70

Pace 51 line 30.

it was too delicious.

As the Prophet said of Damascus, «As you enter at that Bazar without the gate of Damascus, you see the Green Mosque, so called because it hath a steeple faced with green glazed bricks, which render it very resplendent; it is covered at top with a pavilion of the same stuff. The Turks say this mosque was made in that place, because Mahomet being come so far, would not enter the town, saying it was too delicious.»-THEVENOT. This reminds one of the follow-, ing pretty passage in Isaac Walton:-« When I sat last on this primrose bank, and looked down these meadows, I thought of them as Charles the Emperor did of the city of Florence, that they were too pleasant to be looked on, but only on holidays.'»

Page 51, line 46.

Would remind the Princess of that difference, etc.

<«< Haroun Al Raschid, cinquième Khalife des Abassides, s'étant un jour brouillé avec une de ses maîtresses nommée Maridah, qu'il aimait cependant jusqu'à l'excès, et cette mésintelligence ayant déjà duré quelque temps, commença à s'ennuyer. Giafar Barmaki, son favori, qui s'en aperçut, commanda à Abbas ben Ahnaf, excellent poëte de ce temps-là, de composer quelques vers sur le sujet de cette brouillerie. Ce poëte exécuta l'ordre de Giafar, qui fit chapter ces vers par Moussali, en présence du Khalife, et ce Prince fut tellement touché de la tendresse des vers du poète et de la douceur de la voix du musicien, qu'il alla aussitôt trouver Maridah, et fit sa paix avec elle.»>-D'HERBELOT.

Page 55, line 14.

The mountain-herb, that dyes The tooth of the fawn like gold.

Page 55, line 89.

'Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure
The

the
past. present, and future of pleasure.

<< Whenever our pleasure arises from a succession of sounds, it is a perception of complicated nature, made up of a sensation of the present sound or note. and an idea or remembrance of the foregoing, while their mixture and concurrence produce such a mysterious delight, as neither could have produced alone. And it is often heightened by an anticipation of the Thus Sense, Memory, and Imagisucceeding notes. nation, are conjunctively employed.»-GERRARD ON

Taste.

This is exactly the Epicurean theory of Pleasure, as explained by Cicero:—« Quocirca corpus gaudere tamdiu, dum præsentem seutiret voluptatem; animum et præsentem percipere pariter cum corpore et prospicere venientem, nec præteritam præterfluere sinere,»

MADAME DE STALL accounts, upon the same principle, - Elle for the gratification we derive from rhyme :Un son nous est l'image de l'espérance et du souvenir. fait désirer celui qui doit lui répondre, et quand le second retentit, il nous rappelle celui qui vient de nous échapper.»

Page 55, line 110.

'Tis dawn, at least that earlier dawn,
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn.

The Persians have two mornings, the Soobhi Kazim and the Soobhi Sadig, the false and the real day-break. They account for this phenomenon in a most whimsical manner. They say, that as the sun rises from behind the Kohi Qaf Mount Caucasus), it passes a hole perforated through that mountain, and that darting its rays through it, it is the cause of the Soobhi Kazim, or i this temporary appearance of day-break. cends, the earth is again veiled in darkness, until the sun rises above the mountain and brings with it the lle Soobhi Sadig, or real morning.»-SCOTT WARING. thinks MILTON may allude to this, when he says,

Ere the blabbing Eastern scout
The nice morn on the Indian steep
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.
Page 56, line 22.

Held a feast

In his magnificent Shalimar.

As it as

and, flowing through its centre, or occasionally thrown into a variety of water-works, compose the chief beauty of the Shalimar. To decorate this spot the Mogul Princes of India have displayed an equal magnificence and taste; especially Jehan Gheer, who, with the enchanting Noor Mahl, made Kashmire his usual residence during the summer months. On arches thrown over the canal are erected, at equal distances, four or five suites of apartments, each consisting of a saloon, with four rooms at the angles, where the followers of the ¡ court attend, and the servants prepare sherbets, coffee, and the hookah. The frame of the doors of the principal saloon is composed of pieces of a stone of a black colour, streaked with yellow lines, and of a closer grain and higher polish than porphyry. They were taken, it is said, from a Hindoo temple, by one of the Mogul princes, and are esteemed of great value.»-FORSTER. Page 57, line 45.

