In 1803 he obtained an appointment at Bermuda, as Registrar to the Court of Admiralty. This position not being agreeable, he filled it by deputy.

His satires on America, which appeared in his Odes and Epistles, published in 1806, were severely criticised by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review. The criticism offended Moore and he challenged Jeffrey. They met at Chalk Farm, but the police prevented the duel. The combatants became great friends. A similar affair between Byron and Moore ended in originating a firm friendship between them.

In 1807 he commenced the writing of poems for Irish Melodies. These poems established his fame, and, like Burns in Scotland, Moore became the idol of Ireland, and the welcome guest among the aristocracy and scholars of England and the world. In 1817 he completed Lalla Rookh; Sacred and National Melodies, Loves of the Angels, etc., followed in quick succession. He also contributed numerous political squibs to the Times, for which he received £400 per annum. Perhaps his highest and best sustained flight in the regions of pure romance" was his last imaginative work, The Epi

curean.

66

Finally, in 1841-42, he collected his poems into ten - volumes and gave them to the world. After Moore's death, his illustrious friend, Lord John Russell, published his copious memoirs, journal and correspondence, in eight vol

umes.

Like Hood and Scott, Moore was financially embarrassed

in 1818, by the conduct of his deputy at Bermuda, to the extent of about $30,000. By the aid of friends and his own efforts, this amount was paid, and Moore died in comfortable circumstances, enjoying a pension from his political friends.

No poet was more universally read, or more courted in society by individuals distinguished for rank, literature, or public service. "Quick, subtle, and varied, ever suggesting new thoughts or images, or unexpected turns of expressionnow drawing resources from classic literature or the ancient fathers now diving into the human heart, and now skimming the fields of fancy-the wit, or imagination, of Moore (for they are compounded together) is a true Ariel, a creature of the elements, that is ever buoyant and full of life and spirit."

F

Farewell.

AREWELL!-but whenever you welcome the hour

That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may return, not a hope may remain Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain; But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw Its enchantment around him, while lingering with you.

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles-
Too blest, if he tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmured, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst; there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past which she can not destroy;
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled!
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled-
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

She is Far from the Land.

HE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her sighing;

But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying!

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking;

Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking!

He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.

Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;

They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow!