It lies on the eastern shore of the Bay of Walsingham, and imagination cannot picture a more delightful retreat when the sun is sinking in the west. High rocks, covered to the summit with thickets of fragrant cedar, and from whose interstices spring the graceful coffee-plant, make a barrier on that side; and beneath the rocks, groves of orange, and lemon, and pomegranate, interspersed with the broad-leafed banana, and the feathery palmetto, form a glowing border to the thick, elastic greensward, at one extremity of which rises "Moore's calabash-tree." At a short distance, the ripple of the sea breaks gently on the ear, and overhead is one expanse of purest blue. It is altogether a place
For love to sigh in,
For bards to live and saints to die in.
OF this tree Moore speaks in those exquisite lines to his friend Joseph Atkinson, beginning,
'Twas thus, in the shade of a calabash-tree,
With a few who could feel and remember like me,
The charm that, to sweeten my goblet, I threw,
Was a sigh to the past, and a blessing on you.
In the preface to the second volume of the "Collected Edition," he adverts with much pleasure to the fact of his name being still a household word in "the remote Bermudas," and makes mention of one of the large shell-fruits of "the calabash-tree" which a young officer, quartered there some years ago, caused to be fashioned into a goblet, "tastefully mounted," with an appropriate inscription, and which he subsequently presented to the poet. But the bard has not added a fact which we happen to be aware of, his modesty preventing allusion to it, that on the brim of the goblet were engraved the well-known lines:
Drink of this cup; you'll find there’s a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality;
though, in a letter to the donor, he expressed his almost boyish delight at receiving this simple token of regard and respect, and earnestly invited his young friend to visit him at Sloperton, and "drink of this cup"—an invitation which, we suppose, was not neglected. From Bermuda, after writing, amongst many others, those charming lines to Nea,
Well, peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
which he embodied in his "Farewell," Moore proceeded to North America, leaving behind him a deputy, who, in after years, was doomed to "work him much annoy;" and, while on the St. Lawrence, gave to the world the celebrated "Canadian Boat-Song." There has been some controversy respecting the origin of this air; but, from a letter published in the Times a short time since, it would appear that the French have little right to claim it. The writer, Mr. Ellis, of Brighton, says: "I believe it is currently understood that the original of the music in question is Scottish; but I find it, in my copy of 'National Airs,' under the title of 'Canachon,' attributed to Avison, the Newcastle musician, who died in 1770. Probably Avison harmonised the ancient air, and hence it was affiliated upon him. The music of Avison's air possesses all the charm and character of the national melodies of Scotland."
On Moore's return to England, a storm of criticism on his "Odes and
