carried his name down to posterity as one of the first bards of his time.
"Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," would not be an
inapplicable motto for this oriental romance, which unites the purest and
softest tenderness with the loftiest dignity, and glows in every page
with all the fervour of poetry. For the copyright of this poem he is said
to have received the sum of 3,000 guineas, and it must have proved a
source of immense profit to the publishers.

In 1818, Mr. Moore visited his native city, Dublin, on which occasion our
poet was invited to a public dinner, which was graced by a large
assemblage of the most distinguished literary and political characters.
The Earl of Charlemont took the chair; Mr. Moore sat on his right hand,
Mr. Moore, sen. a venerable old gentleman, the father of the poet, was on
the left.

On Lord Charlemont proposing "The living Poets of Great Britain," Mr.
Moore said--

"Gentlemen, notwithstanding the witty song which you have just heard,
and the flattering elevation which the author has assigned me, I
cannot allow such a mark of respect to be paid to the illustrious
names that adorn the literature of the present day, without calling
your attention awhile to the singular constellation of genius, and
asking you to dwell a little on the brightness of each "particular
star" that forms it. Can I name to you a Byron, without recalling to
your hearts recollections of all that his mighty genius has awakened
there, his energy, his burning words, his intense passion, that
disposition of fine fancy to wander only among the ruins of the heart,
to dwell in places which the fire of feeling has desolated, and like
the chestnut-tree, that grows best in volcanic soils, to luxuriate