by Thomas Moore
THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS
THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS.
THE MAD TORY AND THE COMET.
THE MAGIC MIRROR.
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.1
THE MILLENNIUM.
THE MINSTREL BOY.
THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE.
THE MUSICAL BOX.
THE NATAL GENIUS.
THE NEW COSTUME OF THE MINISTERS.
THE NIGHT DANCE.
THE NUMBERING OF THE CLERGY.
THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP.
THE PARALLEL.
THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE.
THE PERIWINKLES AND THE LOCUSTS.
THE PETITION OF THE ORANGEMEN OF IRELAND.
THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS1
THE PILGRIM.
THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE.
THE PRINCE’S DAY.1
THE RECTOR AND HIS CURATE; OR, ONE POUND TWO.
THE RESEMBLANCE.
THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER.
THE RING.
THE RUSSIAN LOVER.
THE SALE OF LOVES.
THE SALE OF THE TOOLS.
THE SCEPTIC
THE SCEPTIC, A PHILOSOPHICAL SATIRE.
THE SHIELD.
THE SHRINE.
THE SINKING FUND CRIED.
THE SNAKE.
THE SNOW SPIRIT.
THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.1
THE SONG OF O’RUARK, PRINCE OF BREFFNI.1
THE SONG OF THE BOX.
THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.
THE STEERMAN’S SONG, WRITTEN ABOARD THE BOSTON FRIGATE 28TH APRIL.1
THE STRANGER.
THE SUMMER FÊTE
THE SUMMER FÊTE.
THE SUMMER WEBS.
THE SURPRISE.
THE SYLPH’S BALL.
THE TEAR.
THE TELL-TALE LYRE.
THE THREE DOCTORS.
THE TIME I’VE LOST IN WOOING.
THE TRIUMPHS OF FARCE.
THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE.
THE TWO LOVES.
THE VALLEY OF THE NILE.
THE VOICE.
THE WANDERING BARD.
THE WATCHMAN.
THE WELLINGTON SPA.
THE WINE-CUP IS CIRCLING.
THE WONDER.
THE WORLD WAS HUSHT.
THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN.
THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID.
THE YOUNG MAY MOON.
THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENADA.
THE YOUNG ROSE.
THEE, THEE, ONLY THEE.
THEN FIRST FROM LOVE.
THEN, FARE THEE WELL.
THERE ARE SOUNDS OF MIRTH.
THERE COMES A TIME.
THERE IS A BLEAK DESERT.
THERE’S SOMETHING STRANGE.
THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART.
THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS LIFE.
THEY MET BUT ONCE.
THEY TELL ME THOU’RT THE FAVORED GUEST.
THIRD ANGEL’S STORY.
THIS LIFE IS ALL CHECKERED WITH PLEASURES AND WOES
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.
THO’ ‘TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.
THO’ HUMBLE THE BANQUET.
THO’ LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG I SING.
THO’ THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH SORROW I SEE.
THOSE EVENING BELLS.
THOU ART, O GOD.
THOU BIDST ME SING.
THOU LOVEST NO MORE.
THOUGHTS ON MISCHIEF.
THOUGHTS ON PATRONS, PUFFS, AND OTHER MATTERS.
THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS.
THOUGHTS ON THE LATE DESTRUCTIVE PROPOSITIONS OF THE TORIES.1
THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOVERNMENT OF IRELAND.
TIBULLUS TO SULPICIA.
TIS ALL FOR THEE.
TIS GONE, AND FOR EVER.
TIS SWEET TO THINK.
TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER.
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO ——
TO — — ‘S PICTURE.
TO —— , 1801.
TO —— ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH GIRDLE.
TO —— THE MORNING OF HER BIRTHDAY.
TO A BOY, WITH A WATCH, WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND
TO A LADY, WITH SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON LEAVING THE COUNTRY.
TO A LADY.
TO A LAMP WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS.
