The original genius, exquisite sensibility, independent spirit, and
incorruptible integrity, which the greatest scholar of his age ascribed
in his will to this bright and fanciful bard from the “Emerald Isle,”
have been generally admired and acknowledged. Indeed, notwithstanding
his multitudinous and peculiar temptations to love patrician personages
not wisely, but too well, few men of genius have ever excelled or
equaled Moore in these important and laudable qualities for which Dr.
Parr gave him credit, any more than in the brilliancy of his intellect
or the strength of his domestic affections. That he passed through a
severe ordeal, and was exposed to many trials, can hardly be doubted.
The early recognition of rare talent is too frequently fatal to its
possessor; and the celerity of Moore’s transit from the humble parlors
in the Irish capital to fashionable saloons and the banquets of princes
was quite amazing, and well-nigh unprecedented. Yet he appears, without
ostentatiously and perpetually proving the fact by bellowing it into
the public ear, to have maintained his freedom of thought and action
almost unimpaired to the end of his life. The career of such a man is
necessarily fraught with interest and instruction; and the boyhood
of a poet is always a subject especially worthy of being dwelt upon,
as being replete with profit to the young and information to all.
Who, indeed, can read without emotion of the gentle Cowper, being
maltreated by his school-fellows at Westminster, and not daring to
lift his eyes above the shoe-buckles of the elder boys; or of Scott,
seated by some ruined edifice devouring ancient ballads, and gazing
with rapture on the landscape in view; or of Byron, stretched on the
old tombstone of Harrow, with the strong ambition in his mind and the
bitter disappointment in his heart that were destined to unite and
bring forth glorious but melancholy fruits; or of Wordsworth, the Bard
of Contemplation, receiving the poetic impulse while led to and fro on
the romantic banks of the Derwent? In a different and less attractive
scene must we look for the earliest aspirations and exploits of the
gifted youth whose songs, so gay, rich, and choice in their language,
afterward held the fair and courtly in mute attention――whose sparkling
wit proved so effective a weapon in political controversy; and whose
spirit qualified him so perfectly to unite his national music to
immortal verse.
Thomas Moore was born on the 28th of May, 1779, in the city of Dublin,
where his father, a decent and respectable tradesman, at that time
carried on a limited business as a wine-merchant. His mother appears
to have been a rollicking Irish woman, with much honest humor, and
no particular indisposition to indulge occasionally in an expletive,
indicating any thing rather than Asiatic repose or excessive respect
for the third commandment. This worthy dame, joyous and dashing, was
fond of all such festivities as came in her way, and of all such
society as she could obtain access to. She could, doubtless, sing
delightfully at the supper-parties she frequented, enjoy herself
without stint, when “the mirth and fun grew fast and furious,” and let
care and all its horrid concomitants wait for her attention till the
morning. In fact, she was blessed with no small portion of Hibernian
indifference as to the future. Moreover, she had the advantage of
being a strict and sincere Roman Catholic; and her husband also “held
the ancient faith,” though with a philosophical moderation which his
decorous spouse by no means approved of. Though a genuine Irishman by
parentage and nativity, Moore, strangely, advanced no imaginary claim
to estates confiscated for centuries, to wealth dissipated before he
entered the vale of tears, or to ancestral honors. He even declined the
distinction of having aristocratic kindred; and it must be admitted,
that without these aids to inspiration he contrived to do “excellently
well,” and leave a brilliant name. In one quality he assuredly was not
deficient, that of fervid nationality and warm love of his country.
