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THOMAS MOORE, Esq., the Author of this work, is the only son of a respectable merchant in Dublin, and was born May 28, 1780. From an epistle to his eldest sister, written from Norfolk, in Virginia, in 1803, we have reason to believe that his early years were distinguished by domestic enjoyment and happiness.

Mr. Moore acquired the rudiments of education under the late Mr. Samuel Whyte, of Dublin; a gentleman whose suavity of manners, and literary attainments were, at that time, extensively known and duly respected. Mr. Moore discovered such talent in early life, as induced his father to enter him at the early age of fourteen as a student of Trinity College, Dublin. Here he became distinguished not only for the highest literary attainments as a scholar, but as a patriot, enthusiastically devoted to the liberty and independence of his country. In November, 1799, Mr. Moore became a member of the Middle Temple; and in the course of the following year he came before the world as the translator of the “Odes of Anacreon,” into English verse, with notes. Of this, it is enough to say that it is sufficiently elegant and fascinating. The same observation extends, with appropriate truth, to a volume of poems, chiefly amatory, published by our author in 1801. In reference to these poems and his Irish Melodies, Mr. Sheridan said of our author, “that there was no man who put so much of his heart into his fancy as Tom Moore; that his soul seemed as if it were a particle of fire separated from the sun, and was always fluttering to get back to that source of light and heat.”

Of the various productions of Mr. Moore's pen, none have obtained a more deserved or more general commendation than his Melodies and National Airs. These are sufficient to immortalize his fame, and to place him in the highest rank of modern poets.

In his Memoirs of Captain Rock, Mr. Moore assumes the severer and more important duties of a politician; and has traced the evils of his country, its misery, its degradation, and its crimes, to their real source. Some of its positions may be disputable; party feeling may have imparted a deeper colouring to its opinions; and the enthusiasm of a generous and patriotic mind may sometimes have hurried the writer into less cautious statements—but that it contains much sound truth, cannot be denied.

The Life of Sheridan, and the Epicurean, are the latest of Mr. Moore's works, and have both been received by the pubFic with acceptance and delight; and the present Volume is, at this moment, in the full glory of its high popularity.

Mr. Moore is not only a poet, but by his exquisite taste for music, which he has highly cultivated, has often given to his own verses all the magic expression of the most perfect harmony.-The late Dr. Burney was astonished at his musical talents, which he pronounced to be emphatically his own.

Mr. Moore is an excellent classical scholar, and particularly well read in the literature of the middle ages. His conversational powers are great ; which, united with his modest, and unassuming manners, have opened for him a ready and welcome admission into the most elevated circles of the polite world.

The life of a man of letters is barren in incident; it proceeds in an even tenor, seldom to-day differing from what it was yesterday; and anticipating for to-morrow not more of change or difference. We have little, therefore, to add to our poet's biography; except to record that, on occasion of his visit to Ireland, in 1818, a public dinner was given to him, which was graced by a large assemblage of the most distinguished literary and political characters, the Earl of Charlemont in the chair. His health having been proposed by the noble chairman, Mr. Moore, after the applause had subsided, rose, much affected, and returned thanks in a neat and appropriate speech,



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Advertisement to the First

Oh! the days are gone 42

and Second Numbers

7 Though dark are our 43

Go where glory waits thee. 9 Weep on, weep on 44

Remember the glories . 10

Lesbia hath a beaming eye 45

Erin! the tear and the smile 11 I saw thy form in youthful 46

Oh! breathe not his name. 12 By that lake, whose gloomy 47

When he who adores thee.

She is far from the land 48

The harp that once through

Nay, tell me not, dear. 49

Fly not yet,'tis just the hour 13 Avenging

and bright


Oh! think not my spirits . 14 What the bee is.

Though the last glimpse

Here we dwell.


Rich and rare

This life is all chequer'd. 52

As a beam o'er the face 16

No. V.

There is not in the wide 17 Advertisement.


No. II.

Through Erin's isle. 54

Ol! haste and leave. 18 At the 'mid hour of night. . 55

How dear to me the hour. 19 One bumper at parting! 56

Take back the virgin page

| 'Tis the last rose of summer. 57

When in death I shall calm 20 The young May-moon. 58

How oft has the Benshee . 21 The minstrel-boy.

We may roam.

22 The valley lay smiling. 59

Oh! weep for the hour 23 Oh! had we some bright. 60

Let Erin remember. 24 Farewell ! —but whenever. 61

Silent, oh Moyle! 25 Oh! doubt me not


Come, send round the wine, 26 You Remember Ellen.

Sublime was the warning

I'd mourn the hopes. 63

Believe me, if all those 27

No. VI.

No. III.



29 Come o'er the sea.


Like the bright lamp

. 30 Has sorrow thy young. ,


Drink to her, who long. 31 No, not more welcome.

Oh! blame not the bard 32 When first I met thee.

While gazing on the moon's 33 While History's muse. 70

When daylight

34 The time I've lost in woo-

By the hope

35 ing.

Night closed around 36 Where is the slave. 72

Oh! 'tis sweet to think Come, rest in this bosom

Through grief and through 37 'Tis gone, and for ever. 73

When through life unbless'd 38 I saw from the beach. 74

It is not the tear .

