Thus, I prefer, upon the whole, my deceased friend Lysight’s words written to an old tune, to those of my celebrated living friend, Mr. Thomas Moore; and think the Ounagh of the one likely to be quite as attractive a girl as the Mary of the other, notwithstanding all the finery wherewith the mention of the latter is invested. But our readers shall judge for themselves. We have given the commencement of Mr. Lysight’s version: here followeth that of Mr. Moore’s.
The day had sunk in dim showers,
But midnight now with “lustre meek”
Illumin’d all the pale flowers,
Like hope that lights the mourner’s cheek.
I said (while
The moon’s smile
Play’d o’er a stream in dimpling bliss)
The moon looks
On many brooks—