TO CARA, AFTER AN INTERVAL OF ABSENCE.
TO CARA, ON THE DAWNING OF A NEW YEAR’S DAY.
TO CAROLINE, VISCOUNTESS VALLETORT.
TO CLOE. IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.
TO FRANCIS, EARL OF MOIRA.
TO GEORGE MORGAN, ESQ. OF NORFOLK, VIRGINIA.
TO HIS SERENE HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER ON HIS PORTRAIT OF THE LADY ADELAIDE FORBES.
TO JAMES CORRY, ESQ.
TO JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ.
TO JULIA ON HER BIRTHDAY.
TO JULIA WEEPING.
TO JULIA.
TO JULIA.
TO JULIA.
TO JULIA.
TO LADIES’ EYES.
TO LADY HEATHCOTE, ON AN OLD RING FOUND AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS.
TO LADY HOLLAND.
TO LADY JERSEY.
TO LORD VISCOUNT STRANGFORD. ABOARD THE PHAETON FRIGATE, OFF THE AZORES, BY MOONLIGHT.
TO MISS —— ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS.
TO MISS MOORE. FROM NORFOLK, IN VIRGINIA, NOVEMBER, 1803.
TO MISS SUSAN BECKFORD.1
TO MRS, — .
TO MRS. ——
TO MRS. —— .
TO MRS. BL —— . WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.
TO MRS. HENRY TIGHE, ON READING HER “PSYCHE.”
TO MY MOTHER.
TO PHILLIS.
TO ROSA.
TO ROSA.
TO ROSA.
TO ROSA.
TO ROSA.
TO SIR HUDSON LOWE.
TO THE EDITOR OF “THE MORNING CHRONICLE.”
TO THE EDITOR OF THE * * *.
TO THE FIRE-FLY.1
TO THE FLYING-FISH.1
TO THE HONORABLE W. R. SPENCER.
TO THE INVISIBLE GIRL.
TO THE LADY CHARLOTTE RAWDON.
TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL MISS —— IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARE
TO THE LORD VISCOUNT FORBES.
TO THE MARCHIONESS DOWAGER OF DONEGALL.
TO THE REV. CHARLES OVERTON, CURATE OF ROMALDKIRK.
TO THE REVEREND —— .
TO THE SAME.
TO THE SHIP IN WHICH LORD CASTLEREAGH SAILED FOR THE CONTINENT.
TO THOMAS HUME, ESQ., M. D.
TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE ROSE.
TO-DAY, DEAREST! IS OURS.
TORY PLEDGES.
TOUT POUR LA TRIPE.
TRANSLATION FROM THE GULL LANGUAGE.
TRANSLATIONS FROM CATULLUS.
TRIO.
TRIUMPH OF BIGOTRY.
TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.1
TWIN’ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH THY BROW?
TWOPENNY POST-BAG, BY THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER.
UNBIND THEE, LOVE.
UNPUBLISHED SONGS.
UP, SAILOR BOY, ‘TIS DAY.
VARIETY.
VERSES TO THE POET CRABBE’S INKSTAND.1
WAKE THEE, MY DEAR.
WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY.
WALTZ DUET.
WAR AGAINST BABYLON.
WAR SONG.
WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD.
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE.
WEEP ON, WEEP ON.
WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL.
WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY’S TEARS.
WHAT SHALL I SING THEE?
WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET.
WHAT’S MY THOUGHT LIKE?
WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD.
&n
bsp; WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH.
WHEN FIRST I MET THEE.
WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE.
WHEN HE, WHO ADORES THEE.
WHEN LOVE IS KIND.
WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD
WHEN LOVE, WHO RULED.
WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.
WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR.
WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIGH DELAYS.
WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE.
WHEN THE SAD WORD.
WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING.
WHEN THOU ART NIGH.
WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER.
WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZZETTA.
WHEN TO SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU LISTEN.
WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
WHENE’ER I SEE THOSE SMILING EYES.
