"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
"And her paddle I soon shall hear;
"Long and loving our life shall be,
"And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
"When the footstep of death is near!"

Away to the dismal swamp he speeds—
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangl'd juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man ne'er trode before!

Mr. Moore, during his stay at the university, was no less distinguished for an enthusiastic attachment to the liberty and independence of his country, than for the splendour of his classical acquirements, and the sociability of his disposition. In November, 1799, he became a member of the Hon. Society of the Middle Temple; and the following year, before he had completed the twentieth of his age, published his English translation of the Odes of Anacreon, with notes. Into this version, though it is not entirely free from faults, Mr. Moore has succeeded in transfusing a greater portion of the spirit of the joyous old Teian, than any other translator who has hitherto made the attempt.

On his arrival in London, the fame of his abilities made his friendship be courted by the most distinguished literary characters; while the brilliancy of his conversation, and the unassuming modesty of his manners, recommended him to the fashionable and polished circles of high life. Assuming the ficti. tious name of Little, he, in 1801, published a volume of original poems, chiefly amatory. These, though exhibiting great merit in their compos tion, are, many of them, too warm in their colouring, and are apt to le pernicious in their moral tendency. The pen of Mr. Jeffrey, however, bestowed on them the castigation they deserved; and, from the pure, nay even pious strain of feeling that pervades some of his recent productions, have reason to believe that the rebuke was not given in vain. In the autumn of 1803, Mr. Moore, having obtained an appointment from the Admirality, embarked for Bermuda, but not finding the situation congenial

Бе

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep

The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,
And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear,
Till be starting, cried, from his dream awake,
"Oh! when shall I see the dusky lake,

"And the white canoe of my dear?"

He saw the lake, and a meteor bright
Quick o'er its surface play'd-

"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!"
And the dim shore echoed, for many a night,
The name of the death-cold maid!

to his habits and temper of mind, he resigned it, and after making a tour through part of the United States, and remaining there about a twelvemonth, returned again to England. The following year, he printed his remarks on the manners and society of America, in a work entitled "Odes and Epistles."

Since that time he has been once in Paris, and several times in Dublin, his natal city, at which last place the most flattering honours were paid to his genius, particularly by a splendid entertainment given on the occasion of his late visit, where were assembled the most distinguished literary and political characters of the metropolis, with the Earl of Charlemont in the chair. He has also lately favoured the world with several productions of high desert; the most prominent of these is Lalla Rookh,a poem not unworthy to rank among the most celebrated performances of the present day; and for the copy-right of which, we are assured, the author received no less a sum than three thousand guineas.

Happy in the society of an amiable and accomplished lady, whom he

Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the shore;
Far he follow'd the meteor spark,

The wind was high, and the clouds were dark,
And the boat returned no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true,

Are seen at the hour of midnight damp,

To cross the lake by a fire-fly lamp,

And paddle their white canoe!

When morn thro' rising vapour gleams,
When eagles take their flight,

When muleteers lead forth their teams,

And pilgrims climb the height;

With thee I'll to the fields repair,
With thee the vintage toils I'll share,

For toil will then seem light.

and

married some years ago, Mr. Moore now passes the most of his time in retire. ment, near Bow-wood, Wiltshire, devoting himself to those elegant pleasing pursuits for which his mind seems to be so remarkably fitted.

When burning noon begins to fade,
When dressers leave the vine,
And court the myrtle's fragrant shade,
Or dance beneath the pine;"
With thee I'll lead the merry ring,
With thee the canzonet I'll sing,
Till dewy eve decline.

And when our train shall homeward hie

With pipe and tamborine,

As Luna mounts the eastern sky,

The tow'ring Alps between;
To thee I'll sigh a soft farewell,
Till flocks shall ring their matin bell

Along the spangl'd green.

་་་་་་་་་་་་

CCXIII.

THE PUNCH BOWL.

O once I felt love, but I feel it no more,

And I languish'd, and pin'd for a prim prudish maid! But ere long I perceiv'd the best cure of love's sore, Was the flowing punch bowl-so a fig for the jade.

Every joy of our life here is fleeting and vain,
Like the mist of the mountain, when grasp'd at, they fly,
Then wisely we'll drown all our sorrow and pain,

In this deep bowl of bliss, ere its fountains run dry.

Draw near then, my friends, and drink deep of the tide,
That brightens the eye and expands all the soul;
We care not for beauty, for grandeur nor pride,

We are greater than princes, when crown'd with this bowl.

While one spark of existence within us remains,
We'll steadily stand by this source of delight;
Thou promoter of mirth, thou sweet soother of pains,
Be our comfort by day, and our darling at night.

CCXIV.

THE QUEEN'S BOWER. *

Our Lady sat in our good Lord's hall,
But there was in the purple sky
A broader and brighter canopy
Than Baron's roof or royal pall;

* Queen Elizabeth's favourite seat in the gardens of Combe Abbey bere this appellation.