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Farewell, Erin !--farewell all

We tread the land that bore us, Who live to weep our fall!

Her green flag glitters o'er us, “Less dear the laurel growing,

The friends we've tried Alive, untouch'd, and blowing,

Are by our side, Than that whose braid

And the foe we hate before us! Is pluck'd to shade

Farewell, Erin !-farewell all The brows with vict'ry glowing.

Who live to weep our fall!" We close our extracts from the Irish melodies of his country to verse, which, melodies with lines that we consider a if not immortal, is very pleasing and happy and not vain-glorious descrip- very popular. tion of the poet's efforts to marry the

“Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,

The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,
When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound thee,

And gave all thy chords to light freedom and song!
The warm lay of love, and the light note of gladness

Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But so oft hast thou echo'd the deep note of sadness,

That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
“ Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers,

This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine;
Go, sleep, with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers,

Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Hath throbb’d at thy lay, 'tis thy glory alone ;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,

And all the wild glory I waked was thine own.”
The national melodies, and some of Some banquet-ball deserted,
the other miscellaneous works of our Whose lights are fled,
author, will supply us with specimens Whose garlands dead,
of his poetry more favourable, we

And all but he departed! think, because ore natural and sim. Thus in the stilly night,

Ere Slumber's chain bath bound me, ple, than any we have yet extracted. ·No one can be insensible to the

Sad Mem'ry brings the light

Of other days around me. touching effect of those well-known verses, that tell us of the long-vanished We cannot let these lines pass withpictures of youth and joy, that the out protesting against an inaccuracy silent darkness of night has power in which makes us stumble at the very the solitude of advancing years to threshold. " Stilly” is not an adjecrestore to the mind's eye, with more tive but an adverb; and even the authovividness than the blaze of noon can rity of the author of Douglas will not now offer to the bodily sight: justify this anomalous use of it. But, “ Oft in the stilly night,

indeed, the expression a “stilly sound," Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,

which means not a perfectly still sound, Fond Mem'ry brings the light

or no sound at all, but a still-like sound, Of other days around me ;

is not a precedent for “the stilly The smiles, the tears,

night,” where the silence is as proOf boyhood's years,

found as this world will permit of. The words of love then spoken, Passing over this blemish, we give our The eyes that shone,

ready tribute of praise to the greater Now dimm'd and gone,

part of this admired and affecting song. The cheerful bearts now broken ! We are not sure, however, that the Thus in the stilly night,

image of the “ banquet-hall deserted," Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, is a pleasing or proper one,

It is too Sad Mem'ry brings the light

much as if life were merely a revel, of other days around me.

instead of being, as it is, the scene of • When I remember all

silent and serene, as well as of raptuThe friends so link'd together,

rous and riotous, enjoyments. The I've seen around me fall,

picture of a deserted banquet-hall is Like leaves in wintry weather ;

no doubt a vivid object, but it comes I feel like one who treads alone

home too much to our fancies, with its burnt-out candles, spilt liquor, and and holier attractions than the feast broken glasses, as one of the meanest or the wine-cup. as well as most miserable of sights. Our next extract, though not posWe could have wished some compa- sessing any original ideas, is tender rison had been chosen of a less depreci- and melodious. But it ought to have atory character, and which would have stopped at the end of the fourth verse. better represented the loneliness of In the fifth, the poet splits upon his him who worthily laments the loss of old rock of fanciful and frigid simile. loves and friendships, which had higher

" Then fare thee well! my own dear love,

This world has now for us

No greater grief, no pain above
The pain of parting thus, dear love! the pain of parting thus!

" Had we but known, since first we met,

Some few short hours of bliss,

We might, in numb'ring them, forget
The deep, deep pain of this, dear love! the deep, deep pain of this

" But no, alas! we've never seen

One glimpse of pleasure's ray,

But still there came some cloud between,
And chased it all away, dear love ! and chased it all away

“ Yet, e'en could these sad moments last,

Far dearer to my heart

Were hours of grief, together past,
Than years of mirth apart, dear love ! than years of mirth apart


“ Farewell! our hope was born in fears,

And nursed 'mid vąin regrets !

Like winter's suns, it rose in tears, Like them in tears it sets, dear love ! like them in tears it sets !" The subject of our next quotation is “ When yet a virgin, free and undisposed, worthy of all acceptation, and is pret- I loved, but saw you only with my eyes: tily, though not powerfully, treated. I could not reach the beauties of your

soul. “Oh, no !--not e'en when first we loved, Wert thou as dear as now thou art;

I have since lived in contemplation

And long experience of your growing Thy beauty then my senses moved, But now thy virtues bind my heart.

goodness. What was but Passion's sigh before,

What then was passion is my reason Has since been turn’d to Reason's vow; And though I then might love thee more, Trust me, I love thee better now!