39 Fill the bumper fair !

'Tis believed that this harp. Dear harp of my country! 76

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77 Fare thee well.


My gentle harp !

78 Dost thou remember?--, 119

As slow our ship.

79 Oh! come to me.

In the morning of life. : 80 Oft, in the stilly night.--. 120

When cold in the earth. 81 Hark! the vesper hymn. 121

Remember thee !

No. II.

Wreath the bowl.

82 Love and Hope.-.


Whene'er I see.

S3 There comes a time.- 123

If thou'lt be mine.

84 My harp has one.

To ladies' eyes a round. 85 Oh! no-note'en . 124

Forget not the field. 86 Peace be around thee!

They may rail at this life.

Common Sense and Genius125

Oh for the swords.

87 Then, fare thee well! 126


Gaily sounds the castanet. 127

Ne'er ask the hour. 89 Love is a hunter-boy. 128

Sail on, sail on.

Come, chase that starting.

Yes, sad one of Sion 90 Joys' of youth.


Drink of this cup.

91 Hear me but once.

Down in the valley. 92

No. III.

Oh, ye dead !

93 When love was a child. 130

Of all the fair months. 94 Say, what shall be our. 131

How sweet the answer. 95 Bright be thy dreams!

Oh, banquet not. 96 Go, then—'tis vain. 132

The dawning of morn

The crystal hunters.

Shall the harp then be sient.97 Row gently here. 133

Oh, the sight entrancing. 99 Oh! the days of youth.

No. IX.

When first that smile. . . 134

Sweet Innisfallen. . 101 Peace to the slumberers !

'Twas one of those dreams.102 When thou shalt wander. 135

Fairest ! put on awhile. . 103 Who'll buy my love-knots ?

Quick! we have but. 104 See,the dawn from Heaven137

And doth not a meeting. . 105

No. IV.

In yonder valley.

107 Nets and cages.


As vanquished Erin.

108 When through.


By the Feal's wave.

Go, now, and drcam. 140

They know not my heart, 110 Take hence the bowl.

I wish I was.

Farewell, Theresa !

She sung of love.

111 How oft, when watching!


Sing, Sing, music was given.112 When the first summer bee.142

Though'tis all but a dream.--

NATIONAL AIRS. 'Tis when the cupis smiling143

No. I.

Where shall we bury.


113 Ne'er talk of wisdom's, 141

A temple to Friendship. 114 Here sleeps the bard.

Flow on.

No. V.

All that's bright must fade.115 Do not say that Lite 145

So warmly we met. 116 The Gazelle .

Those evening bells,

No, leave my heart to rest. 146

Should those fond hopes. . 117 Where are the Visions 117
Reason, Folly & Beauty Wind thy Horn.


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0, guard our Affection 148 Fanny, dearest ! 185

Slumber! O, Slumber! Fanny was in the grove. 186

Bring the bright Garland 149 From life without freedom.187

If in Loving, Singing.

Here's the bower.

Too Plain, Alas! . 150 Holy be the pilgrim's sleep.188

When abroad in the world I can no longer stifle. 189

Keep those Eyes

151 I saw the moon rise clear.

Joys that pass away.


SACRED SONGS. Light sounds the harp.

No. I.

Little Mary's eye,


Thou art, oh God! 152 Love and the Sun-Dial. . 192

This world is all.

153 Love and Time .


Fallen is thy throne. 154 Love, my Mary.


Who is the maid ? 155 Love's light summer-cloud.

The bird, let loose. 156 Love wand'ring.


Olr! Thou who dry’st. Merrily every bosom.

Weep not for those. 157 Now let the warrior, 196

The turf shall be.

158 Oh, lady fair!

Sound the lond timbrel. 159 Oh! remember the tine. 197

Go, let me weep,

. 160 Oh! see those cherries." . 198

Come not, oh Lord ! . 161 Oh! soon return.

Were not the sinful.

Oh, yes! so well

As down in the sunless. . 162 Oh, yes! when the bloom.

But who shall see? 163 One dear smile.


Almighty God!

161 Poh, Dermot !

Oh, fair! oh, purest,

Send the bowl.


No. II.

The Day of Love.


Angel of Charity. 166 The Probability.

Behold the sun.

The Song of War. 204

Lord, who shall bear. 167 The Tablet of Love.

Oh! teach me to love thee.168 The young Rose,


Weep, children of Israel. 169 When in languor.

Like morning.

170 When ʼmidst the gay

1 meet-

Come, ye disconsolate. When twilight dews. 206

Awake, arise.

171 Will you come to the bower 207

There is a bleak desert. . 173 Young Jessica.

Since first thy word. 174 The Rabbinical Origin. . 208

Hark! 'tis the breeze. Farewell, Bessy..


Where is yourdwelling. . 175 To-day, dearest!

How lightly mounts. 176 When on the lip the sigh. 210

Go forth to the mount,

Here, take my heart, 211

Is it not sweet to think. 177 Oh! call it.

War against Babylon. 178 Poor wounded heart.

The East Indian.


179 Pale broken flower.

The pretty-rose tree.

BALLADS, SONGS, etc. Shine out, stars.


Black and Blue Eyes.

133 The young muleteers.


Cease, oh cease to tempt! 184 Tell her! oh tell her.

Dear Fanny.

Nights of Music.


Did not.

185 Our first young love.


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