Waterbury evening Democrat., 1903-04-01


 liverance was near at hand. h l192 he was taken to q dinner i'll honor ot the efforts of the French toward free dom and this toast was enthusiastical- ly given: May the breezes from France fan our Irish oak into verdure." Tn 1797, Moore was made aware of the beauty of Irish musIc upon hear ing a young friend, Mi Hudson, play the music from Sir John Buntings book. Mir Hudson's playing was so tender and appreciative that it awak- ened all of Moore's patriotism, and he then determined to write suitable words to accompany the music. He himself says his iabors as q poet have derived their sole lustre and value from this work. The great poetical and pa triotic task of writing lyrics for the ancient music of his native country was a labor of love for Moore. His songs displayed fervor and pathos not found in his earlier works, with the most exquisite melody and purity of diction. An accomplished musician himself, 1t was the effort to translate into language the emotions and pas sions which music appeared to him to express, that first led to his writing of any poetry worthy of the name. Moore says: Dryden has happily described music as being inarticulate poetry, and l have always felt, in adapting words to an expressive air, that 1 was be- slowing upon 1t the gift of articulation and thus enabled 1t to speak to others all that was conveyed iii it's wordless eloquence to myself" He took into his gifted hands the dear harp of his coun- try, the long silent harp of Erin, and swept its chords to the ancient lay.
 ssSing, sweet harp. oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds in this sad memory, Long buried dreams shall raise.' The harp. that rich mellow-toned in strun1ent, is ever connected with thoughts of Ireland. Her poetry teens with reference to it, and many of the sweetest of the old songs are inspired by It. Addressing that loved harp again. he says
 Dear harp of my country! in silence I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung
 OCT thee long, l When proudly my own island haFp I
 unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom and song. When Moore visited his young friend 1 Mir Hudson In Kilmaithan jail he l found drawing upon the wall of the cell Illustrating the old legend regard ing the origin of the harp. To while away the weary prison hours Mr Hud- son had sketched a beautiful sea l nymph. showing the development of the harp from the lymph. Moore was so taken with the fancy that he wrote his famous Origin of the Harp Iris believed that this harp which I
 wake now for thee, Was syren of old, who sung under l the sea,
 And who often at eve through the
 bright pillow roved To meet on the shore a youth whom she loved.
 | But she loved him in vain. for he left
 her to weep,
 And in tears all the night her gold
 ringlets to steep, 1 Till heaven looked with pity on true And changed to this soft harp the sea
 maiden's form
 Still her bosom rose fair, still her cheek smiled the same,
 l While her sea-beauties gracefully J curled round the frame And her hair shedding tear-drops from all its bright rings
 Fell over her white arm to make the I gold strings.
 | Hence 1t came that this soft harp so l long hath been known Still to mingle loves language with sor.
 row's sad tone.
 Till thou didst divide them and teach
 the fond lay
 To be love when I'm near thee. and
 grief when away.
 MOORE AND EMMETT.
 About the year 1797 Moore formed the acquaintance of one whose very name brings tears to the eyes and q lpang to the heart, poor Robert Emmet
 Moore became deeply attached to him, not only on account of Emmett s learning and fiery eloquence but for the blamelessness of his life and the |sweet gentleness of his manners.
 Many happy hour was spent togeth- CT by the two gifted friends, Moore Iplaying the pathetic old songs, and Emmet listening, vibrating with feel ing, his impetuous nature stirred to its denths by the music of his native land.
 No wonder Emlnet was so deeply moved by Moore's performance A fertile of that period has said that when Moore sang and played the old melo- dies. singer and audience were alike Ibathed in tears. One day, after lis tening to that old air, "INhe Red Fox,' Enmet leaped to his feet as if in- Ispired and said, 70. that I were at the head of twenty thousand men, march ing to that air. I would trample every obstacle underfoot, and lead my loved country to freedom
 Moore was thrilled by the incident and a few years later wrote s'Let Erin Remember the Days of Old" and set 1t to the tune which so moved the heart of his friend now lying dead in a nameless martyrs grave.
 How little did either of these friends think that in sadder times Moore would write Emmet's own dying words to the music he loved so well-- o. breathe not his name, let in. rest in
 the shade,
 Where cold and unhonored his relics
 are laid:
 Sad. silent and dark be the tears that
 -IAA