But how inferior are both of these

descriptions to that other picture of a Although my heart, in earlier youth, similar change of feeling towards a

Might kindle with more wild desire ; beloved object, when time and familiar Believe me, it has gain'd in truth

converse have transformed her from a Much more than it has lost in fire. shadowy vision of imagined perfection The flame new warms my inmost core to a substantial reality of experienced

That then but sparkled on my brow; excellence. Moore and all his tribe And though I seem'd to love thee more, must here bow before the acknowYet, oh, I love thee better now!"

ledged master, not in poetry only, but We happen to remember a passage in the power to feel, and the skill to in Southerne's Fatal Marriage, which express that admiration of woman's probably no one else remembers, but loveliness and worth, which can only which, in its strange prosaic style, em- be deeply implanted where the soil bodies the idea that Moore has here itself is deep. We gladly quote the worked out. The turn of one of the poem we refer to, though we have no lines would almost persuade us that right to give it the name of a song. the modern poet had the passage of his predecessor in his eye when he “ She was a phantom of delight wrote his song.

When first she gleam'd upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

66 And now I see with eye serene To be a moment's ornament;

The very pulse of the machine ; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ;

A being breathing thoughtful breath, Like twilight's too, her dusky hair ;

A traveller between life and death ; But all things else about her drawn

The reason firm, the temperate will, From May-time and the cheerful dawn; Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; A dancing shape, an image gay,

A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd, To haunt, to startle, and waylay,

To warn, to comfort, and command ;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright “ I saw her on a nearer view,

With something of an angel light."
A Spirit yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,

We have always been much affect

ed by the beauty and simplicity of And steps of virgin liberty ; A countenance in which did meet

the following lines of Moore, which Sweet records, promises as sweet ;

are to be found in the National MeloA creature not too bright or good dies, adapted to a very plaintive Welsh For human nature's daily food;

air. The measure is peculiar, and For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

may render some attention necessary Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and

to feel the full effect of the words smiles.

when unconnected with music.

“ Bright be thy dreams-may all thy weeping
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping :

Those by seas or death removed,
Friends who in thy spring-time knew thee,

All thou'st ever prized or loved,
In dreams come smiling to thee!

There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest ;

Still the same--no charm forgot-
Nothing lost that life had given;

Or if changed, but changed to what

Thou'lt find her yet in heaven.' This, among other examples, we the expression of our ideas, a style think, will illustrate our position, that that shall be as colourless and transMoore's talents are best shown where parent as the air that is the medium the natural goodness and sensibi- of sight, and seek only to enliven the lity of his heart can be seen through picture by the real hues and forms of the simplest and least ornamental the objects that are represented. language. Indeed, we might ask There is neatness and sprightliness whether it is not generally the best in the following specimen of a differand always the safest plan to select as ent character:

“ How oft, when watching stars grow pale,

And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale

I from my casement lean.
! Oh! come, my love !' each note it utters seems to say-
Oh! come, my love! the night wears fast away!'
No, ne'er to mortal ear

Can words, though warm they be,
Speak passion's language half so clear

As do those notes to me!

" Then quick my own light lute I seek,

And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And though they nought to others speak,

He knows their language well.
• I come, my love !' each sound they utter seems to say-
I come, my love ! thine, thine, till break of day!'
Oh! weak the power of words,

The hues of painting dim,
Compared to what those simple chords

Then say and paint to him.”



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We conclude these miscellaneous Where I shall read, in words of fame, extracts with a song, which, allied as The glories of thy wondrous name. it has been to the poet's own music, has seldom been sung by any one, and

“ I'll read thy anger in the rack never by its author, without producing That clouds awhile the day. beam's track; delightful emotions. It is well con- Thy mercy in the azure hue ceived, and very pleasingly written. Of sunny brightness breaking through!

“ There's nothing bright, above, below,

From flowers that bloom to stars that " When o'er the silent seas alone,


But in its light my soul can see
For days and nights we've cheerless gone ;

Some feature of thy Deity !
Oh! they who've felt it know how sweet,
Some sunny morn a sail to meet.

" There's nothing dark, below, above,

But in its gloom I trace thy love ;
Sparkling at once is every eye,

And meekly wait that moment when
Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!' our joyful cry;
While answering back, the sounds we hear,

Thy touch shall turn all bright again." * Ship ahoy! what cheer, what cheer?'

