THE IMPERIAL MAGAZINE. SEPTEMBER, 1834. LIFE OF THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. (With a Portrait.) It has been observed, that, notwithstanding the number of men of literature and genius which the sister island has produced, there are very few with whose names any thing like a national association is connected. They seem, for the most part, to have flourished apart, from, and independently of, their country, and to have reflected on Ireland scarcely a ray of all their glory. The cause of this fact is doubtless to be sought, not in the character of the individuals, but in the condition of the country. No one will ever accuse Mr. Burke, for example, of wanting either the principles or the feelings of which patriotism is compounded, though we rarely associate his name with that of the country which gave him birth. But whatever may be the circumstances which in many instances seem interposed between Ireland and her most distinguished sons, Mr. Moore has been singularly free from their influence. He is an Irishman in every character, and in every aspect in which he can be viewed: as a man, as a companion, as a poet,-in each of these characters is seen that warmth of heart, that quickness of perception, that delicacy of wit, that intense sensibility and vivid fancy, which, though in far lower degrees, are the distinctive characteristics of his countrymen. Above all, Mr. Moore has made his literary productions subservient not only to his nationality, but his patriotism. He has embalmed the name, the history, and the sufferings of his country in poetry which must live as long as the language in which it is written. He was born at Dublin, on the 28th of May, 1780, and is the only son of the late Mr. Garret Moore, a respectable tradesman who resided there. He spent the years of infancy and early boyhood with two sisters at home; and those days seem to have left the most delightful impressions on his memory, if we may judge from the following very touching allusion to those youthful hours, contained in an epistle to his sister, written long after from America: "When lull'd with innocence and you, I heard, in home's beloved shade, 2D. SERIES, NO. 45.-VOL. IV. 3 E 189.-VOL. XVI. When ev'ry night my weary head My tales of all that past the while!" Mr. Moore received the rudiments of his education under the care of the late Mr. Samuel Whyte, of Grafton-street, Dublin; a gentleman extensively known and respected as the early tutor of Sheridan. Here he evinced such extraordinary talents as determined his father to give him the advantages of a superior education, and at the early age of fourteen he was entered at Trinity College, Dublin. The political circumstances of his country at that time were adapted to awaken all the ardour of his mind, and he advocated its independence with enthusiasm and eloquence. On the 19th of November, 1799, Mr. Moore entered himself at the Middle Temple, and in the course of the year 1800 published his translation of the Odes of Anacreon, which he dedicated to his late Majesty George the Fourth. This work he is said to have meditated from the time when he was twelve years old. It is executed with great elegance, and exhibits the transfusion of the spirit of the original into the translation as perfectly perhaps as any similar work in the language. Of a somewhat kindred character was a volume of poems, which he published under the assumed name of " Little." They were characterized by all that wit and poetical beauty which are perceived in every production of his pen, but were of too voluptuous a character for general approbation, or even for general perusal. Towards the autumn of 1803, Mr. Moore obtained the office of Registrar to the Admiralty, in Bermuda; for which island he immediately embarked. His official avocations, however, proved but little congenial with his disposition; and, after an absence of fourteen months, he returned to Europe. In 1806 he published a work entitled " Epistles, Odes, and other Poems," embodying his observations on scenery and manners during his absence. Any eulogy upon it, as coming some years too late, would be quite superfluous. It is only necessary to say, that the short preface prefixed to it evinces a degree of excellence in prose composition by no means unworthy of the versatile genius of its author. A general notion of the impression made on his mind by the society of America, may be gained from the following observations: "The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and indeed the unpolished state of society in general, would neither surprise nor disgust, if they seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest ignorance of the gloss of refinement, which may be looked for in a new and inexperienced people. But when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, and all the pride, of civilization, while they are still so remote from its elegant characteristics, it is impossible not to feel that this youthful decay, this crude anticipation of the natural period of corruption, represses every sanguine hope of the future energy and greatness of America. Previously, however, to the appearance of this work, he gave to the public in 1803 two poems, of a political character. The one was entitled, " Â Candid Appeal to Public Confidence, or Considerations on the Dangers of the Present Crisis;" and the other, "Corruption and Intolerance. "These were chiefly remarkable for their epigrammatic felicity, and for their