Almost in the earliest stage of his existence the prophetic eye of
Mrs. Moore discerned signs of her little Tom being a marvelous child,
and he was nursed and reared with a view to his attaining due and
enviable eminence ere his sun set. The happy days of the boy have,
perhaps, too often no certain existence save in the imagination of the
same being when grown into a man, and looking on past scenes with that
enchantment which distance lends to the view. Gibbon remarks, that
while the poet gaily describes the short hours of juvenile recreation
he forgets the tedious daily labors of the school, which is approached
each morning with anxious and reluctant step. He declares that he
never knew the boasted happiness of boyhood, against the existence of
which, as a general luxury, he therefore enters a feeling protest;
but in this respect the experience of the fanciful Irish poet was
quite the opposite of that confessed to by the skeptical historian
of the Roman Empire. Moore was sent, with all convenient haste, to a
day-school, kept by a person who “quaffed his noggin of poteen” with
much less than proper consideration for his tutorial avocations. He was
afterward placed under Mr. Samuel White, who had been the preceptor of
Sheridan, and proved his want of prophetic skill by pronouncing the
future wit and orator an incorrigible dunce. At this seminary Moore
displayed a remarkable taste for music, poetry and recitation. This
was much strengthened by the master of the school, who encouraged a
habit of acting which was not in any degree relished by the majority
of his pupils. However, Moore speedily became a favorite “show
scholar,” and in that capacity had the gratification of seeing his
name in print at the age of ten, as one of the juvenile performers
who were to contribute to an evening’s entertainment at the private
theatre of a lady of rank. He began forthwith to compose in numbers,
and became more and more the delight of his mother’s eye. She watched
with tender anxiety and sanguine hope his extraordinary ascent, step
by step, of the social ladder; and he repaid her solicitude by a
filial devotion which no poetic triumphs were ever in subsequent life
allowed to interfere with. Being extremely ambitious in regard to his
worldly prospects, she early, despite the disabilities then attaching
to those of her religious faith, destined him for the bar, and afforded
him every opportunity of cultivating his mind and extending his
knowledge which her means and position permitted. He soon gave cheering
indications of being not unworthy of such anxious care, and was
highly applauded by his teacher, who, while doing so, did not neglect
so opportune an occasion of saying a good word for himself; and he
signalized his precocious powers at the age of fourteen by contributing
verses to the pages of a Dublin Magazine. “Master Moore” was already a
sort of celebrity on the banks of the Liffey.
The friends and relatives among whom the melodist was brought up were,
without exception, ardent in their Irish patriotism; and in 1792 he
was carried by his father to one of the demonstrative gatherings held
in welcome of the French Revolution, and was perched on the chairman’s
knee. The excitement of the festive scene, and the hallucination of
those who took part in it, may be judged from such toasts as that
recorded by him as having been enthusiastically sent round: “May the
breezes from France fan our Irish oak into verdure.” Surely, Donnybrook
Fair must ever afterward have seemed tame to those who were present at
such assemblies.
The young poet espoused these principles with warmth and sympathy;
and having been entered at Trinity College in 1795, supported his
opinions with a lively eloquence, which, as matters stood, might have
caused danger. He passed through the academic course with much credit,
was distinguished for his classical acquirements, took part in the
debates of the Historical Society, and was much admired for the wit
and playfulness he exhibited among his associates. Having brought his
collegiate studies to a termination, taken the degree of bachelor of
arts, and won the character of a most pleasant companion, he proceeded
to London in 1799, and had the happiness of being enrolled as a student
of law at the Middle Temple.
Meantime he had been prompt to seize every means of improvement, and
his innate talent for music had been cultivated with assiduity and
effect; he had gained no inconsiderable amount of classical learning;
and he had acquired some knowledge of the French and Italian languages.
In the middle of the year following his arrival in England, the
translation of Anacreon’s Odes, with which he had been engaged for some
time, was published by subscription. This work had been contemplated
by the eager and aspiring boy even in his school days, and it now
appeared, with a dedication to the Prince of Wales, to whom the poet
had already been presented. Its reception was most flattering; public
favor was bestowed in abundance, and it elicited this complimentary
impromptu――
“Ah, mourn not for Anacreon dead!
Ah, mourn not for Anacreon fled!
The lyre still breathes he touched before,
For we have one Anacreon Moore!”
The rhyming adventurer from the “Green Isle”――small in form but
sprightly in mind――was introduced to fashionable circles, excited the
curiosity and interest of royal personages, and charmed patrician
assemblies with his vocal powers. He had, moreover, the distinction
of dining twice at Carlton House with the Prince of Wales, and of
being admitted to a grand _fête_ given by his royal highness on
becoming regent. At a subsequent period he was one of the same exalted
individual’s keenest assailants and sharpest satirists.
