Eastern times., 1852-04-22
From the N. Y. Evening Mirror
flushed is the Harp---The
Minstrel Gone"

"Call it not vain, they do not err
Who say that when the Poet dies,
Mute Natures mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obseques-
Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone
For the departed Bard make moan
That mountains weep in crystal rill
That flowers in tears of balm disti
Through his loved grove that brcezes sigh
And oaks in deeper groan, reply;
And rivers teach their rushing wave,
To murmur dirges round his grave"
We cannot part with the melodious soul of
MOORE, without offering something in the way
of tribute to his memory. For more than fifty
years the Songs of the lamented Poet have
filled the world with music, and warmed the
hearts of millions into emotions of love, patri-
otism, ard devotion. "Moore's Melodies" have
been the cradle-hymns of the present genera
ton and the sweet echoes Of
1.-The Harp that once through Taras halls
The soul of music she'd"
will thrill the breasts of endless myrads of the
children of the Future, now on the Lethe' s
shore waiting to be born. And this is imn1or-
taiity!-
"To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is NOT TO DIE!"
Wherever the English language is known-in
the loneliest cabin of the wilderness, in the
forecastle of the ship upon the ocean, the Swan
song of Erin vibrates in the plaintive and
musical verse of Moore. And not only in his
native tongue are his poems sung and remem-
bered. His "Melodies" sre translated into
Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, Ger
man and if we may credit DR.. Luttrell, even
into Persian -
"I'm told. dear Moore, your lays are sung
(Can it be true, you lucky man:)
BY moonlight in the Persian tongue,
Along the streets of Ispahan."
The "Canadian Boat Song" both the words
and the music of which were composed by the
poet while listening to the chanting of his boat
men as they rowed him down the Ottawa,
while their
"Voices kept tune, and their oars kept time"
still echoes along the banks of that beautiful
river, charming the traveller of his WEAKNESS,
and beguling the boatman Of his toll
The maidens of Bermuda, also, love to sil
under the "Caabash Tree at evening, and
sing the song written beneath its shade, when
the youthful poet visited the fairy shores Of
that lovely Island .
"Twas there, in the shade of the Calabash Tree
With few who could feel and remember like
me-"
In his amatory and convivial songs, Moore
is surpassed by none, and only equalled by
Burns Had the genius of the latter passed
through the alembic of Dublin University
his poems might have been more refined, ant
his character more sophisticated.
Moore had the advantages of high educa
ten, good health and comfortable home
with mother who was literally his guardian
angel She saved him from the vortex of '98
when Emmett and others of his college com
panions, sacrificed their young lives upon tn
altar of Liberty The exquisitely sad an
beautiful song, commencing
"She is far from the land where her youn
hero Sleeps"
was written on the death of Miss Curran, VIII
J was betrothed to Emmett at the time of his eS
ecution; and the well known plaintive lines
80 breathe not his name," were suggested b
) the dying words of the patriot "et no ma
. write my epitaph."
Moore was not only successful as poe
, but as an author. He began publishing yer
r early, at the age of fourteen, we believe, an
before reaching twenty-three, he was the al
/; knowledged song writer of the world. tt
5 Longmans agreed to pay him three thousar
+ guineas for "Lalla Rookh," before seeing