daring and sarcastic personality of allusion. In 1807, the first number of the "Irish Melodies" appeared, and was succeeded at various intervals by similar numbers. Together with these, we may notice his "National Airs," which were continued to four numbers. The design of these works were perfectly similar, and may be learned from the following sentences in his advertisement to the latter. "A pretty air without words resembles one of those half creatures of Plato which are described as wandering in search of the remainder of themselves through the universe. To supply this other half, uniting with congenial words the many fugitive melodies which have hitherto had none, or only such as are unintelligible to the generality of their hearers, is the object and ambition of the present work. Neither is it our intention to confine ourselves to what are strictly called National Melodies; but wherever we meet with any wandering and beautiful air, to which poetry has not yet assigned a worthy home, we shall venture to claim it as an estray swan, and enrich our humble hippocrene with its song." It is unnecessary to characterize these works further than by saying, that they gave rise to an opinion expressed by Lord Byron, that "the lasting celebrity of Moore would be found in his lyrical compositions, with which his name and fame would be inseparably and immortally connected." Nor is it fame alone that he has gained from these exquisite productions of his pen. On the contrary, it is confidently asserted that he has realized from them an annuity of £500 a year. But it is time to refer to his more recent and considerable publications. The celebrated poem of Lalla Rookh appeared in 1817, in the summer of which year, Mr. Moore visited the French capital, and collected the materials for that humorous production, "The Fudge Family in Paris.” For the former work he is said to have received from his publishers the extraordinary sum of three thousand guineas; nor does its success in any degree disappoint the high expectations it inspired. It excited the most lively interest in the literary world, and was received with unbounded admiration. Instead of giving any critical opinions of our own, respecting Lalla Rookh, we will extract a few passages from a critique, written shortly after its appearance, in the Edinburgh Review, which, for the vigour and beauty of style with which it is composed, no less than for the critical acumen and taste which it displays, ranks among the finest pieces which that masterly periodical can boast. "The style," says the reviewer, " is, on the whole, rather diffuse, and too unvaried in its character. But its greatest fault, in our eyes, is the uniformity of its brilliancy-the want of plainness, simplicity, and repose. We have heard it observed, by some very zealous admirers of Mr. Moore's genius, that` you cannot open his book without finding a cluster of beauties in every page. Now, this is only another way of expressing what we think its greatest defect. No work, consisting of many pages, should have detached and distinguishable beauties in every one of them. No great work, indeed, should have many beauties: if it were perfect, it would have but one, and that but faintly perceptible except on a view of the whole. Look, for example, at what is perhaps the most finished and exquisite production of human art-the design and elevation of a Grecian temple, in its old, severe simplicity. What penury of ornament-what neglect of beauties of detail! -what masses of plain surface-what rigid economical limitation to the useful and the necessary! The cottage of a peasant is scarcely more simple in its structure, and has not fewer parts that are superfluous. Yet what gran deur-what elegance-what grace and completeness in the effect! The whole is beautiful-because the beauty is in the whole; but there is little merit in any of the parts, except that of fitness and careful finishing. Contrast this, now, with a Dutch or a Chinese pleasure house-where every part is meant to be beautiful, and the result is deformity,-where there is not an inch of the surface that is not brilliant with colour, and rough with curves and angles,-and where the effect of the whole is monstrous and offensive. We are as far as possible from meaning to insinuate that Mr. Moore's poetry is of this description; on the contrary, we think his ornaments are, for the most part, truly and exquisitely beautiful; and the general design of his pieces very elegant and ingenious all that we mean to say is, that there is too much ornament-too many insulated and independent beauties and that the notice, and the very admiration they excite, hurt the interest of the general design; and not only withdraw our attention too importunately from it, but at last weary it out with their perpetual recurrence. "Mr. Moore, it appears to us, is decidedly too lavish of his gems and sweets;-he labours under a plethora of wit and imagination-impairs his credit by the palpable exuberance of his possessions, and would be richer with half his wealth. His works are not only of rich materials and graceful design, but they are every where glistening with small beauties and transitory inspirations sudden flashes of fancy, that blaze out and perish; like earthborn meteors, that crackle in the lower sky, and unseasonably divert our eyes from the great and lofty bodies which pursue their harmonious courses in a serener region. "But though its faults are certainly of the kind we have been