The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1879-05-29

Byron said thWt Moore's songs. On, Blame NOT |
the Bard" Brenthe not his Name" >" When no |
who Adores Thee were worth all the epics |
that ever were written. -
These IRE some of the songs known os " The !
Irish Melodies" and their origin WIS this: In |
the time when minstrelsy was cultivated al |
through the west Of hqrope; tne h,,,t s,dne g.nte
as in Ireland. There, the harp wns taken for
the emblem Of the nation. and the island was
upon her evil dnys--dnys when for an Irish
man to touch the Irish harp was held to be a
The harp WINS mute. the minstrel's voice was
hushed and Ireland was the land of the song"
no more. Still. time and change wore on.
newed life the intellect OF ireland. and some
patriotic gentlemen OF Belfast. desirous TO save
the ancient music Of the people from being ut.
terly lost. Invited such Of the Irish harpers"
ns might have survived to n musical festival
They cnme and the airs they played were noted
But the fate OF Ireland grew dark again
darker and stormier than ever. Europe was
shaken by strange convulsion. The air was
rcnt by the cry Of the peoples. struggling and
trnmplinR on their broken chains. Every
breeze that crossed the ocean from the great
West came freighted with ENCOURAGEMENT and
hope. Ireland was not deaf. She. too. strove
for deliverance She failed Snitten by that
sword that never strikes in vain. she was flung
back wounded. exhausted. into the lethargy of
despair. Alone. friendless. fnrsnken. no hand
to help her. no voice TO plead her cause her
very heart seemed broken. ana q spcechlrss
horror brooded over nll thu land. II WIS night,
black night-night without moon or star, But
dreary as thai which Just precedes the dawn.
In such an hour. before the first faint blush ap-
peared in the East-in the summer time where
woods were thick around. / have sometimes
watched the tokens OF the dawn at first dark
ness verywhere-everywher silence. Then
one solitary bird startles tho ear of night with
note clear. pure. and thrilling rs II heaven it.
self had sent its own winged messenger TO awake
he ,s ,seepipIG ,I world Ihen comes pause
bird takes up the strain. then another and an
other, until at last all the woods are vocal with
bursts the glad anthem that halls the splendor
OF returning day. so dark. so cold, SO silent
q minstrels song. like the note OF that lonely
bird. broke the silence, and awakened the sleep
ing nation TO light; and life. and action. M.
song thrilled all Ireland from end to end. 1t
was the voice OF Ireland herself In him her long
hd found
Tom Moore had taken the forgotten music Of
Ireland caught the thought and inspiration OF
itself and sent them, thought and verse and
melody. thus interviewer. TO tell the story OF
Irish. In strains SO wild, yet tender, her
minstrels in the old time had sung, to lords
and ladies' bright. OF love and war, OF the fading
Irish; not in the Irish tongue. indeed.
but in thought and sentiment and mo-
tive instinct with Irish feeling. rich in
from lnnsfnllen TO Lough Neagh bathed in that
changeiul atmosphere-haf sunshine. hall
Irish life. The minstrel himself was Irish
Irish by birth. by race-in soul and sympathics
-as true and stanch an Irishman as ever lived
and the song he sang was but the benting O. his
| own true heart, IL thrilled all EnGand-al Eu-
rope; il thrilled all generous hearts. wherever
| they might be. with sympathy. regret indigDa-
| tion IL raised. the cause Of Ireland into its
| rghtfu place Before the intelligent opinion Of
Think how in an hour so .despairinR. this
minstrelsy. free. fearless, and inspiring. stir
red all the soul OF Ireland. She WAS not
Wna
| clouds shrouded the future. there was among
her own children one brave heart at least,
| happier days. even In the wreck and ruin OF the
past
time so full OF peril. dared TO strike the harp TO
chords ike these and sing the songs OF iree-
dom undsr the VERY irow1a SD Of 'iT1umphspii
| YOU can. with what gratitude. with what pas
sonate enthusiasm. Ireland hailed Tom Moore
her champion, her poet-and caught him 70
| her breast And he was proud OF the title. He
aspired to no higher honor than to be known as
the poet o. Ireland; he understood MS mis-
In this apostrophe OF the minstrel to his harp.
| Moore spoke OF himself:
Dear harp Of my country in darkness found thee;
The cold chain ot silence had NUM- DER thee long.
And gave ali Thy chords to light, freedom and
II the pulse Of the patriot soldier. or lover
IwSs but "s the wina pSssins he.diesslS over
And all tue wild sweetness1 waE'd was hy own
| And twas not alone the sad and mournful side
OF the Irish character that herepresented in his
| swept every chord ofthe harp. and in some OF his
songs the light and sportive gayety OF the verse
echoes all the fun and frolic OF the air. Some
| people in Ireland comDlained OF this. His
| noble and touching poem, Oh. Blame not the
| Bard. was written in MS defence; They said
he was forgetting Ireland. Tom Moore never
| character that more than another deserves re-
spect. It Is this. He was always and everywhere
uuE NAnF Fla md A. m.
thor, beloved his profession. and he never de-
graded the dignity Of the laurel. AS an Irish
| man. he loved his country-he loved the mem
ories. the friends, the principles, even the
| dreams OF his youth. and he loved them 10 the
last. No fascination OF society. no thought OF
| personal advantage ever shook his allegiance
| to Ireland and her cause he never concealed IL
never compromised it. and even those who leas
| approved OF his views, thought none the worse
| oil him because OF his loyalty to the land OF his
birth. lie cease 10 remember Ireland2
Hear with what earnest feeling he repelled the
| charge:
RExEMEER rHKE.
Remember thee yes while there's life In this heart
i shall never forget thee. all lorn as thon art;
Than the rest Of the world IN their sunnest hours
Vert thou all that wish thee great glorious and free
| First hswer Of the earth and hrst gem OF the sea
But oh could love thee more deeply than now'
No, thy chains as they ranke, thy blood as itruns
b1t make thee more painfully dear 70 my sons
Drink love in each life drop that flows nom thy breast
When Tom Moore was student In Trinit,
College he made the acquaintance there Of
young man for whom he soon formed an almos
romantic attachment.
He was person OF rare attanments anC
great promise, foremost in all intelectun
achievements. endowed with nature very brill
liant gentle, genial, and loving. His career wai
short He loved Ireland but too well. and h,
paid the penalty OF his devotion with his life
He died not unwept. not unhonored, though h,
sleeps in an uninscrbed tomb and not unsung
The melody Lord Byron SO much loved WA
Moore's lament over the grave OF Rober
| Emmet:
Oh breathe not his name, let sleep in the shade
| Where cold and unhOnored his relics are laid;
| Sad. silent. and dark be the tears that We shed.
the night dew that falls on the grass DER his head.
But the night dew IN at falls though in silence IL weeps