Except upon the Grecian Kalends :

From whence your scholars, when they want tick,
Say, to be Attic's to be on tick,

In logics he was quite Ho Panu; 4
Knew as much as ever man knew.
He fought the combat syllogistic
With so much skill and art eristic,

That though you were the learn'd Stagirite,
At once upon the hip he had you right.
In music, though he had no ears
Except for that amongst the spheres,
(Which most of all, as he averr'd it,
He dearly loved, 'cause no one heard it,)
Yet aptly he, at sight, could read

Each tuneful diagram in Bede,

And find, by Euclid's corollaria,

The ratios of a jig or aria.

But, as for all your warbling Delias,

Orpheuses and Saint Cecilias,

He own'd he thought them much surpass'd

By that redoubted Hyaloclast"

Who still contriv'd by dint of throttle,

Where'er he went to crack a bottle.

Likewise to show his mighty knowledge, he, On things unknown in physiology, Wrote many a chapter to divert us, (Like that great little man Albertus,) Wherein he show'd the reason why, When children first are heard to cry, If boy the baby chance to be, He cries O A!-- if girl, O E!— Which are, quoth he, exceeding fair hints Respecting their first sinful parents; "Oh Eve!" exclaimeth little madam, While little master cries "Oh Adam!" 6

But 'twas in Optics and Dioptrics, Our dæmon play'd his first and top tricks. He held that sunshine passes quicker Through wine than any other liquor ; And though he saw no great objection To steady light and clear reflection, He thought the aberrating rays, Which play about a bumper's blaze,

1 I wish it were known with any degree of certainty whether the Commentary on Boethius attributed to Thomas Aquinas be really the work of this Angelic Doctor. There are some bold assertions hazarded in it: for instance, he says that Plato kept school in a town called Academia, and that Alcibiades was a very beautiful woman whom some of Aristotle's pupils fell in love with: -“ Alcibiades mulier fuit pulcherrima, quam videntes quidam discipuli Aristotelis," &c.-See Freytag Adparat. Litterar. art. 86. tom. i.

2 The following compliment was paid to Laurentius Valla, upon his accurate knowledge of the Latin language:

Nunc postquam manes defunctus Valla petivit,
Non audet Pluto verba Latina loqui.

Since Val arriv'd in Pluto's shade,

His nouns and pronouns all so pat in,

Pluto himself would be afraid

To say his soul's his own, in Latin!

See for these lines the " Auctorum Censio" of Du Verdier (page 29.).

3 It is much to be regretted that Martin Luther, with all his talents for reforming, should yet be vulgar enough to laugh at Camerarius for writing to him in Greek. "Master Joachim (says he) has sent me some dates and some raisins, and has also written me two letters in Greek. As soon as I am recovered, I shall answer them in Turkish, that he too may have the pleasure of reading what he does not understand." Græca sunt, legi non possunt," is the ignorant

from asserting that Greek could not be read, that worthy juris-consult upon the Law 6. D. de Bonor. Possess, expressly says, “Græcæ literæ possunt intelligi et legi." (Vide Nov. Libror. Rarior. Collection. Fascic. IV.)- Scipio Carteromachus seems to have been of opinion that there is no salvation out of the pale of Greek Literature: "Via prima salutis Grată pandetur ab urbe :" and the zeal of Laurentius Rhodomannus cannot be sufficiently admired, when he exhorts his countrymen," per gloriam Christi, per salutem patriæ, per reipublicæ decus et emolumentum," to study the Greek language. Nor must we forget Phavorinus, the excellent Bishop of Nocera, who, careless of all the usual commendations of a Christian, required no further eulogium on his tomb than "Here lieth a Greek Lexicographer."

4'Oravu. The introduction of this language into English poetry has a good effect, and ought to be more universally adopted. A word or two of Greek in a stanza would serve as ballast to the most "light o'love" verses. Ausonius, among the ancients, may serve as a model:

Ου γαρ μοι θεμις εστιν in hac regione μενοντε
Αξιον ab nostris επιδοκία esse καμήναις.

Ronsard, the French poet, has enriched his sonnets and odes with many an exquisite morsel from the Lexicon. His "chère Entelechie," in addressing his mistress, can only be equalled by Cowley's " Antiperistasis."

5 Or Glass-Breaker-Morhofius has given an account of this extraordinary man, in a work, published 1682,-“ De vitreo scypho fracto," &c.