WHERE ARE THE VISIONS.
WHERE IS THE SLAVE.
WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE SAINTED?
WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME?
WHILE GAZING ON THE MOON’S LIGHT.
WHILE HISTORY’S MUSE.
WHO IS THE MAID?
WHO’LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS?
WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY?
WIND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY.
WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING.
WOMAN.
WREATH THE BOWL.
WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS.
WRITE ON, WRITE ON.
YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM.
YOU REMEMBER ELLEN.
YOUNG JESSICA.
YOUTH AND AGE.
The Prose
In 1799 Moore travelled to London to study law at Middle Temple. He was an impoverished student and had difficulties in paying the fees and his tailor’s bills. He was helped by his friends in the expatriate Irish community, including Barbara, widow of Arthur Chichester, 1st Marquess of Donegall. She and her sister became his lifelong friends.
MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN
CONTENTS
VOLUME I.
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
Portrait of a Gentleman, traditionally identified as Richard Brinsley Sheridan, by John Hoppner
VOLUME I.
TO
GEORGE BRYAN, ESQ.,
THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED,
BY
HIS SINCERE AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND,
THOMAS MOORE.
PREFACE.
The first four Chapters of this work were written nearly seven years ago. My task was then suspended during a long absence from England; and it was only in the course of the last year that I applied myself seriously to the completion of it.
To my friend, Mr. Charles Sheridan, whose talents and character reflect honor upon a name, already so distinguished, I am indebted for the chief part of the materials upon which the following Memoirs of his father are founded. I have to thank him, not only for this mark of confidence, but for the delicacy with which, though so deeply interested in the subject of my task, he has refrained from all interference with the execution of it: — neither he, nor any other person, beyond the Printing-office, having ever read a single sentence of the work.
I mention this, in order that the responsibility of any erroneous views or indiscreet disclosures, with which I shall be thought chargeable in the course of these pages, may not be extended to others, but rest solely with myself.
The details of Mr. Sheridan’s early life were obligingly communicated to me by his younger sister, Mrs. Lefanu, to whom, and to her highly gifted daughter, I offer my best thanks for the assistance which they have afforded me.
The obligations, of a similar nature, which I owe to the kindness of Mr. William Linley, Doctor Bain, Mr. Burgess, and others, are acknowledged, with due gratitude, in my remarks on their respective communications.
CHAPTER I.
BIRTH AND EDUCATION OF MR. SHERIDAN. — HIS FIRST ATTEMPTS IN LITERATURE.
Richard Brinsley [Footnote: He was christened also by the name of Butler, after the Earl of Lanesborough.] Sheridan was born in the month of September, 1751, at No. 12, Dorset Street, Dublin, and baptized in St. Mary’s Church, as appears by the register of the parish, on the fourth of the following month. His grandfather, Dr. Sheridan, and his father, Mr. Thomas Sheridan, have attained a celebrity, independent of that which he has conferred on them, by the friendship and correspondence with which the former was honored by Swift, and the competition and even rivalry which the latter so long maintained with Garrick. His mother, too, was a woman of considerable talents, and affords one of the few instances that have occurred, of a female indebted for a husband to her literature; as it was a pamphlet she wrote concerning the Dublin theatre that first attracted to her the notice of Mr. Thomas Sheridan. Her affecting novel, Sidney Biddulph, could boast among its warm panegyrists Mr. Fox and Lord North; and in the Tale of Nourjahad she has employed the graces of Eastern fiction to inculcate a grave and important moral, — putting on a fairy disguise, like her own Mandane, to deceive her readers into a taste for happiness and virtue. Besides her two plays, The Discovery and The Dupe, — the former of which Garrick pronounced to be “one of the best comedies he ever read,” — she wrote a comedy also, called The Trip to Bath, which was never either acted or published, but which has been supposed by some of those sagacious persons, who love to look for flaws in the titles of fame, to have passed, with her other papers, into the possession of her son, and, after a transforming sleep, like that of the chrysalis, in his hands, to have taken wing at length in the brilliant form of The Rivals. The literary labors of her husband were less fanciful, but not, perhaps, less useful, and are chiefly upon subjects connected with education, to the study and profession of which he devoted the latter part of his life. Such dignity, indeed, did his favorite pursuit assume in his own eyes, that he is represented (on the authority, however, of one who was himself a schoolmaster) to have declared, that “he would rather see his two sons at the head of respectable academies, than one of them prime minister of England, and the other at the head of affairs in Ireland.”
