Skip directly to:Main content Main navigation

University of Virginia Library

The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes

Moore, Thomas (1779-1852)

I, II.

VOL. I., VOL. II. ODES OF ANACREON. JUVENILE POEMS. POEMS RELATING TO AMERICA.

III, IV.

VOL. III., VOL. IV. CORRUPTION AND INTOLERANCE. THE SCEPTIC. TWOPENNY POST-BAG. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. IRISH MELODIES. NATIONAL AIRS. SACRED SONGS.

V.

VOL. V. EVENINGS IN GREECE. BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. ETC.

VI, VII.

VOL. VI., VOL. VII. LALLA ROOKH. POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS. THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE. RHYMES ON THE ROAD. AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

collapse section

VIII, IX.

VOL. VIII., VOL. IX THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS. THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND. MISCELLANEOUS.

THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

SATIRICAL AND HUMOROUS POEMS.

collapse section

THE FUDGES IN ENGLAND;

I.

LETTER I. FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD ---, CURATE OF ---, IN IRELAND.

II.

LETTER II. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. ELIZABETH ---.

III.

LETTER III. FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS KITTY ---.

IV.

LETTER IV. FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ. TO THE REV. RICHARD ---.

V.

LETTER V. FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN, IN ENGLAND, TO HIS WIFE JUDY, AT MULLINAFAD.

VI.

LETTER VI. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE, TO MRS. ELIZABETH ---.

VII.

LETTER VII. FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS KITTY ---.

VIII.

LETTER VIII. FROM BOB FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE REV. MORTIMER O'MULLIGAN.

IX.

LETTER IX. FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN, TO HIS WIFE JUDY.

X.

LETTER X. FROM THE REV. MORTIMER O'MULLIGAN, TO THE REV. ------.

collapse section

XI.

LETTER XI. FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV. RICHARD ---.

[Extract from the “County Gazette.”]

EXTRACT FROM LETTER INCLOSED.

SONGS FROM M.P.;

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

X.

VOL. X. THE EPICUREAN. ALCIPHRON.

collapse section

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

227

OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME.

Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.