TOM MOORK AT BANNOW. 447 



Lone, pining, in her dark retreat, 



A nameless, friendless thing she grew, 

 Wild as the wild flow'r at her feet, 



As simple and as lowly, too : 

 In sooth, she was a lonesome muse, 



And few would care to list her voice, 

 Till as she sung of Ireland's woes, 



She touch'd the manly heart of BOYSE ! 



You first awoke her infant lyre 



He bade the puny numbers thrill ; 

 You kindled first her minstrel fire 



He trims, and feeds, and fans it still 

 From you the mimic warbler springs , 



You urged her tiny wing to soar ; 

 If you approve the strain she sings, 



Can " minstrel boy" solicit more ! 



Oh ! long shall Bannow's unborn race, 



As countless ages roll along, 

 In Bannow's rural records trace 



This visit of " The Child of Song ;" 

 Then pardon this untutored lay, 



And deign t'accept his humble thanks, 

 Who, rhyming in his brain-sick way, 



Thus welcomes thee to Bannow's Banks. 



The production of the youthful Minstrel was listened to with profound 

 attention, and rewarded with the most gratifying applause and approba- 

 tion of all present. Mr. Moore immediately took him by the hand, 

 shook it with great heartiness, and said " I am happy to meet such a 

 brother poet here ; it is the first time we have met, it must not be the 

 last." 



Mr. Moore now mixed with the admiring crowd, with a courtesy of 

 manner and affability of deportment, which won all hearts ; conversing 

 with all classes, and acknowledging, with his own peculiar warmth of 

 heart, the impression indelibly made upon him by this signal and flatter- 

 ing manifestation of public feeling in his regard." 



*** We have presented our readers with this portion of the detailed 

 account of the " Bannow Meeting," held to welcome Mr. Moore to the 

 hospitable home of his dear and sensible friend Mr. Boyse, &c., con- 

 ceiving it would be acceptable to them ; and in the unpretending hope, 

 that it might meet the eye of Mr. Moore himself, and his Irish friends. 

 The Bard of Erin must have felt highly delighted with the fervour of 

 fondness, and admiring enthusiasm, which greeted him on every side, 

 on this truly interesting occasion. Long may the delightful master 

 hand which conjured up the " honied words" that are to be found in Lalla 

 Roohk, live to enjoy the recollection of pleasure so pure of veneration 

 so beautifully elicited ; long may he live to sing of Ireland's fame and 

 unfading beauty. 



ED. 



