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Campbell

"No,' replied Lord Byron; "would have claimed it, if it had been his.'"

The poem found its way to the press without the concurrence or knowledge of the author. It was recited by a friend in presence of a gentleman travelling towards the north of Ireland, who was so much struck with it, that he requested and obtained a copy; and immediately after, it appeared in the Newry Telegraph, with the initials of the author's name. From that it was copied into most of the London prints, and thence into the Dublin papers; and subsequently it appeared, with some considerable errors, in the Edinburgh Annual Register, which contained the narrative that first kindled the poet's feelings on the subject, and supplied the materials to his mind. It remained for a long time unclaimed; and other poems,* in the mean time, appeared, falsely purporting to be written by the same unknown hand, which the author would not take the pains to disavow. It lately, however,

* Amongst those was an "Address to Sleep," which appeared in Blackwood's Magazine.

seemed to have become the prey of some literary spoliators, whose dishonest ambition was immediately detected and exposed. Indeed, it is hard to say, whether the claims were urged seriously, or whether it was a stratagem to draw out the acknowledgment of the real author. However, the matter has been placed beyond dispute, by the proof that it appeared with the initials C. W., in an Irish print, long prior to the alleged dates which its false claimants assign.

It is unnecessary to enter into further particulars upon this point, as the question has been set at rest; and as Captain Medwin, who at first conjectured the poem to have been written by Lord Byron himself, has avowed, in his second edition of his work, that "his sup

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position was erroneous, and that it appears "to be the production of the late Rev. C. "Wolfe." It may be interesting to prefix the paragraph in the narrative of Sir John Moore's burial, which produced so strong an emotion in the mind of our author, and prompted this immediate and spontaneous effusion of poetic genius.

"Sir John Moore had often said, that if he

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was killed in battle, he wished to be buried "where he fell. The body was removed at midnight to the citadel of Corunna. A grave was dug for him on the rampart there, by a party of the 9th regiment, the aidesdu-camp attending by turns. No coffin "could be procured, and the officers of his "staff wrapped the body, dressed as it was, in

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a military cloak and blankets. The inter"ment was hastened; for, about eight in the morning, some firing was heard, and the "officers feared that if a serious attack were

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made, they should be ordered away, and not "suffered to pay him their last duty. The "officers of his family bore him to the grave; "the funeral service was read by the chaplain; " and the corpse was covered with earth.". Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808, p. 458.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

I.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

II.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

III.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

IV.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;

But we stedfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

V.

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed,

And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the strnger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow!

VI.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,—
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

VII.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun

That the foe was sullenly firing.

VIII.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-
But we left him alone with his glory!

The principal errors in most of the copies of this poem were pointed out by an early friend of the author in an eloquent letter, which appeared in the Morning Chronicle, October 29th, 1824. One error, however, which occurred in the first line of the third stanza, he omitted to correct. The word "confined" was substituted for " enclosed," manifestly for the worse, as it appears somewhat artificial, and inconsistent with the nervous simplicity of thought and expression which marks the whole poem. The third line of the fourth stanza has been commonly altered thus-" on the face of "the dead." I cannot forbear quoting the

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