Jehanguire mentions « a fountain in Cashmere called Tirnagh, which signifies a snake; probably because some large snake had formerly been seen there.»During the life-time of my father, I went twice to this fountain, which is about twenty coss from the city of Cashmere. The vestiges of places of worship and sanctity are to be traced without number, amongst the ruins and the caves which are interspersed in its neighbourhood.» - TOOZEK JEHANGEERY.-See Asiat. Misc. vol. 2.

|

some old persons, who saw the throne Firozeh in the reign of Sultan Mamood Bhamenee, describe it. They say that it was in length nine feet, and three in breadth; made of ebony, covered with plates of pure gold, and set with precious stones of immense value. Every prince of the house of Bhamenee, who possessed this throne, made a point of adding to it some rich stones, so that when in the reign of Sultan Mamood it was taken to pieces, to remove some of the jewels to be set in vases and cups, the jewellers valued it at one crore of oons (nearly four millions sterling). I learned also that it was called Firozeh from being partly enamelled of a sky-blue colour, which was in time totally concealed by the number of jewels. »>-FERISHTA.

72

MY LORD-IT is impossible to think of addressing a Dedication to your Lordship without calling to mind the well-known reply of the Spartan to a rhetorician, who proposed to pronounce an eulogium on Hercules. « On Hercules!» said the honest Spartan, « who ever thought of blaming Hercules ?» In a similar manner the concurrence of public opinion has left to the panegyrist of your Lordship a very superfluous task. I shall therefore be silent on the subject, and merely entreat your indulgence to the very humble tribute of gratitude which I have here the honour to present.

I am, my Lord,

With every feeling of attachment and respect, Your Lordship's very devoted servant, THOMAS MOORE. 27, Bury-street, St James's, April 10, 1806.

PREFACE.

THE principal poems in the following Collection were written during an absence of fourteen months from Europe. Though curiosity was certainly not the motive of my voyage to America, yet it happened that the gratification of curiosity was the only advantage which I derived from it. Finding myself in the country of a new people, whose infancy had promised so much, and whose progress to maturity has been an object of such interesting speculation, I determined to employ the short period of time, which my plan of return to Eu. rope afforded me, in travelling through a few of the States and acquiring some knowledge of the inha

bitants.

The impression which my mind received from the character and manners of these republicans, suggested the Epistles which are written from the city of Washington and Lake Erie.1 How far I was right, in thus assuming the tone of a satirist against a people whom I viewed but as a stranger and a visitor, is a doubt which my feelings did not allow me time to investigate. All I presume to answer for is the fidelity of the picture which I have given; and though prudence might have dictated gentler language, truth, I think, would have justified severer.

I pistles VI. VII, and VHE

I went to America with prepossessions by no means unfavourable, and indeed rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas with respect to the purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which I had early imbibed in my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long been looked to as a retreat from real or imaginary oppres sion, as the elysian Atlantis, where persecuted patriots might find their visions realized, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. I was completely disappointed in every flattering expectation which I had formed, and was inclined to say to America, as Horace | says to his mistress, « intentata nites.» Brissot, in the preface to his travels, observes, that « freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as to border upon a state of nature;» and there certainly is a close ap proximation to savage life, not only in the liberty which they enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit and of private animosity which results from it. This illiberal ¦ zeal embitters all social intercourse; and, though I scarcely could hesitate in selecting the party, whose views appeared the more pure and rational, yet I was sorry to observe that, in asserting their opinions, they both assume an equal share of intolerance; the Democrats, consistently with their principles, exhibiting a vulgarity of rancour, which the Federalists too often are so for getful of their cause as to imitate.

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 ignorante 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.

I am conscious that, in venturing these few remarks, I have said just enough to offend, and by no means sufficient to convince; for the limits of a preface wal not allow me to enter into a justification of my opi nious, and I am committed on the subject as effectualiv as if I had written volumes in their defence. My reader. however, is apprized of the very cursory observation

upon which these opinions are founded, and can easily decide for himself upon the degree of attention or confidence which they merit.

