To The Editor Of The Time...
Sir,-The dispute which i7secently arisen respecting the author of the beautiful copy of verses oa the burial of Sir John Moore, has recalled public attentioat to the eveBts of that time. From the sagacity, courage, and self-devo- tion of the General, the mind naturally,but painfully,turns to that perversences and ignorance by which he was thwarted and perplexed. Now, it has appeared to me, that with some slight alterations, the same lines might be made to apply to the fate, though not the funeral, of the Diploh matist; so that if there be a.y justness in the conception, or felicity in the execution, the fame of both might descend together to posterity. I have the honiour to remain. Mir vrn1r! &n- A.B. lie took} no leave of the Spanish Coart, VWhen to England the EXvoy hurried: No salute was fired as he left the port, All was still Ps wheat poor men are baried. No cabin apart the Envoy bore, No cordons of honour bound him But he lay like a smuggler creeping in shore, With his kegs of Hollauds around him. Ar: ived at home, no Court he trod. Where all tongues his demerits were scanning; But he stole in a jarvy down Glocester-read, To grumble his griefs to George Canning. Short and grufl'was the greeting he found, His friend spoke not a word of sorrow; On his heel he frigidly turned him round, And thought of his speech for the morrew. Ile thought, as he lay on his bed in the dark, And smoothed down his nuptial pillow. 'Twere better to quit so fraU a bark, Than that both should be lost in the billow. i So, lightly I'll talk of his embassy done, " In St. Stephen's Chapel upbraid hin, For nothing he'll reek if we let him sleep on, " And ho has but his pension paid him." St. Stephen's had heard but half of the straia, WVhen the clock shor'il the hour tbr reposing, And heavy statesmen had long striven in vain Te keep themselves from dezing. Slowly and sad then to Alalta lie sailed, Past the land with our blood fresh and gory There City Sir William the diplomat liailed, Hlis partner in genius and glory. . On the question of the author of the verses on Sir John loore, we may take this opportunity of observing, that there can be little doubt but that to Al r. Woolte. the Irish dJergyman, the honour belongs of having written one of the finest odes in the Eng- lish language. His early death selves the difficulty which must at first liave occurred to every reader, that the rman who could write sucl beautiful poetry sllould have furnished only one specimen of his genius. In justice to Lord Byron, it should be observed, that he never claimed the poem: he expressedi. indeed, a high admira- tien of it; alnd Mlr. DMedwin inferred from that admiration, not very consistently with his declarations of the general candour and in- tegrity of his noble tHend, that he must be the author. TO TR EDIFPOR OF T?1E TIrS&.