MOORES COLLECTED POETICAL WORKS.
THE fourth volume of this edition is by far the richest of the collection as regards poetry ; completing the Irish Melodies, and containing the whole of the National Airs and Sacred Songs, — a series of lyrics which, though unequal in themselves, and exhi- biting a strange decadence of power and spirit in some of the later productions, are as a collection of songs without a rival in English or perhaps in any literature. The prose advertisements and dedi- catory epistles, supplying a commentary on the progress of the work, and taking a popular and pleasant but superficial view of Irish music, accompany the poetry.
The preface rather gives an account of the circumstances which turned Mr. MOORE'S attention to the music of Ireland, than of the origin and composition of the Melodies. It is, however, of inte- rest and value, presenting another phase of his early biography ; embracing reminiscences of the heaving state of Ireland just before 1798, with anecdotes of several youthful united Irishmen, and a narrative of the narrow escape of Mr. Mooac himself from becom- ing the hero of a last dying-speech and confession, or of an Australian voyage, instead of the " poet of all circles and the idol of his own."
ROBERT EMMETT whose untempered ardour involved Miss CURRAN as well as himself in premature death—but whose youth, toura,ge, and patriotic devotion, threw a halo round his name, and formed a theme for the novelist and the poet—was one of Mooaa's friends and college companions. With him, too, the future melo- dist became a member of a debating society formed to regenerate the Green Isle. The reminiscences contain an interesting sketch of EMMETT'S oratory ; but it appears that Mr. Moortz first tried his hand on politics in a "letter to the editor."
Towards the latter end of the year 1797, the celebrated newspaper called The Press was set up by Arthur O'Connor, Thomas Addis Emmett, and other chiefs of the United Irish Conspiracy, with the view of preparing and ripening the public mind for the great crisis now fast approaching. This memorable journal, according to the impression I at present retain of it, was far more distinguished for earnestness of purpose and intrepidity, than for any great display of literary talent: the bold letters written by Emmett, (the elder,) under the signature of "Montanus," being the only compositions I can now call to mind as entitled to praise for their literary merit. It required, however, but a email sprinkling of talent to make bold writing at that time palatable ; and from the experience of my own home, I can answer for the avidity with which every line of this daring journal was devoured. It used to come out, I think, twice a week ; and on the evening of publication I always read it aloud to our small circle after supper. " It may easily be conceived that, what with my ardour for the national cause, and a growing consciousness of some little turn for authorship, I was naturally eager to become a contributor to those patriotic and popular columns. But the constant anxiety about me which I knew my own family felt—a feeling more wakeful far than even their zeal in the public cause—withheld me from hazarding any step that might cause them alarm. I had ventured, indeed, one evening, to pop privately into the letter-box of The Press, a short fragment in imitation of Osman. But this, though inserted, passed off quietly ; and nobody was, in any sense of the phrase, the wiser for it. I was soon tempted, however, to try a more daring flight. Without communicating my secret to any one but Edward Hudson, I addressed a long letter, in prose, to the • • ' • • of * * •, in which a profusion of bad flowers of rhetoric was cnwreathed plentifully with that weed which Shakspeare calls the cockle of rebellion,' and in the same manner as before, committed it tremblingly to the chalices of the letter-box. I hardly expected my prose would be honoured with insertion, when, lo, on the next evening of publication, when, seated as usual in my little corner by the fire, I unfolded the paper for the purpose of reading it to my select auditory, there was my own letter staring me full in the face, being ho- noured with so conspicuous a place as to be one of the first articles my au- dience would expect to hear. Assuming an outward appearance of ease, while every nerve within me was trembling, t contrived to accomplish the reading of the letter without raising in either of my auditors a suspicion that it was my own. I enjoyed the pleasure, too, of hearing it a good deal praised by them and might have been tempted by this to acknowledge myself the author, had I not found that the language and sentiments of the article were considered by both to be ' very bold.'
"I was not destined, however, to remain long undetected. Ott the following day, Edward Hudson, the only one, as I have said, intrusted with my secret, called to pay us a morning visit ; and had not been long in the room, convers- ing with my mother, when looking significantly at me, lie said, Well, you. saw—' Here he stopped; but the mother's eye had &lowed. his, with the rapidity of lightning, to mine, and at once she perceived the whole truth. ' That letter was yours, then ? ' she asked of one eagerly ; and without hesi- tation, of course 1 acknowledged the fact ; when in the most earnest manner she entreated of me never again to have any connexion with that paper ; and as every wish of hers was to me law, 1 readily pledged the solemn promise she required. " Though well aware how easily a sneer may be raised at the simple details of this domestic scene, I have yet ventured to put it on record, as affording an instance of the gentle and womanly watchfulness—the Providence, as it may be called, of the little world of home—by which, although placed almost in the very current of so headlong a movement, and living familiarly with some of the most daring of those who propelled it, I yet was guarded from any parti- cipation in their secret oaths, counsels, or plans, and thus escaped all share in that wild struggle to which so many far better men than myself fell victims.