With respect to the poems in general which occupy the following pages, I know not in what manner to apologize to the public for intruding upon their notice such a mass of unconnected trifles, such a world of epicurean atoms, as I have here brought in conflict together. To say that I have been tempted by the liberal offers of my bookseller, is an excuse which can hope for but little indulgence from the critic; yet I own that, without this seasonable inducement, these poems very possibly would never have been submitted to the world. The glare of publication is too strong for such imperfect productions: they should be shown but to the eye of friendship, in that dim light of privacy, which is as favourable to poetical as to female beauty, and serves as a veil for faults, while it enhances every charm which it displays. Besides, this is not a period for the idle occupations of poetry, and times like the present require talents more active and more useful. Few have now the leisure to read such trifles, and I sincerely regret that I have had the leisure to write them.

EPISTLE I.

TO LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD.

ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.

SWEET moon! if like Crotona's sage,

By any spell my hand could dare

To make thy disk its ample page,

And write my thoughts, my wishes there;
How many a friend, whose careless eye
Now wanders o'er that starry sky,
Should smile, upon thy orb to meet
The recollection, kind and sweet,
The reveries of fond regret,
The promise, never to forget,
And all my heart and soul would send
To many a dear-loved, distant friend!

Oh, Strangford! when we parted last,
I little thought the times were past,
For ever past, when brilliant joy
Was all my vacant heart's employ:
When, fresh from mirth to mirth again,
We thought the rapid hours too few,
Our only use for knowledge then

To turn to rapture all we knew!
Delicious days of whim and soul!
When, mingling lore and laugh together,
We lean'd the book on pleasure's bowl,
And turn'd the leaf with folly's feather!
I little thought that all were fled,
That, ere that summer's bloom was shed,
My eye should see the sail unfurl d
That wafts me to the western world!

And yet it was time-in youthful days,
To cool the season's burning rays,

Pythagoras; who was supposed to have a power of writing upon the moon by the means of a magic mirror. —See BAYLE, art. Pythag

The heart may let its wanton wing
Repose awhile in pleasure's spring,
But, if it wait for winter's breeze,
The spring will dry, the heart will freeze!
And then, that Hope, that fairy Hope,

Oh! she awaked such happy dreams, And gave my soul such tempting scope For all its dearest, fondest schemes, That not Verona's child of song,

When flying from the Phrygian shore, With lighter hopes could bound along, Or pant to be a wanderer more!

Even now delusive hope will steal
Amid the dark regrets I feel,
Soothing as yonder placid beam

Pursues the murmurers of the deep, And lights them with consoling gleam, And smiles them into tranquil sleep! Oh! such a blessed night as this,

I often think, if friends were near, How we should feel, and gaze with bliss Upon the moon-bright scenery here! The sea is like a silvery lake,

And o'er its calm the vessel glides Gently, as if it fear'd to wake

The slumber of the silent tides! The only envious cloud that lowers,

Bath hung its shade on Pico's height," Where dimly, 'mid the dusk, he towers, And, scowling at this Heaven of light, Exults to see the infant storm

Cling darkly round his giant form!

Now, could I range those verdant isles
Invisible, at this soft hour,

And see the looks, the melting smiles,

That brighten many an orange bower; And could I lift each pious veil,

And see the blushing cheek it shades, Oh! I should have full many a tale, To tell of young Azorian maids. 3

Dear Strangford at this hour, perhaps.
Some faithful lover (not so blest
As they who in their ladies' laps

May cradle every wish to rest)
Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul,
Those madrigals, of breath divine,
Which Camoens harp from rapture stole,
And gave, all glowing warm, to thine!
Oh! could the lover learn from thee,
And breathe them with thy graceful tone,
Such dear beguiling minstrelsy

Would make the coldest nymph his own.

Alluding to these animated lines in the 44th Carmen of this poet
Jam mens prætrepidans avet vagari,
Jam lati studio pedes vigescunt!

2 Pico is a very high mountain on one of the Azores, from which the island derives its name. It is said by some to be as high as the Peak of Teneriffe.

3. I believe it is Guthrie who says, that the inhabitants of the Azores are much addicted to gallantry. This is an assertion in which even Guthrie may be credited.

These islands belong to the Portuguese.