One of Southey’s latest prose compositions consisted of his “Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society,” in which Montesinos is made to converse with the ghost of Sir Thomas More.
On the death of Mr. Pye, the poet-laureate, the vacant dignity had been offered to Sir Walter Scott; but the great Border Minstrel declining to accept of it, used his influence in favor of Southey, who was accordingly appointed. In this capacity he composed his “Carmen Triumphale” and “The Vision of Judgment,” which, like the productions of other laureates, encountered much ridicule. His latest poetical emanations were, “All for Love,” and “The Pilgrim of Compostella.”
Southey’s repute as an author and political writer rose so high, that he was offered a baronetcy, and election to the representation in Parliament of a ministerial borough. However, his knowledge was rather of books than human affairs; he was by no means qualified to “make himself formidable” as a senator; he was ever in extremes, and had no experience of that middle path which can alone be permanently maintained in dealing with public affairs, and which is ever chosen by those not incapacitated by nature to learn from the past, and meet the shadowy future with prescience. Under these circumstances he acted with wisdom and prudence: he considered that his fame and prosperity could only be preserved by a resolute adherence to his studious occupations; and he declined both distinctions, continuing his habits of ceaseless reading and composition. It seems that, in his entranced devotion to his literary projects, he had neglected that exercise which he had declared so essential to health, and during his three last years he became the victim of disease. The early partner of his joys and sorrows had already sunk into the grave; and Southey had contracted a second union with a lady known for her poetic accomplishments. He is said to have left a considerable fortune—the result of his industry—at his death, which took place on the 21st of March, 1843. He was buried in the church-yard at Crosthwaite, in the neighborhood of his residence by lake and mountain; and an inscription for the tablet to his memory was furnished by the venerable Bard of Rydal Mount, who succeeded him in the laureateship, and was, ere long, laid at rest at no great distance from his former compeer.
[THOMAS MOORE.]
The original genius, exquisite sensibility, independent spirit, and incorruptible integrity, which the greatest scholar of his age ascribed in his will to this bright and fanciful bard from the “Emerald Isle,” have been generally admired and acknowledged. Indeed, notwithstanding his multitudinous and peculiar temptations to love patrician personages not wisely, but too well, few men of genius have ever excelled or equaled Moore in these important and laudable qualities for which Dr. Parr gave him credit, any more than in the brilliancy of his intellect or the strength of his domestic affections. That he passed through a severe ordeal, and was exposed to many trials, can hardly be doubted. The early recognition of rare talent is too frequently fatal to its possessor; and the celerity of Moore’s transit from the humble parlors in the Irish capital to fashionable saloons and the banquets of princes was quite amazing, and well-nigh unprecedented. Yet he appears, without ostentatiously and perpetually proving the fact by bellowing it into the public ear, to have maintained his freedom of thought and action almost unimpaired to the end of his life. The career of such a man is necessarily fraught with interest and instruction; and the boyhood of a poet is always a subject especially worthy of being dwelt upon, as being replete with profit to the young and information to all. Who, indeed, can read without emotion of the gentle Cowper, being maltreated by his school-fellows at Westminster, and not daring to lift his eyes above the shoe-buckles of the elder boys; or of Scott, seated by some ruined edifice devouring ancient ballads, and gazing with rapture on the landscape in view; or of Byron, stretched on the old tombstone of Harrow, with the strong ambition in his mind and the bitter disappointment in his heart that were destined to unite and bring forth glorious but melancholy fruits; or of Wordsworth, the Bard of Contemplation, receiving the poetic impulse while led to and fro on the romantic banks of the Derwent? In a different and less attractive scene must we look for the earliest aspirations and exploits of the gifted youth whose songs, so gay, rich, and choice in their language, afterward held the fair and courtly in mute attention—whose sparkling wit proved so effective a weapon in political controversy; and whose spirit qualified him so perfectly to unite his national music to immortal verse.