In 1803, Moore, through the influence of his friend Lord Moira, to
whom he had been introduced by a Dublin Mæcenas, obtained an official
appointment at Bermuda, and went thither to undertake the duties
attached to it. The novelty of the situation might, for a brief
season, lend it some slight charm and attraction; but after a year’s
trial of the island he considered it intolerable, as might have been
anticipated in the case of one who had revelled in all the joys of
poetic celebrity, and whose delightful singing had been rewarded
in glittering halls with the dazzling and fascinating smiles of
aristocratic beauty. He therefore resolved on fulfilling its functions,
in future, by deputy; and after a flying visit to America, returned to
England.
Moore, soon after this brief absence from the world of wit and
fashion, published his “Odes and Epistles,” suggested by this rambling
excursion. In these poems, as in the volume given to the world under
the assumed name of “Thomas Little,” the glowing and irresistible
imagination of the bard led him to commit what were very generally
regarded as nothing less than most objectional offenses against
delicacy and decorum. Accordingly he was attacked in the “Edinburgh
Review,” with, as he conceived, so much and undeserved severity, that
he thought himself called on to challenge Jeffrey, as the responsible
editor, to mortal combat. In consequence, the poet and critic met at
Chalk Farm to enjoy the doubtful luxury of being fired at by each
other; but, fortunately, the interference of lurking police-officers
stopped the matter in time to prevent mischief, otherwise it is not
improbable――so great was their awkwardness――that it might have resulted
in involuntary suicide; at all events, the seconds seem to have been
in a position of no slight peril. If any thing could have added to
the absurdity of the affair, it would have been the report, which
asserted that the pistols, on examination, were found to contain paper
pellets, substituted in place of leaden bullets. This proved to have
been erroneous; but the whole transaction exposed the actors to much
tantalizing but well-merited ridicule. “A fellow-feeling makes us
wondrous kind,” and the parties principally implicated formed a close
and lasting friendship.
Having already essayed dramatic composition, in a piece entitled the
“Gipsy Prince,” Moore, in 1811, made a second attempt in an opera,
“M.P., or the Blue Stocking,” which was produced at the Lyceum
theatre with partial success. He was infinitely more fortunate in a
matrimonial adventure, made about the same period; after which he
removed from the metropolis, and chose a residence in Dorsetshire.
Then appeared the “Twopenny Post-bag,” a political effusion, in which
several eminent persons, holding opinions at variance with those of
the author’s patrons, were lashed with sparkling wit, sharp sarcasm,
and humorous pleasantry: but he was not unoccupied with projects more
worthy of his fine taste and beaming fancy. He now came forth with
his “Irish Melodies,” which are replete with real feeling and true
delicacy, and fully entitle him to be rewarded, as he desired, with the
proud title of “the Poet of the Irish people.” They are the happiest
emanations of his gay and fanciful muse. Among song-writers he is
almost unrivaled. No matter what may be the theme――playful or pathetic,
light or impassioned, his verse flows onward like a “shining river”
with graceful fluency; and his cadences tell how exquisitely the ear
was tuned to the expression of the sentiment, which had its origin in
the mind. It is as the producer of lyrics for the ancient music of his
country that he gave proof of his peculiar and felicitous combination
of power, and achieved so wide a reputation. He poured out these
verses with unexampled readiness and fertility. In some he appeared
not only as poet, but musical composer also; and his delicious words
and graceful music thrilled and captivated the public ear and heart.
His popularity had now risen high, but it soon appeared that his name
had not yet gathered all the fame which was to enrich it, when, in
1817, “Lalla Rookh” made its appearance. This Oriental romance, rich,
brilliant, and gorgeous, was his most elaborate poem. It had been
produced in frost and snow, yet his potent imagination had conjured
before him the sunniest of Eastern scenes, with all their splendor and
magnificence; and, what was a most important part of the business,
the manuscript is said to have brought him three thousand guineas.