6 Translated almost literally from a passage in Albertus de Secretis, &c.

Were by the doctors look'd, in common, on,
As a more rare and rich phenomenon.
He wisely said that the sensorium

Is for the eyes a great emporium,
To which these noted picture-stealers
Send all they can and meet with dealers.
In many an optical proceeding

The brain, he said, show'd great good-breeding
For instance, when we ogle women
(A trick which Barbara tutor'd him in),
Although the dears are apt to get in a
Strange position on the retina
Yet instantly the modest brain

Doth set them on their legs again! 1

Our doctor thus, with "stuff'd sufficiency"
Of all omnigenous omnisciency,
Began (as who would not begin

That had, like him, so much within ?)
To let it out in books of all sorts,
Folios, quartos, large and small sorts;

! Alluding to that habitual act of the judgment, by which, notwithstanding the inversion of the image upon the retina, a correct impression of the object is conveyed to the sensorium.

* Under this description, I believe "the Devil among the Scholars" may be included. Yet Leibnitz found out the uses of incomprehensibility, when he was appointed secretary to a society of philosophers at Nuremberg, chiefly for his ingenuity in writing a cabalistical letter, not one word of which either they or himself could interpret. See the Eloge Historique de

Poems, so very deep and sensible
That they were quite incomprehensible?
Prose, which had been at learning's Fair,
And bought up all the trumpery there,
The tatter'd rags of every vest,

In which the Greeks and Romans drest,
And o'er her figure swoll'n and antic
Scatter'd them all with airs so frantic,
That those, who saw what fits she had,
Declar'd unhappy Prose was mad!
Epics he wrote and scores of rebusses,
All as neat as old Turnebus's;
Eggs and altars, cyclopædias,

Grammars, prayer-books-oh! 'twere tedious,
Did I but tell the half, to follow me:
Not the scribbling bard of Ptolemy,
No-nor the hoary Trismegistus,

(Whose writings all, thank heaven! have miss'd us,)
E'er fill'd with lumber such a wareroom
As this great
66 porcus literarum!"

M. de Leibnitz, l'Europe Savante.-People in all ages have loved to be puzzled. We find Cicero thanking Atticus for having sent him a work of Serapion "ex quo (says he) quidem ego (quod inter nos liceat dicere) millesimam partem vix intelligo." Lib. ii. epist. 4. And we know that Avicenna, the learned Arabian, read Aristotle's Metaphysics forty times over for the mere pleasure of being able to inform the world that he could not comprehend one syllable throughout them. (Nicolas Massa in Vit. Avicen.)

ΤΟ

FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA, GENERAL IN HIS MAJESTY'S FORCES, MASTER-GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE, CONSTABLE OF THE TOWER, ETC.

MY LORD,

It is impossible to think of addressing a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to mind the well-known reply of the Spartan to a rhetorician, who proposed to pronounce an eulogium on Hercules. "On Hercules!" said the honest Spartan, "who ever thought of blaming Hercules ?" In a similar manner the concurrence of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of your Lordship a very superfluous task. I shall, therefore, be silent on the subject, and merely entreat your indulgence to the very humble tribute of gratitude which I have here the honour to pre

sent.

I am, my Lord,

With every feeling of attachment
and respect,
Your Lordship's very devoted Servant,
THOMAS MOORE.

27. Bury Street, St. James's,
April 10. 1806.

PREFACE.1

THE principal poems in the following collection were written during an absence of fourteen months from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not the motive of my voyage to America, yet it happened that the gratification of curiosity was the only advantage which I derived from it. Finding my self in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting speculation, I determined to employ the short

1 This Preface, as well as the Dedication which precedes it, were prefixed originally to the miscellaneous volume entitled

period of time, which my plan of return to Europe afforded me, in travelling through a few of the States, and acquiring some knowledge of the inhabitants.

The impression which my mind received from the character and manners of these republicans, suggested the Epistles which are written from the city of Washington and Lake Erie. How far I was right, in thus assuming the tone of a satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger and a visiter, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to investigate. All I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which I have given; and though prudence might have dictated gentler language, truth, I think, would have justified severer.