At the age of seven years, Richard Brinsley Sheridan was, with his elder brother, Charles Francis, placed under the tuition of Mr. Samuel Whyte, of Grafton Street, Dublin, — an amiable and respectable man, who, for near fifty years after, continued at the head of his profession in that metropolis. To remember our school-days with gratitude and pleasure, is a tribute at once to the zeal and gentleness of our master, which none ever deserved more truly from his pupils than Mr. Whyte, and which the writer of these pages, who owes to that excellent person all the instructions in English literature he has ever received, is happy to take this opportunity of paying. The young Sheridans, however, were little more than a year under his care — and it may be consoling to parents who are in the first crisis of impatience, at the sort of hopeless stupidity which some children exhibit, to know, that the dawn of Sheridan’s intellect was as dull and unpromising as its meridian day was bright; and that in the year 1759, he who, in less than thirty years afterwards, held senates enchained by his eloquence and audiences fascinated by his wit, was, by common consent both of parent and preceptor, pronounced to be “a most impenetrable dunce.”
From Mr. Whyte’s school the boys were removed to England, where Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan had lately gone to reside, and in the year 1762 Richard was sent to Harrow — Charles being kept at home as a fitter subject for the instructions of his father, who, by another of those calculations of poor human foresight, which the deity, called Eventus by the Roman
s, takes such wanton pleasure in falsifying, considered his elder son as destined to be the brighter of the two brother stars. At Harrow, Richard was remarkable only as a very idle, careless, but, at the same time, engaging boy, who contrived to win the affection, and even admiration of the whole school, both masters and pupils, by the mere charm of his frank and genial manners, and by the occasional gleams of superior intellect, which broke through all the indolence and indifference of his character.
Harrow, at this time, possessed some peculiar advantages, of which a youth like Sheridan might have powerfully availed himself. At the head of the school was Doctor Robert Sumner, a man of fine talents, but, unfortunately, one of those who have passed away without leaving any trace behind, except in the admiring recollection of their contemporaries. His taste is said to have been of a purity almost perfect, combining what are seldom seen together, that critical judgment which is alive to the errors of genius, with the warm sensibility that deeply feels its beauties. At the same period, the distinguished scholar, Dr. Parr, who, to the massy erudition of a former age, joined all the free and enlightened intelligence of the present, was one of the under masters of the school; and both he and Dr. Sumner endeavored, by every method they could devise, to awaken in Sheridan a consciousness of those powers which, under all the disadvantages of indolence and carelessness, it was manifest to them that he possessed. But remonstrance and encouragement were equally thrown away upon the good- humored but immovable indifference of their pupil; and though there exist among Mr. Sheridan’s papers some curious proofs of an industry in study for which few have ever given him credit, they are probably but the desultory efforts of a later period of his life, to recover the loss of that first precious time, whose susceptibility of instruction, as well as of pleasure, never comes again.
One of the most valuable acquisitions he derived from Harrow was that friendship, which lasted throughout his life, with Dr. Parr, — which mutual admiration very early began, and the “idem sentire de re publica” of course not a little strengthened.
As this learned and estimable man has, within the last few weeks, left a void in the world which will not be easily filled up, I feel that it would be unjust to my readers not to give, in his own words, the particulars of Sheridan’s school-days, with which he had the kindness to favor me, and to which his name gives an authenticity and interest too valuable on such a subject to be withheld:
“Hatton, August 3, 1818.
