while staying in Dublin, I was presented, at his own request, to a gentleman who told me that his own family had in their possession a curious relic of my youthful days-being the first notation I had made, in pencilling, of the air and words of the Canadian Boat Song,' while on my way down the St. Lawrence; and that it was their wish I should add my signature to attest the authenticity of the autograph. I assured him with truth that I had wholly forgotten even the existence of such a memorandum; that it would be as much a curiosity to myself as it could be to any one else; and that I should feel thankful to be allowed to see it. In a day or two after, my request was complied with." Alack and alas! that Moore, of all men, should, for once in his life, suffer his gallantry to play him false. The veritable volume of Priestley's "Lectures" was not shown him by a gentle man, but by a lady; and his omission or perversion of the fact completely mars the history of this lyrical composition. "It was in 1839 (says Mr. Weld, the historian of the Royal Society) that Moore visited Dublin, on the occasion of the meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science in that city. At one ofthe festive scenes, which at that period of the history of the Association were not rare events, a very beautiful girl was introduced to the poet by my brother; but, surrounded as the former was at the time by a host of fair admirers, many of whom were most anxious to be presented to him, it is doubtful whether he would have vouchsafed more than a slight pressure of his hand to the young lady, had not my brother whispered in his ear, She possesses the original copy of your "Canadian Boat Song." At these words the poet begged to learn how this came to pass. The facts were simple enough. The book, which was Priestley's 'Lectures,' and on the blank leaf of which the song and the music were pencilled, belonged to Mr. Harkness, with whom Moore was travelling in Canada. On his death, the volume came into the possession of Mr. Maconchie, of Edenmon, near Dublin, who presented the book to his daughter, and who very properly regarded the gift as most precious. Moore then expressed the strongest desire to see the book; and it was arranged that I should accompany Miss Maconchie on the following day to a bookseller's shop in Grafton Street, where the poet had a room for writing his letters, and where he arranged to meet us. I shall never forget the pleasure he manifested when his eyes fell on the well-remembered lines. He gazed at them long and earnestly so long and so earnestly that my fair companion at length exclaimed, 'Oh! Mr. Moore, I hope you do not want to take the book from me.' 'No, Miss Maconchie, indeed I do not,' he replied; but if you knew what thrilling remembrances of a happy past the contemplation of this page presents, you would not wonder at my feelings. Since I wrote these lines,' he added, 'I have been going so fast down the rapids of life, that I owe you much for enabling me to live, though but for a few minutes, in the past; and I shall long remember this pleasant meeting.' Would it be thought that he who in his younger years was "an infant sporting on the bosom of Venus," would forget before sixty that Venus had sisters, some of them as fair as herself, and all entitled to that courtesy which is the inheritance and birthright of her sex. On such a subject as * Respecting this anecdote a writer in the "Dublin University Magazine " says it was in 1835 that the Association met in Dublin, though the interview with Miss Maconchie may have taken place in 1839, when Moore was again in that city. this, so dear to his own memory, so important to his reputation in the world, could he forget the fair creature who stood trembling beside him, fearful that he should wish to "take the book" from her. Ah, Tom Moore ! this was one of your mistakes, and one which a man with less show of gallantry would not have committed. To say so much respecting this song, without quoting it entire, would certainly be unwise; and so, with the presentation to the reader of the version as it stands in the last edition of his works, we will pass on to more momentous events in his lifetime. A CANADIAN BOAT SONG. Written on the River St. Lawrence. Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. NOTE.-At the rapid of St. Ann they are obliged to take out part, if not the whole, of their lading. It is from this spot the Canadians consider they take their departure, as it possesses the last church on the island, which is dedicated to the tutelar saint of voyagers.-Mackenzie's General History of the Fur Trade. After being fourteen months away, he returned to England, and published, in 1806, " Odes and Epistles," a volume of poems relating to America, of which the chief were descriptive of scenes at Norfolk, Bermuda, and elsewhere, conveyed in letters to his friends; the "Canadian Boat Song," ""To the Firefly," "Odes to Nea," the "Song of the Evil Spirit of the Woods," and the "Snow Spirit." The following, from the "Odes to Nea," convey most elegantly his feelings on parting from the rich and varied scenery of Bermuda:Farewell to Bermuda! and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume; In rowing to be cheered by song. sun, I have led thee along, and have told by the way What my heart all the night has been burning to say; Oh! think of the past-give a sigh to those times, And a blessing for me in that aliey of limes! The publication of "Odes and Epistles" brought upon his head a storm of merited reprobation. Those odes were rich, gushing things; and, where his love of natural beauty was not marred by his besetting sin, the lustre of the verse was equal to anything he had then produced. Unfortunately, however, the voluptuous climate of the West Indies had so warmed his verse that it continually bordered upon indelicacy, and the book was denounced as a "public nuisance, deserving to be consigned to universal reprobation." It was, in fact, a repetition of the "Little” iniquity, but a little more wrapped up in metaphor and elegant badinage; none the less sportive, but sometimes tinged with a sadness which seems to say, "Forgive me these few faults, if only in commisseration of my sorrow;" and then, just as your heart opens with a whole tide of forgiveness and you are melted into a full sympathy for the poet, splash comes a shower of smut in your face, and you are as indignant as ever. It is not the impulse which carries him away; it is not that dash of madness which comes now and then in a poet's lifetime, and respecting which Pope says Great wit sometimes may gloriously offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art; but a wilful love for amatory thoughts, and a study of the ways and means of amatory expression. The grace was not "snatched," it was carefully sought; and he stooped rather than rose to faults" which "true critics" could not but condemn. Among the attacks levelled at him was one by Jeffrey in the "Edinburgh Review," in which the vials of wrath were poured out upon 66 |