When presented to the public, it was found to unite the purest and
softest tenderness with poetic fervor and lofty dignity. Its effect
was immediate and extensive; it was received with eager enthusiasm;
and the readers showed their appreciation by committing large
portions to memory. No doubt the English public were, at the time,
athirst for verse; but even under such circumstances nothing but high
merit, taste, fancy, feeling, and delicacy, could have ensured such
rapturous approval, and wrought such enchantment as Moore’s poem, rich
with imagery and ornament, now did, though on a subject by no means
calculated to interest the bulk of the community.
His next work, “The Fudge Family in Paris,” saw the light in 1818, and
was one of those brilliant trifles in which its author was considered
to be altogether unrivaled in his day and generation. It arose from
a passing visit made by the poet to the Continent, and ran through
successive editions. He afterward reproduced the actors in “The Fudge
Family in England;” but with a felicity and success utterly unequal to
the original effort.
Moore had now, as a poet, achieved splendid triumphs, and excited
immense admiration.
“Crowned with perennial flowers,
By wit and genius wove,
He wandered through the bowers
Of fancy and of love;”
while, in social points of view, few men, similarly situated, were more
courted by persons of rank and distinction. He had made comparatively
few enemies, for his satirical shafts, sparkling with wit, were
discharged with so much sportiveness, that they rarely created much
venomous feeling. The kindness of the heart from which they emanated
was naturally too great to admit of that being very frequently the
case. He continued, though tried by vicissitudes of fortune, to retain
all his amiable and domestic feelings in full vigor; his rural dwelling
seems to have had greater attraction than the gay and glittering
drawing-rooms, which he still now and then enlivened with the flashes
of his graceful wit and refined genius. He was a man of the world as
well as a poet and scholar, and he relished the taste of sparkling
glasses of “liquid ruby,” as well as the sight of bright eyes and
brilliant glances. He seems to have generally enjoyed himself with
little restraint; and ministered to the amusement of others without
compromising his personal dignity, or in any degree violating the
independence of his spirit. His wit and cheerfulness, when exerted,
were fascinating in the extreme, and he could at pleasure “set the
table in a roar.” One day, at a dinner-party where he was, the absence
of game having been lamented, one of the guests, struck with his fine
display, remarked――
“Why, gentlemen, what better game could you wish than ‘Moore game?’
Surely you have that in abundance.”
In the circles he frequented it was his lot to become intimate with
Lord Byron, to whom he had introduced himself by something resembling
a challenge; and when, in 1819, he made that journey to the Continent
which furnished him with matter for his “Rhymes on the Road,”
Moore visited the great, but erring and unhappy, author of “Childe
Harold,” then residing near Venice. It was then that the noble and
long-descended bard confided to his charge the autobiography, which
was ultimately consigned to the flames, after it had entailed on the
Irish melodist infinite trouble, anxiety, and annoyance, and that
shortly after the time when the conduct of the individual who acted
as his deputy at Bermuda had driven him from England, and involved
him in serious pecuniary difficulties and embarrassments. On leaving
Italy, Moore betook himself to Paris, where he was treated with high
honor and distinguished by a public dinner, which, as a mark of esteem
and admiration, was particularly grateful to the heart and feelings
of the accomplished exile. While there, he wrote the “Loves of the
Angels,” containing passages of great beauty, passion, and tenderness,
but considered inferior to the former effusions of his versatile muse.
This may be accounted for by its publication having been hastened by
the announcement of Lord Byron’s “Heaven and Earth,” understood to be
founded on the same passage of Scripture――a very sufficient explanation
of its holding a secondary place among its author’s productions. His
latest work of imagination was the “Epicurean,” an Eastern tale in
prose, and in a spirit of pure romance.
In 1825, Moore visited Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, and was
entertained with wonted hospitality by the mighty novelist, who
did not fail to conduct his charming and interesting visitor to the
Rhymer’s Glen, and all the spots renowned in Border history and
tradition, which he was accustomed daily to haunt and draw inspiration
from. Yet it may fairly be questioned whether the sunny heart and
voluptuous imagination of the sentimental love-singer, which had
luxuriated in all the gorgeousness of Oriental scenery, and in the
meeting of “bright waters” in sweet and happy valleys, would be very
deeply impressed while viewing the purple peaks of Eildon, or crossing
the “Leader’s silver tide,” which were the pride and consolation of the
“last minstrel’s” checkered existence.
