THOMAS MOORE 1779-1852 His is the poetry of the bath, of the toilette, of the saloon, of the fashionable world not the poetry of nature, of the heart, or of human life. — Hazlitt. As Slow Our Ship Love's Young Dream. The Time I've Lost In Wooing The Last Rose Of Summer. The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls - Phrases I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. 5 Come, Rest In This Bosom. THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Of other days around me. 15 When I remember all 20 The friends so linked together I've seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather, Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose garlands dead, And all but him departed. 25 Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. In Here is depicted manufactured emotion similar to Antony's for Fulvia, of which Enobarbus says," indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow." Cf. Cf. Ant. & Cleo. Act I. 2. The Old Familiar Faces " by Charles Lamb, and "I Remember, I Remember " by Thomas Hood, wherein we see vapid pathos of insincere artists. "The Last Tournament " Tennyson falls into a like error, when he uses the same "unmeaning bit of decoration" in his picture of Lancelot, arbiter of the jousts, who, languidly indifferent to the overthrow of Arthur's knights, is 66 Sighing weariedly, as one Who sits and gazes on a faded fire, FAREWELL!-BUT WHENEVER – Farewell! 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. 5 His griefs may return, not a hope may remain Of the few that have brighten'd 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 pieasure fills up My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night; 15 Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were here!" Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy, Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 20 And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill'd— You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. Classify the fine phrase. Interpret the poem from the point of view of its having been criticised as salable pathos. The songs of the Caroline poets are echoed in Moore's vers de société and Irish melodies. THOMAS HOOD 1798-1845 One of the noblest - and, speaking of Fancy, one of the most fanciful of modern poets, was Thomas Hood.-Edgar A. Poe. Look at her garments, 10 Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. — 15 Touch her not scornfully Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her 20 Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Past all dishonor, 25 Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family Wipe those poor lips of hers, 30 Oozing so clammily; Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; 35 Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? |