I went to America with prepossessions by no means unfavourable, and indeed rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas, with respect to the purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which I had early imbibed in my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long been looked to as a retreat from real or imaginary oppression; as, in short, the elysian Atlantis, where persecuted patriots might find their visions realised, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. In all these flattering expectations I found myself completely disappointed, and felt inclined to say to America, as Horace says to his mistress," intentata nites." Brissot, in the preface to his travels, observes, that "freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as to border upon a state of nature; and there certainly is a close approximation to savage life, not only in the liberty which they enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit and of private animosity which results from it. This illiberal zeal imbitters all social intercourse; and, though I scarcely could hesitate in selecting the party, whose views appeared to me the more pure and rational, yet I was sorry to ob

"Odes and Epistles," of which, hitherto, the poems relating to my American tour have formed a part. 2 Epistles VI. VII. and VIII.

serve that, in asserting their opinions, they both assume an equal share of intolerance; the Demo

a vulgarity of rancour, which the Federalists too often are so forgetful of their cause as to imitate.

The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and indeed the unpolished state of society in general, would neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest ignorance of the gloss of refinement which may be looked for in a new and inexperienced people. But, when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, and all the pride of civilisation, while they are still so far removed from its higher and better characteristics, it is impossible not to feel that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of corruption, must repress every sanguine hope of the future energy and greatness of America.

I am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and by no means sufficient to convince; for the limits of a preface prevent me from entering into a justification of my opinions, and I am committed on the subject as effectually as if I had written volumes in their defence. My reader, however, is apprised of the very cursory observation upon which these opinions are founded, and can easily decide for himself upon the degree of attention or confidence which they merit.

With respect to the poems in general, which occupy the following pages, I know not in what manner to apologise to the public for intruding upon their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such a world of epicurean atoms as I have here brought in conflict together. To say that I have been tempted by the liberal offers of my bookseller, is an excuse which can hope for but little indulgence from the critic; yet I own that, without this seasonable inducement, these poems very possibly would never have been submitted to the world. The glare of publication is too strong for such imperfect productions they should be shown but to the eye of friendship, in that dim light of privacy which is as favourable to poetical as to female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances every charm which it displays. Besides, this is not a period for the idle occupations of poetry, and times like the present require talents more active and more useful. Few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and I most sincerely regret that I have had the leisure to write them.

ΤΟ

LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD.

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.

SWEET Moon! if, like Crotona's sage, 2
By any spell my hand could dare
To make thy disk its ample page,

And write my thoughts, my wishes there;
How many a friend, whose careless eye
Now wanders o'er that starry sky,
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet
The recollection, kind and sweet,
The reveries of fond regret,
The promise, never to forget,
And all my heart and soul would send
To many a dear-lov'd, distant friend.

How little, when we parted last,

I thought those pleasant times were past,
For ever past, when brilliant joy
Was all my vacant heart's employ:
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again,
We thought the rapid hours too few;
Our only use for knowledge then

To gather bliss from all we knew.
Delicious days of whim and soul!

When, mingling lore and laugh together, We lean'd the book on Pleasure's bowl,

And turn'd the leaf with Folly's feather. Little I thought that all were fled, That, ere that summer's bloom was shed, My eye should see the sail unfurl'd That wafts me to the western world.

1 See the foregoing Note, p. 104.

ing upon the Moon by the means of a magic mirror.- See

That not Verona's child of song,

When flying from the Phrygian shore, With lighter heart could bound along, Or pant to be a wand'rer more! 1

Even now delusive hope will steal Amid the dark regrets I feel, Soothing, as yonder placid beam

Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam, And smiles them into tranquil sleep. Oh! such a blessed night as this,

I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss

Upon the moon-bright scenery here!

The sea is like a silvery lake,

And, o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it fear'd to wake

The slumber of the silent tides. The only envious cloud that lowers

Hath hung its shade on Pico's height,
Where dimly, mid the dusk, he towers,

And scowling at this heav'n of light,
Exults to see the infant storm
Cling darkly round his giant form!

Now, could I range those verdant isles,

Invisible at this soft hour,

And see the looks, the beaming smiles, That brighten many an orange bower; And could I lift each pious veil,

And see the blushing cheek it shades,— Oh! I should have full many a tale,

To tell of young Azorian maids. 3
Yes, Strangford, at this hour, perhaps,
Some lover (not too idly blest,
Like those, who in their ladies' laps
May cradle every wish to rest,)
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul,

Those madrigals, of breath divine, Which Camoens' harp from Rapture stole And gave, all glowing warm, to thine. 4 Oh! could the lover learn from thee,

And breathe them with thy graceful tone, Such sweet, beguiling minstrelsy

Would make the coldest nymph his own.

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I.

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire
The pearl of the soul may be melted away;
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire

We inherit from heav'n, may be quench'd in the clay;

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame,
That Pleasure no more might its purity dim;
So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same,
I might give back the boon I had borrow'd
from him.