In 1825, Moore appeared before the public in the character of a
biographer, with the “Life of Sheridan,” which, though valuable and
amusing, was not considered fully to establish his reputation in
his new literary field. Indeed, it was the fashion of the day to
say that Moore had murdered the marvelous and witty orator, whose
skillfully-prepared and dexterously-delivered jokes had so often made
the walls of St. Stephen shake and resound with laughter and merriment.
“No!” exclaimed George IV., on hearing this grave charge; “but he has
certainly attempted his life.” Lord Brougham says, that the frankness
with which Moore gave the secret note-books of the famous wit to the
world, must almost have made their author shake in his grave.
Four years later, Moore was again an aspirant to public favor, with
“Notices of the Life of Lord Byron.” From the large space which the
poetic peer had during life filled in the eye of the world, and the
extraordinary reputation he had left behind him, this work was, and
could hardly fail to be, extremely interesting. Much had been expected,
however, on account of the close friendship that had existed, and the
frank intercourse that had taken place, between the distinguished
writer and the hero whose sayings and doings his pen aspired to
immortalize. Moreover, the mystery attached to the autobiography that
had been destroyed was not forgotten. The literary enterprise, when
executed, was not deemed quite satisfactory; it was encompassed with
perplexing and insuperable difficulties, and the book was necessarily
the reverse of faultless. In fact, even if he had the inclination, it
was almost impossible for him to comment with any degree of freedom
or severity on the failings and follies of a man with whom he had
been long on terms so intimate; even if the danger and delicacy of
the arduous task had not been indefinitely increased by respect and
consideration for the feelings of many persons then still living.
The notices of Byron’s life were followed by “Memoirs of Lord Edward
Fitzgerald,” whose career had attracted Moore’s ardent and most
consecrated sympathies. The life of this ill-fated nobleman was written
throughout with heart and feeling; and, perhaps, may be taken as the
most favorable specimen of its author’s prose style. Besides, he had
shown his prowess in political and religious controversy, in the “Life
of Captain Rock,” as also in the “Travels of an Irish Gentleman;”
and he contributed a history of Ireland to “Lardner’s Cyclopædia.”
These emanations are characterized by much of the beauty of language,
liveliness of remark, and tenderness of sentiment, displayed in his
metrical writings, but without being received with similar tokens of
approbation. The surpassing charms of his happy and exuberant verse,
ever displaying a fancy rich, spirited, elegant, and impassioned,
though not sublime, or always immortal, have been universally felt and
confessed; the enchantment they produced for a time on the public mind
and imagination, was beyond all dispute or question: but with his prose
works it was widely different. Whatever their intrinsic merits, they
have failed to rank in public interest or estimation with his poetic
compositions.
Nevertheless, the nature of some of them, the subjects to which they
related, and the principles they sought to maintain, support, and
vindicate, were such, that the Irish patriots of the period conceived
their author fairly entitled to share in the glories they were
acquiring, and the laurels they were reaping in the British Parliament.
This conclusion being arrived at, Moore was graciously requested
to leave his quiet and peaceful abode in Wiltshire, and appear as
a candidate for the representation of Limerick, in order that he
might “pursue the triumph and partake the gale.” He was not, however,
so ambitious of senatorial rank as to accept of an honor, which the
peculiar circumstances under which it could have been conferred, and
the conditions on which it would have been held, rendered, to say the
least, equivocal in character.
Moore, by the favor of his political friends, enjoyed a pension
from the crown during the latter years of his life; but they were
darkened, and his beaming intellect clouded, by the domestic losses and
calamities, which, at this period, he had to endure.
The once gay, vivacious, and captivating poet, died at his residence,
Slopperton Cottage, near Devizes, on the 26th of February, 1852, and he
was laid at rest in the green church-yard at Bonham.