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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.

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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.

POLITICAL AND SATIRICAL POEMS.

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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS.

I.

LETTER I. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY ---, OF CLONKILTY, IN IRELAND.

II.

LETTER II. FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD VISCOUNT C*ST---R---GH.

III.

LETTER III. FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD ---, ESQ.

IV.

LETTER IV. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO ---.

V.

LETTER V. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY ---.

VI.

LETTER VI. FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO HIS BROTHER TIM FUDGE, ESQ. BARRISTER AT LAW.

VII.

LETTER VII. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO ------.

VIII.

LETTER VIII. FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD ---, ESQ.

IX.

LETTER IX. FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ. TO THE LORD VISCOUNT C*ST---GH.

X.

LETTER X. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY ---.

XI.

LETTER XI. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO ---.

XII.

LETTER XII. FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY ------.

FABLES FOR THE HOLY ALLIANCE.

RHYMES ON THE ROAD,

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

VIII, IX.

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

X.

VOL. X. THE EPICUREAN. ALCIPHRON.

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316

THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

The young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove
Through Morna's grove ,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake!—the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days,
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!

Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,

317

And I, whose star,
More glorious far,
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!—till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight
Of bodies of light,
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.

“Steals silently to Morna's grove.”—See, in Mr. Bunting's collection, a poem translated from the Irish, by the late John Brown, one of my earliest college companions and friends, whose death was as singularly melancholy and unfortunate as his life had been amiable, honourable, and exemplary.