Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1917-11-20

| warm bed on a freezing midnight to run
q mile to $4,000 blaze Everybody to his
taste; and everybody knows some one
thing he'd rather loaf over than do his
days work.
We ourself confess our utter inability
TO resist the lure If a century-old news
paper. One Of those things Is always sure
to rob us of an hours time and bundle
Of them will knocl; an eight-hour day to
smithereens.
w. W. HANNA kept us from our work
nearly the whole of yesterday. He drop
ped upon our desk Il bundle of journals
which were chronicles of the news rs
long ago as 1906 10 1924, and we spent
our morning browsing through them. In
the Belfast Newsletter of November Il,
1907, we read all the details of a bleach
green robbery which had moved the
authorities of that great linen district
to offer reward of $500; and we followed
with breathless interest the story of the
exploits of some wild Irish nightriders
who styled themselves 'Moll Doyle and
her sons and barbarously killed, houghed
and otherwise mangled cattle and burned
byrcs and houses" We smiled at the
formal notice Of the wedding of one
stuart Campbell "to the amiable Miss
Douglas, relict of Adam Douglas which
confirmed II story we had heard that in
old times in ireland a widow was always
a Miss" until she became Mrs" again.
BUT MOST OF our morning was wasted
over the Newry Telegraph Of Friday,
November 5, 1924. In which appears a dis.
cussion as to tho authorship Of tho poem
beginning:
Not a drum, was heard. not funeral note,
As his corse to the rampant we hurried.
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
Der the grave where our hero We buried.
etc.
The discussion seems 10 have been pro-
voked by an article in a London paper
giving a garbled version Of poetic trib-
ute to thS memory of tho late Sir John
Moore" which had been rcclted at an eve.
ming company by Lord Byron. 1t appears
to have been taken for granted by the
London journal that Byron was the
author of that stirring ballad which
every schoolboy knows now as the work
of Charles Wolfe. The strangest part OF
it all is the fact that the poem had been
going the rounds for at least ten years
and the poet had himself been laid In the
grave unwept, unhonored and unsung.
We gather from all the pother about it in
this yellowed issue Of the Newry Tele- !
graph Of November s, 1924, that Wolfe's |
poem might have dropped silently out OF |
sight and memory. as has many another |
In, t,d 80
it had not thus belatedly come to the |
notice of Lord Byron and earned his o. X. |
The poem first appeared in the Newry |
Telegraph says one of the parties to |
the controversy and he continues: ut
is beyond all question that Mr.. Wolfe was
the author of these verses; for. independ- |
entity Of my testimony, his friends, his
fellow students. and his intimate connex-
ions amongst the Clergy of the Estab-
lished Church, of which no was an active,
useful and pious Minister. know the fact |
to be so. Mr.. Wolfe, Sir, was
too unassuming, candid and tenacious of |
truth. to claim poem which he lad not
written. The lines. Sir, as recite6 by
Lord Byron, afford the strongest inter.
nal evidence that the eminent poet was
not their author. The poem
first appeared in the Newry Telegraph,
signed G. W."
ANOTHER defender of Wolfe's claim,
in this old issue, one John Sydney Taylor,
relates how Wolfe, under the urgings of
his friends "to read for a scholarship" in
the College of Dublin, commenced his
ctu6iac nd he, 90, I
Intense application which is absolutely
requisite; and he seemed to be endowed
with both strength and talent to ensure
the most brilliant success, yet, after a
time. his industry visibly relaxed
II was soon understood that the mind of
The mathematician had been subdued by
the heart OF the poet. He was said to |
give himself up to softer inspirations than
those of science. He was observed to
enjoy moonlight walk more than the
calculations of the lunar mountains
lie lost all taste for fellowship
which. according to the absurd and mon-
istic statutes OF the University. is incom
patible with the matrimonial state;
ne closed his books. which might lead to
wealth and distinction, but not to happi.
hess, and never returned to the path OF
academic ambition. He laboured
or the poor and friendless and
about two years ago heard that death
lad closed the story of his misfortunes.
his talents and his virtues"
HERE we copy out for you the poem as
t appeared first in the Newry Telegraph:
4 slightly different version, we venture IN
say. from that which you memorized in
school,:
Not drum was heard. not a funeral note |
AS his corse to the rampant we hurried.
Not a soldier discharged his farewell sbo,
Ger the grave, where our hero we burisd
We buried him darkly at dead of night
The sods with our bayonets turning
By the strugglin moonbeams' misty Iigbt |
And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast
Nor In sheet nor In shroud we bound hin, |
But he lay like warrior taking his rest
With his martial cloak around him,
Few and short were the prayers We said
And We spoke not word of sorrow
But We steadfastly gazed on the face that
was dead. '
And We bitterly thought of the morrow