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of votes. This jeu d'esprit produced much merriment, and the health of the author was drank with applause.
Lord Charlemont then gave the living Poets of Great Britain,' on which Mr. Moore said,
“Gentlemen, notwithstanding the witty song which you have just heard, and the flattering elevation which the author has assigned me, I cannot allow such a mark of respect to be paid to the illustrious names that adorn the literature of the present day, without calling your attention awhile to the singular constellation of genius, and asking you to dwell a little on the brightness of each “ partic. ular star" that forms it. Can I name to you a Byron, without recalling to your hearts recollections of all that his mighty genius has awakened there; his energy, his burning words, his intense passion, that disposition of fine fancy to wander only among the ruins of the heart, to dwell in places which the fire of feeling has desolated, and like the chesnut-tree, that grows best in volcanic soils, to luxuriate most where the conflagration of passion has left its mark ? Need I mention to you a Scott, that fertile and fascinating writer, the vegetation of whose mind is as l'apid as that of a northern summer, and as rich as the most golden harvests of the south, whose beautiful creations succeed each other like fruits in Armida's enchanted garden, one scarce is gathered ere another grows!' Shall I recall to you a Rogers (to me endeared by friendship as well as genius) who has hung up his own name on the shrine of memory among the most imperishable tablets there. A
Southey, not the laureat, but the author of « Dan Roderick," one of the noblest and most eloquent poems in any language. A Campbell, the polished and spirited Campbell, whose song of “ Innisfail" is the very tears of our own Irish muse, crystalized by the touch of genius, and made eternal. А Wordsworth, a poet, even in his puerilities, whose capacious mind, like the great pool of Norway, draws into its vortex not only the mighty things of the deep, but its minute weeds and refuse. A Crabbe, who has shewn what the more than galvanic power of talent can effect, by giving not only motion, but life and soul to subjects that seemed incapable of it. I could enumerate, gentlemen, still more, and from thence would pass with delight to dwell upon the living poets of our own land. The dramatic powers of a Maturin and a Sheil, the former consecrated by the applause of a Scott and a Byron, and the latter by the tears of some of the brightest eyes in the empire. The rich imagination of a Philips who has courted successfully more than one muse. The versatile genius of a Morgan, who was the first that mated our sweet Irish strains with poetry worthy of their pathos and their force. But I feel I have already trespassed too long upon your patience and your time. I do not regret, however, that you have deigned to listen with på. tience to this humble tribute to the living masters of the English lyre, which I “the meanest of the throng,” thus feebly, but heartily, have paid them.
It was ten o'clock before any one retired-all was harmony and conviviality; and in the course of the evening Mr. Moore himself delighted the company b. by singing some songs, in which were happily blend
ed those peculiar talents which he possesses in such perfection.
Our limits will not permit us to extend this brief sketch of Erin's favourite Bard, but the name of Moore needs not the “foreign aid of ornament,” the eloquence of language to set it off. It is in the glowing lustre of his luxuriant fancy-in the vivid sparklings of his sportive, yet pungent wit-in the Jofty untameable spirit of his patriotism, that his history is written in letters of light, which like the sacred flame of the Persian devotees, posterity shall preserve with the proud, but hallowed feelings which immortal genius alone inspires.
MEMOIR OF THOMAS MOORE, ESQ.
Land of the Muse! in Glory's theme,"
In History's leaf thy name shall soar, When, like a meteor's noxious beam,
The reign of Tyranny is o'er. Immortal names have honour'd thee A Sheridan a Wellesley!
and still is beaming round thy sbore The spirit bright of Liberty,
For thou can'st boast a patriot Moore !