Thomas Moore was born on the 28th of May, 1779, in the city of Dublin, where his father, a decent and respectable tradesman, at that time carried on a limited business as a wine-merchant. His mother appears to have been a rollicking Irish woman, with much honest humor, and no particular indisposition to indulge occasionally in an expletive, indicating any thing rather than Asiatic repose or excessive respect for the third commandment. This worthy dame, joyous and dashing, was fond of all such festivities as came in her way, and of all such society as she could obtain access to. She could, doubtless, sing delightfully at the supper-parties she frequented, enjoy herself without stint, when “the mirth and fun grew fast and furious,” and let care and all its horrid concomitants wait for her attention till the morning. In fact, she was blessed with no small portion of Hibernian indifference as to the future. Moreover, she had the advantage of being a strict and sincere Roman Catholic; and her husband also “held the ancient faith,” though with a philosophical moderation which his decorous spouse by no means approved of. Though a genuine Irishman by parentage and nativity, Moore, strangely, advanced no imaginary claim to estates confiscated for centuries, to wealth dissipated before he entered the vale of tears, or to ancestral honors. He even declined the distinction of having aristocratic kindred; and it must be admitted, that without these aids to inspiration he contrived to do “excellently well,” and leave a brilliant name. In one quality he assuredly was not deficient, that of fervid nationality and warm love of his country.
Almost in the earliest stage of his existence the prophetic eye of Mrs. Moore discerned signs of her little Tom being a marvelous child, and he was nursed and reared with a view to his attaining due and enviable eminence ere his sun set. The happy days of the boy have, perhaps, too often no certain existence save in the imagination of the same being when grown into a man, and looking on past scenes with that enchantment which distance lends to the view. Gibbon remarks, that while the poet gaily describes the short hours of juvenile recreation he forgets the tedious daily labors of the school, which is approached each morning with anxious and reluctant step. He declares that he never knew the boasted happiness of boyhood, against the existence of which, as a general luxury, he therefore enters a feeling protest; but in this respect the experience of the fanciful Irish poet was quite the opposite of that confessed to by the skeptical historian of the Roman Empire. Moore was sent, with all convenient haste, to a day-school, kept by a person who “quaffed his noggin of poteen” with much less than proper consideration for his tutorial avocations. He was afterward placed under Mr. Samuel White, who had been the preceptor of Sheridan, and proved his want of prophetic skill by pronouncing the future wit and orator an incorrigible dunce. At this seminary Moore displayed a remarkable taste for music, poetry and recitation. This was much strengthened by the master of the school, who encouraged a habit of acting which was not in any degree relished by the majority of his pupils. However, Moore speedily became a favorite “show scholar,” and in that capacity had the gratification of seeing his name in print at the age of ten, as one of the juvenile performers who were to contribute to an evening’s entertainment at the private theatre of a lady of rank. He began forthwith to compose in numbers, and became more and more the delight of his mother’s eye. She watched with tender anxiety and sanguine hope his extraordinary ascent, step by step, of the social ladder; and he repaid her solicitude by a filial devotion which no poetic triumphs were ever in subsequent life allowed to interfere with. Being extremely ambitious in regard to his worldly prospects, she early, despite the disabilities then attaching to those of her religious faith, destined him for the bar, and afforded him every opportunity of cultivating his mind and extending his knowledge which her means and position permitted. He soon gave cheering indications of being not unworthy of such anxious care, and was highly applauded by his teacher, who, while doing so, did not neglect so opportune an occasion of saying a good word for himself; and he signalized his precocious powers at the age of fourteen by contributing verses to the pages of a Dublin Magazine. “Master Moore” was already a sort of celebrity on the banks of the Liffey.
The friends and relatives among whom the melodist was brought up were, without exception, ardent in their Irish patriotism; and in 1792 he was carried by his father to one of the demonstrative gatherings held in welcome of the French Revolution, and was perched on the chairman’s knee. The excitement of the festive scene, and the hallucination of those who took part in it, may be judged from such toasts as that recorded by him as having been enthusiastically sent round: “May the breezes from France fan our Irish oak into verdure.” Surely, Donnybrook Fair must ever afterward have seemed tame to those who were present at such assemblies.