MOORE AND EMMETT AT THE IRISH MELODIES.
I have already adverted to the period when Mr. Bunting's valuable volume first became known to me. There elapsed no very long time before I was myself the happy proprietor of a copy of the work, and though never regularly instructed in music' could play over the airs with tolerable facility on the pianoforte. Robert Emmett used sometimes to sit by me when thus engaged ; and I remember one day his starting up as from a reverie, when I had just finished playing that spirited tune called the Red Fox,* and exclaiming, " Oh that I were at the head of twenty thousand men, marching to that air!"
How little did I then think that in one of the most touching of the sweet i airs I used to play to him, his own dying words would find an interpreter so worthy of their sad but proud feeling; f or that another of those mournful strains t would long be associated, in the hearts of his countrymen, with the memory of her § who shared with Ireland his last blessing and prayer.
The proceedings of the young patriots were not altogether-hidden from the eye of Government ; which adopted an extra-legal sort of inquisition, only justifiable by a strong necessity. A sort of com- mission was formed by the authorities of the College, and every student was examined on oath touching his own connexion with illegal societies, or whether he knew of any one who belonged to them. Some betrayed all they knew. One, an intimate friend both of MOORE and EMMETT, refused to answer, was expelled the College, and his prospects in life blighted : so that our young poet went home in no very pleasant frame of mind to ponder over his own examination on the morrow.
" I well remember the gloom, so unusual, that hung over our family circle on that evening, as, talking together the events of the day, we discussed the like- lihood of my being among those who would be called up for examination on the morrow. The deliberate conclusion to which my dear honest advisers came, was that, overwhelming as the consequences were to all their plans and hopes for me, yet, if the questions leading to criminate others, which had been put to almost all examined on that day, and which poor • • * • • * * alone had refused to answer, I must, in the same manner and at all risks, return a similar refusal. ' I am not quite certain whether I received any intimation, on the following morning, that I was to be one of those examined in the course of the day; but 1 rather think some such notice had been conveyed to me ; and at last my awful turn came, and I stood in the presence of the formidable tribunal. There sate, with severe look, the Vice-Chancellor, and by his side the memorable Doctor Duigenan, memorable for his eternal pamphlets against the Catholics. The oath was proffered to me. I have an objection, my Lord,' said I, to taking this oath.' What is your objection ?' he asked, sternly. ' I have no fears, my Lord, that any thing I may say would criminate myself; but it might tend to involve others; and I despise the character of the person who could be led, under any such circumstances, to inform against his associates.' This was aimed at some of the revelations of the precedin„e day ; and, as I learned afterwards, was so un- derstood. ' How old are you, Sir ?' be then asked. ' Between seventeen and eighteen, my Lord.' He then turned to his assessor, Duigenan, and exchanged a few words with him, in an under tone of voice. We cannot,' he resumed, again addressing me, suffer any one to remain in our University who refuses to take this oath.' I shall then, my Lord,' I replied, ' take the oath, still reserving to myself the power of! refusing to answer any such questions 8A- I have just described.' We do not sit here to argue with you, Sir,' he rejoined, sharply ; upon which I took the oath, and seated myself on the wit- nesses' chair.
" The following are the questions and answers that then ensued. After adverting to the proved existence of United Irish Societies in the University, he asked, ' Have you ever belonged to any of these societies?'—' No, my Lord.' ' Have you ever known of any of the proceedings that took place in them?'—' No, my Lord." Did you ever hear of a proposal at any of their meetings, for the purchase of arms and ammunition ?'—' Never, my Lord.' Did you ever heat of a proposition made, in one of these societies, with respect to the expediency of assassination ?'—' Oh no, my Lord.' He then turned again to Duigenan, • " Let Erin remember the days of old." f " Oh, breathe not his name." $ " She is far from the hind where her young hero sleeps." 4 Miss Curran.
and, after a few words with him, said to me—' When such are the answers you are able to give,* pray what was the cause of your great repugnance to taking the oath I have already told your Lordship my chief reason ; in addition to which, it was the first oath I ever took, and the hesitation was, I think, natural."
There seems little doubt but that the manner and merit of the future poet had found favour in the sight of the authorities, who let him off easily. " Such," says a zealot of royalty, "is the reve- rence paid to great abilities however misused : they who contem- plated in Milton the scholar and the wit, were contented to forget the reviler of his King."
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