The Irish standard., 1888-12-29

+ power to touch the heart, a charm quit
indescribable hangs round those othel
which, welded to bolder or more mela1
/ choly music, express the sufferings an
resentment of an oppressed people
cherishing an undying love Of country
Moore was born at a time when pro
gress, distinction, means Of educatio
were denied to Catholics. One of tn
young Helots, as DR.. Waller puts il
who were admitted to enter Trint
College, though debarred from all 1t
honors and emoluments, be qualifie,
for scholarship, but was denied it o.
account Of his religion. He expressed
his disgust freely and was arraignet
before the authorities, accused oe hav
ing betrayed national spirit. Boldl,
aYewing his feelings and admitting hi:
guilt he so impressed his judges that
they withdrew their persecution and hi
was allowed to pursue his studies
Though not the stuff Of which soldiers
and active politicians are made. his
genius leading in a different direction,
his heart, a good warm heart for all
love and friendship and patriotism.
overfiowed in suc} songs as "Oh,
Where's the Slave" Avenglng and
Bright, ''Oh. for the Swords OF For
mer Times" "Blame Not the Bard, -
"Hog Oft has the Banshee Cried"
Forget Not the Field" ths latter end
ing with the oft quoted lines:
Far dearer the grave orthe prison
Illumined by one patriot name,
Than the trophies OF all who have risen
On Liberty's rutns to fame.''
From Moora we have the lines:
""Tis treason 20 love her and death to Defend"
more familiar on Irish lips, perhaps,
than any line Of any other poet. The
group of deathless lyrics referring to
Robert Emmett, who, when Moore was
a lad, was his friend and frequent COM
panion, should alone endear the whole
collection of melodies aud their author
to the Irish people. The very soul of
pathos is in the verses. oh, Breathe
N OF HIS Name!" with its ending:
The tear chat We shed, tho in secret it rolls,
Will long keep his .nen,ory green in ot1r souls"
IA true prophecy, for one Of the
greenest spots in an Irish heart is
Emmet's grave. The concluding pas
sage of when he who adores thee''
(Ireland heing addressed by Emmet)
will also find an echo so long as there
is an Irish heart in tho world
''Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall
The days Of thy glory to see,
But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can
give
Is the pride Of thus dying for thee
''The role of our martyrs is not yet
filed up, though very fresh names are
very newly written OF the list. and
Moore's- song is still sung, andEmmet's
spirit is still with us.
"Moore's allusion to Emmett and the
lvrics which mourn him is worth re-
membering:
''He was altogether a noble fellow,
and as full of imagination and tender
ness of heart as of manly bearing. He
used frequently to sit by me at the
piano-forte while I played over the airs
from Bunting's Irish collection, and |
remember one dav when we were thus
employed his starting np as il from a
reverie, while | was PLAYING the spirited
air, Let Erin Remember the Day. and
exclalming passionately, oh: that !
were at the head of twenty thousand
,,nor, rohi,,ae fo fhof oir 1Jnuo titfln
did [ think that in one of the most
touching of the sweet airs used to play
to him, his own dying words would find
an interpreter so worthy of their sad
hut proud feeling. or that another Of
those mouruful strains would long be
associated i'll the hea ts Of bis country
men with the memory of her who
shared with ireland his last blessing
and prayer"
"These two young men, as they SIT
at the piano, are. each IN his own
way, types of the Irishmau. One is
strange mixture of geptleness, tender
ness, modesty. terrible determination,
obstinacy if you will, utter self abnega-
tion. all included in the very highest
nobility of SOUL The other is gay,
genial, kindly, afectionate, feeling the
Irish tragedy to the marrow Of his
bones, but unable to leave the sweets
which prudence secures him to follow
his devoted and doomed brother to
death. Emmet died, and Moore went
and sang over his grave. Ireland will
remember and love them both, but
Moore more for the sake OF Emmett,
than for his own very extraordinary
claims upon our gratitude.
Returning to the portraits OF Moore
and his father and mother, and remem-
bering his affectionate relations with
his wife. children and friends, We feel
glad that he was man to be loved as
we'll as poet and musician. Surely, it
poetry be music, and music poetry,
Moore was poet. He was even bet
ter husband, father, friend, son. A
little anectdote told OF him fingers in
the mind. Trying to sing a favorite
song of his fathers after that father 8
death. song entitled. ''Teere's Song
of the Olden Days,'' Moore broke down
utterly and burst into genuine tears.
''His tenderness for his mother was
never failing. ALI his triumphs were
laid at her feet, and the petting given
him by the great world never spoiled
him for the simplicity of home. or for
quiet and lasting happiness with his
wife. Even fter death had swept ava
all their children, the faithful Bessy
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