“DEAR SIR,
“With the aid of a scribe I sit down to fulfil my promise about Mr. Sheridan. There was little in his boyhood worth communication. He was inferior to many of his school-fellows in the ordinary business of a school, and I do not remember any one instance in which he distinguished himself by Latin or English composition, in prose or verse. [Footnote: It will be seen, however, though Dr. Parr was not aware of the circumstance, that Sheridan did try his talent at English verse before he left Harrow.] Nathaniel Halhed, one of his school-fellows, wrote well in Latin and Greek. Richard Archdall, another school-fellow, excelled in English verse. Richard Sheridan aspired to no rivalry with either of them. He was at the uppermost part of the fifth form, but he never reached the sixth, and, if I mistake not, he had no opportunity of attending the most difficult and the most honorable of school business, when the Greek plays were taught — and it was the custom at Harrow to teach these at least every year. He went through his lessons in Horace, and Virgil, and Homer well enough for a time. But, in the absence of the upper master, Doctor Sumner, it once fell in my way to instruct the two upper forms, and upon calling up Dick Sheridan, I found him not only slovenly in construing, but unusually defective in his Greek grammar. Knowing him to be a clever fellow, I did not fail to probe and to tease him. I stated his case with great good-humor to the upper master, who was one of the best tempered men in the world; and it was agreed between us, that Richard should be called oftener and worked more severely. The varlet was not suffered to stand up in his place; but was summoned to take his station near the master’s table, where the voice of no prompter could reach him; and, in this defenceless condition, he was so harassed, that he at last gathered up some grammatical rules, and prepared himself for his lessons. While this tormenting process was inflicted upon him, I now and then upbraided him. But you will take notice that he did not incur any corporal punishment for his idleness: his industry was just sufficient to protect him from disgrace. All the while Sumner and I saw in him vestiges of a superior intellect. His eye, his countenance, his general manner, were striking. His answers to any common question were prompt and acute. We knew the esteem, and even admiration, which, somehow or other, all his school-fellows felt for him. He was mischievous enough, but his pranks were accompanied by a sort of vivacity and cheerfulness, which delighted Sumner and myself. I had much talk with him about his apple-loft, for the supply of which all the gardens in the neighborhood were taxed, and some of the lower boys were employed to furnish it. I threatened, but without asperity, to trace the depredators, through his associates, up to their leader. He with perfect good-humor set me at defiance, and I never could bring the charge home to him. All boys and all masters were pleased with him. I often praised him as a lad of great talents, — often exhorted him to use them well; but my exhortations were fruitless. I take for granted that his taste was silently improved, and that he knew well the little which he did know. He was removed from school too soon by his father, who was the intimate friend of Sumner, and whom I often met at his house. Sumner had a fine voice, fine ear, fine taste, and, therefore, pronunciation was frequently the favorite subject between him and Tom Sheridan. I was present at many of their discussions and disputes, and sometimes took a very active part in them, — but Richard was not present. The father, you know, was a wrong-headed, whimsical man, and, perhaps, his scanty circumstances were one of the reasons which prevented him from sending Richard to the University. He must have been aware, as Sumner and I were, that Richard’s mind was not cast in any ordinary mould. I ought to have told you that Richard, when a boy, was a great reader of English poetry; but his exercises afforded no proof of his proficiency. In truth, he, as a boy, was quite careless about literary fame. I should suppose that his father, without any regular system, polished his taste, and supplied his memory with anecdotes about our best writers in our Augustan age. The grandfather, you know, lived familiarly with Swift. I have heard of him, as an excellent scholar. His boys in Ireland once performed a Greek play, and when Sir William Jones and I were talking over this event, I determined to make the experiment in England. I selected some of my best boys, and they performed the Oedipus Tyrannus, and the Trachinians of Sophocles. I wrote some Greek Iambics to vindicate myself from the imputation of singularity, and grieved I am that I did not keep a copy of them. Milton, you may remember, recommends what I attempted.