This is well : but it reminds us of “ Then sails are back'd we nearer come something better in the “ Labourer's Kind words are said of friends and home; Noon-Day Hymn;" telling us, in And soon, too soon, we part with pain, something of a similar strain, that To sail o'er silent seas again."

even where the stately temples of hu

man workmanship are inaccessible, the The sacred songs of Moore are not God of Nature has not therefore disof a very high class. They are too pensed with our devotions, but has much tinged with his characteristic provided a place for his worship wherpeculiarities of illustration, which, un- ever the thankful knee can be bent, or suitable in all earnest or impassioned the prayerful hand uplifted. poetry, are still less admissible when Heaven inspires the song, and when Why should we crave a hallow'd spot ? the solemnity of the subject should re

An altar is in each man's cotpress all feelings that are not humble A church in every grove that spreads or sublime. We shall give one exam

Its living roof above our heads.” ple of his style in this department, not so much because it is more striking, as

In bringing this criticism to a close, because, in point of taste, it is less ex- we think we may say that we have ceptionable than most of the others. brought together a great and remark

able variety of lyrical specimens, suffi". The turf shall be my fragrant shrine;

cient to demonstrate, that, if Moore is My temple, Lord ! that arch of thine ;

deficient in the higher powers of poetiMy censer's breath the mountain airs,

cal conception and delineation, he is at And silent thoughts my only prayers.

least possessed, in no ordinary degree, My choir shall be the moonlight waves,

of that species of talent which borders

on genius, and which, under the regu.. When murmuring homeward to their

lation of a purer taste, or with the check Or when the stillness of the sea,

of a less « indulgent public," might Even more than music breathes of Thee!

have produced a great deal that was

well worthy of a fond remembrance. “ I'll seek by day some glade unknown,

Even as it is, we conceive that he has All light and silence, like thy throne ;

contributed liberally to confer its due And the pale stars shall be, at night,

honour on lyrical poetry; and that The only eyes that watch my rite.

much pleasure, and not a little instruc

tion, both by way of beacon and of exThy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, ample, may be derived from the study Shall be my pure and shining book, of his compositions.







The course of true love never did Henry Morton and Edith Bellenden run smooth.” Didn't it? Let any separated from incompatibility of temman look round him for a single mo- per; not to mention the celebrated di. ment, and he will see how unfounded vorce case before the House of Lords, and absurd is this observation of Mr • Reginald Dalton v. Cyril Thornton!” William Shakspeare. Pray, what was

Will no person

of an enquiring turn of there to hinder the equable flow of mind give us a postnuptial account of the true love of your neighbour, Mr all the heroes and heroines who have Bibbs, and his fat wife ? Was there excited our interest so intensely? It any objection on the part of parents ? would put a good deal of romance to -any trouble from rivals ?-or even Alight, and teach us the great and useany delay about pin-money and set- ful lesson, that people may be just as tlements ? Not a vestige of any of happily married in the good old-fathese things. In the course of the shioned way_bridemaids, marriage accustomed number of months they favours, and wedding cake—as if they were fairly and legally married, with nearly broke their necks jumping out out a single ripple on the stream of of up-stairs windows, and hurrying off their courtship, and have been a pat. to Gretna Green. But, mercy upon tern-couple, without quarrels, disa- us! we have got into such a prodi

a . greements, or misunderstandings of gious passion with love matches, and any kind whatever, for twenty or sighing, and dying, that we have forthirty years. But you say, perhaps, gotten the main object with which we their love is not true love. Isn't it? began this paper, which was to give I grant he wrote no sonnets; she never notice to the reader that, if in this thought of suicide; he never mention. eventful history he finds difficulties ed a dagger to her in his life ; and I thrown in the way of the hero and the have no reason to believe that she, heroine, he is not to imagine that those even at her first ball, considered Mr difficulties prove that their love was one Bibbs an angel. But their love was whit more sincere than if all had gone true enough for all that a good, solid, “ gaily as a marriage bell," from the substantial love, fitted for all weathers, first agony of popping the question to ballasted with a good deal of plain the last extremity of putting on the sense, and not without a glance of af. ring. No_it certainly did so happen fectionate regard to the comforts of a that in this one particular instance the well-spread table, easy-hung four- course of true love was occasionally wheeled carriage, and pretty little in- somewhat rough; but it by no means come of eight or nine hundred a year. follows that the roughness was the This is my definition of true love. If cause of the love being true, or that you prefer Shakspeare's account of it, the truth of the love was the cause of and consider no love worth having the course of it being rough. So much that is not accompanied with woes and for Shakspeare—and now for John accidents, quarrels among friends, and Plantagenet Simpkinson. other accessories, I beg to say you

The labours of the Statistical Sohave not made such use of your powers ciety, I suppose, have left very few of observation as you ought to have people in ignorance that ours is a bodone, or you would have found out rough town, though the inhabitants long ago that such loves as those are have not the inestimable privilege of never lasting. And this, I take it, is hating each other on principles of the the reason that authors of novels gene- purest patriotism once every three or rally close their stories with a descrip. four years, when some soaring squire tion of the wedding. If they continued or plethoric manufacturer is ambitious their labours, how different would be of a seat in Parliament; by which pe. the scene! Waverley and Rose Brad- riphrasis I would have it understood, wardine flying to Boulogne for debt; that we return no member, albeit we

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