endeavouring to describe, it would be quite unjust to characterise it by its faults, which are beyond all doubt less conspicuous than its beauties. There is not only a richness and brilliancy of diction and imagery spread over the whole work,'that indicate the greatest activity and elegance of fancy in the author but it is every where pervaded still more strikingly with a strain of tender and noble feeling, poured out with such warmth and abundance, as to steal insensibly on the heart of the reader, and gradually to overflow it with a tide of sympathetic emotion. There are passages indeed, and these neither few nor brief, over which the very genius of poetry seems to have breathed his richest enchantment-where the melody of the verse and the beauty of the images conspire so harmoniously with the force and tenderness of the emotion, that the whole is blended into one deep and bright] stream of sweetness and feeling, along which the spirit of the reader is borne passively away, through long reaches of delight. Mr. Moore's poetry, indeed, where his happiest vein is opened, realizes more exactly than that of any other writer, the splendid account which is given by Comus of the song of— men. 'His mother Circe, and the Sirens three, Amid the flowery-kirtled Naïades, Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium.'” In the year following the appearance of this extraordinary poem, Mr. Moore visited Ireland, and had there a most gratifying opportunity of witnessing the pride which his genius had inspired in his admiring countryA dinner was given in honour of him in Dublin, which was attended by all the most distinguished Irishmen in the vicinity, who seemed to emulate each other in testifying the high estimation in which they held their great national poet. His works now succeeded one another in rapid succession. In 1823 appeared his well-known poem, the "Loves of the Angels." It is somewhat singular, that the subject on which this book is written, strange and intractable as it may appear, was chosen almost at the same time by Lord Byron, as the basis of his drama, entitled, "Heaven and Earth." To this fact Mr. Moore refers in his preface, though with very unreasonable modesty, in the following words: "Some months since, I found that my friend Lord Byron had, by an accidental coincidence, chosen the same subject for a drama; and, as I could not but feel the disadvantage of coming after so formidable a rival, I thought it best to publish my humble sketch immediately, with such alterations and additions as I had time to make; and thus, by an earlier appearance in the literary horizon, give myself the chance of what astronomers call an heliacal rising, before the luminary, in whose light I was to be lost, should appear." The Epicurean," though written in prose, was scarcely less imaginative and equally characteristic of its author. From this period, however, his works assumed a somewhat different aspect. His"Memoirs of Captain Rock" was, in fact a history of Ireland, and very palpably exhibited the political notions and sentiments of the author. In the title to this work, he has merely borrowed the name of the celebrated Irish chieftain, to personify that spirit of violence and insurrection which is necessarily generated by systematic oppression, and which rudely avenges its inflictions. One fault, however, was observed, with general displeasure, throughout its pages, which seems, from many instances, almost distinctive of the nation to which Mr. Moore belongs. This was, the inconsistency between the serious character of the subject, and the airy and volatile manner in which it was treated. His "Life of Sheridan" appeared in 1825; and, as it exhibited its author in a new character, so it greatly enhanced his reputation. It contains a most comprehensive and admirable history of the times in which its subject flourished; it delineates the character of Sheridan with equal fidelity and delicacy; and, above all, is but little chargeable with that epidemic fault of biographers, the perpetuation of all the vicious excesses of their subjects, under pretence of discharging their own consciences, and preserving their character for historical accuracy. With these merits, however, it will never be considered as an unexceptionable model of biography. Its style is what might have been expected from the author of "Lalla Rookh;" and, while it exhibits all the liveliness and feeling of Mr. Moore's former productions, it is overloaded with metaphor, and is in general unsuited to the relation of facts. Mr. Moore's intimacy with Lord Byron is unquestionably one of the most interesting features in his history. It appears to have commenced in a challenge, though it was prosecuted, till the death of his Lordship, with a degree of warmth which would scarcely have been augured from so inauspicious a commencement. Lord Byron appears to have accurately estimated the many excellencies which adorned the character of his friend; and his letters to him, published in Moore's "Memoirs of Byron," no less than the poems which he addressed to him, sufficiently indicate the ardour of his Lordship's regard for him. Much was said, prior to the publication of the "Memoirs of Lord Byron," respecting certain auto-biographical papers which his Lordship was known to have presented to Mr. Moore, and for which the latter had, with Lord Byron's consent, received two thousand guineas from Murray, but which were not forthcoming after the death of the writer. |