To Sir Hudson Lowe.

        effare causam nominis,
        utrumne mores hoc tui
        nomen dedere, an nomen hoc
        secuta morum regula. AUSONIUS.


1816.


    Sir Hudson Lowe, Sir Hudson Low,
(By name, and ah! by nature so)
    As thou art fond of persecutions,
Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated,
How Captain Gulliver was treated,
    When thrown among the Lilliputians.

They tied him down--these little men did--
And having valiantly ascended
    Upon the Mighty Man's protuberance,
They did so strut!--upon my soul,
It must have been extremely droll
    To see their pigmy pride's exuberance!

And how the doughty mannikins
Amused themselves with sticking pins
    And needles in the great man's breeches:
And how some very little things,
That past for Lords, on scaffoldings
    Got up and worried him with speeches,

Alas, alas! that it should happen
To mighty men to be caught napping!--
    Tho' different too these persecutions;
For Gulliver, there, took the nap,
While, here, the Nap, oh sad mishap,
    Is taken by the Lilliputians!

Thomas Moore

Thomas Moore was an Irish poet, singer, and songwriter, celebrated for his Irish Melodies, which are now considered a staple of Irish cultural heritage. Born on May 28, 1779, in Dublin, Ireland, Moore gained fame for his lyrical songs, many of which were set to traditional Irish tunes. Not only a poet, but he was also a staunch advocate of Irish nationalism, often incorporating themes of national identity and resistance into his work. Moore's influential collection 'Irish Melodies' became popular in both Ireland and Britain and helped to define the literary output of the era. He passed away on February 25, 1852, but his legacy in Irish literature and music endures.

Thomas Moore

Dear Harp Of My Country.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

Sound The Loud Timbrel. Miriam's Song. (Alr.--Avison.)[1]

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

The Insurrection Of The Papers. A Dream.

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

This World Is All A Fleeting Show. (Air.--Stevenson.)

Thomas Moore, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To The Ship In Which Lord Castlereagh Sailed For The Continent.

Imitated from Horace, lib. i, ode 3.


So may my Lady's prayers prevail,
    And Canning's too, and lucid Bragge's,
And Eldon beg a favoring gale
    From Eolus, that older Bags,
To speed thee on thy destined way,
Oh ship, that bearest our Castlereagh,
Our gracious Regent's better half
    And therefore quarter of a King--
(As Van or any other calf
    May find without much figuring).
Waft him, oh ye kindly breezes,
    Waft this Lord of place and pelf,
Any where his Lordship pleases,
    Tho' 'twere to Old Nick himself!

Oh, what a face of brass was his.
Who first at Congress showed his phiz--
To sign away the Rights of Man
    To Russian threats and Austrian juggle;
And leave the sinking African
...

Thomas Moore

Lines On The Departure Of Lord Castlereagh And Stewart For The Continent.

^[1]


        at Paris^[2] et Fratres, et qui rapure sub illis.
        vix tenuere manus (scis hoc, Menelae) nefandas.
        OVID. Metam. lib. xiii. v. 202.


Go, Brothers in wisdom--go, bright pair of Peers,
    And my Cupid and Fame fan you both with their pinions!
The one, the best lover we have--of his years,
    And the other Prime Statesman of Britain's dominions.

Go, Hero of Chancery, blest with the smile
    Of the Misses that love and the monarchs that prize thee;
Forget Mrs. Angelo Taylor awhile,
    And all tailors but him who so well dandifies thee.

Never mind how thy juniors in gallantry scoff,
    Never heed how perverse affidavits may thwart thee,
But show the young...

Thomas Moore

The Limbo Of Lost Reputations. A Dream.

        "Cio che si perde qui, là si raguna."
        ARIOSTO.

        "---a valley, where he sees
        Things that on earth were lost."
        MILTON.


1828.


Knowest thou not him^[1] the poet sings,
    Who flew to the moon's serene domain,
And saw that valley where all the things,
    That vanish on earth are found again--
The hopes of youth, the resolves of age,
The vow of the lover, the dream of the sage,
The golden visions of mining cits,
    The promises great men strew about them;
And, packt in compass small, the wits
    Of monarchs who rule as well without them!--
Like him, but diving with wing profound,
I have been to a Limbo underground,
Where characters lost on earth, (and cried,

Thomas Moore

Rival Topics.[1] An Extravaganza.

Oh Wellington and Stephenson,
    Oh morn and evening papers,
Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun,
When will ye cease our ears to stun
    With these two heroes' capers?
Still "Stephenson" and "Wellington,"
    The everlasting two!--
Still doomed, from rise to set of sun,
To hear what mischief one has done,
    And t'other means to do:--
What bills the banker past to friends,
    But never meant to pay;
What Bills the other wight intends,
    As honest, in their way;--
Bills, payable at distant sight,
    Beyond the Grecian kalends,
When all good deeds will come to light,
When Wellington will do what's right,
    And Rowland pay his balance.

To catch the banker all have sought,
    But still the r...

Thomas Moore

Cupid's Lottery.

A lottery, a Lottery,
In Cupid's court there used to be;
        Two roguish eyes
        The highest prize
In Cupid's scheming Lottery;
        And kisses, too,
        As good as new,
Which weren't very hard to win,
        For he who won
        The eyes of fun
Was sure to have the kisses in
            A Lottery, a Lottery, etc.

This Lottery, this Lottery,
In Cupid's court went merrily,
        And Cupid played
        A Jewish trade
In this his scheming Lottery;
        For hearts, we're told,
        In shares he sold
To many a fond believing drone,
        And cut the hearts
        In sixteen parts
So well, each thought the whole his own.
    Chor.--A Lottery, a Lottery, etc.

           ...

Thomas Moore

Dog-Day Reflections. By A Dandy Kept In Town.

        "vox clamantis in deserto."



Said Malthus one day to a clown
    Lying stretched on the beach in the sun,--
"What's the number of souls in this town?"--
    "The number! Lord bless you, there's none.

"We have nothing but dabs in this place,
    "Of them a great plenty there are;--
But the soles, please your reverence and grace,
    "Are all t'other side of the bar."

And so 'tis in London just now,
    Not a soul to be seen up or down;--
Of dabs? a great glut, I allow,
    But your soles, every one, out of town.

East or west nothing wondrous or new,
    No courtship or scandal worth knowing;
Mrs. B---, and a Mermaid^[1] or two,
    Are the only loose fish that are going.

Thomas Moore