Thomas Moore

You don’t hear the songs of Thomas Moore much anymore. I have been surprised when I played his tunes at the pub sessions that many people had never even heard them. So, I have been doing my bit to revive Mr. Moore. I try to play at least one such tune at a session with the result that one local musician now calls me Thomas Moore.

Thomas Moore was born in Dublin on the 28th of May 1780.
Goethe considered him to be one of the best poets of that time. Moore made a very good living from his writing.

According to the Norton Anthology for English Literature: Thomas Moore has a permanent place in literary history as the friend and biographer of Byron and as the preeminent "Irish melodist" He was a best-selling author for most of his career, rivaling and sometimes outdistancing Byron.

He wrote a long romantic Oriental poem called Lalla Rookh in 1817 for which he was paid £3000. This was the largest sum ever offered for a single poem up to that time. It was a good investment for the publisher, selling out more than twenty editions during the author's lifetime.

It seems that Moore was concerned that many of the old tunes were being lost and making them into songs kept them going and made them available to everyone.

I particularly like the song Avenging and Bright that was written in the early 1800’s and the words were put to an old Irish air Crooghan A Venee. On the surface, the song is about Deirdre and the sons of Usna and how they were betrayed by Conor Mac Nessa King of Ulster. The song expresses anger with the king . However it really expresses Moore’s anger with the then King of England, George lV for not supporting catholic emancipation.

Avenging and Bright

Avenging and bright fall the swift sword of Erin
On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed;
For ev'ry fond eye he hath wakened a tear in,
A drop from his heart wounds shall weep o'er her blade.

By the red cloud that hung over Conor's dark dwelling,
When Ulad's three champions lay sleeping in gore-
By the billows of war, which so often, high swelling,
Have wafted these heroes to victory's shore.

We swear to avenge them! No joy shall be tasted,
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed;
Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted
Till vengeance is wreak'd on the murderer's head.

Yes, monarch! tho' sweet are our home recollections,
Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall;
Though sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections,
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all!

The musical notes can be found at
Folk Info.org

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