{"newspaper_name": "American watchman and Delaware advertiser.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
we have the pleasure to present readers with cor
rect copy from an English paper, of the beautiful "Ines
on the Burial of Sir John Moore The treat will no doubt
be acceptable to the lovers of poetry
LINES ON THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
Extract from Me0aOina ounatef the conversa0ns of Lord


Byron.
The conversation turned after dinner the lyrical
poetry OF the day. and question to which was the
most perfect Ode that had been produced Shelley con
tended for Colerdges Switzerland, beginning sYe
Clouds &C. others named some of Moores Irish Melodies
and CampbelPs Hohennden and, had Lord Byron not
been present. his Invocation to Manfred or Ode to
Napoleon, or on Prometheus. might have been cited
Like Gray" said he, "Campbell smells too much of
the oil he satisfied with what he does his finest
things have been spoiled by poh-the sharpness of
the outline worn off, Like paintings poems may be too
highly finished The great art is effect, matter how
produced.


81 will show you an Ode you have never seen, that
consider little inferior the best which the present pro.
life age has brought forth" With this he left the table
almost before the cloth removed and returned with
magazine, from which he read the following lines on Sir
John Moores burial which perhaps require apology
for finding place here -


"Not drum heard, nor funeral note


AS his corse 10 the ramparts was hurred


Not soldier discharged his farewell shot


Ger the grave where our hero buried.


We buried him darkly at dead of night,


The sods with our bayonets turning


BY the struggling moonbeam's misty light,


And the lantern dimy burning.


No useless coffin confined his breast,


Nor In sheet nor in shroud we bound him,


But he lay like warrior taking his rest,


With his martial cloak around him.


Few and short were the prayers we said,


And we spoke not word of sorrow


But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,


And we bitterly thought Of the morrow.


We thought we heaped his narrow bed,


And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, [head,


That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his


And we far away on the biow


Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,


And DER his cold ashes upbraid him


But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on


In the grave where Briton has laid him.


But half of our heavy task was done,


When the clock told the hour for retiring;


And we heard by the distant and random gun,


That the foe was suddenly firing.


Slowly and sadly we laid him down,


From the field of his fame fresh and CORY;


We carved not a line, raised not a stone,


But we left him alone with his glory
"The feeling with which he recited these admirable
stanzas shall never forgetAfter he had to an end
he repeated the third and said it perfect particularly
the lines


"But he lay like warrior taking his rest,


With his martial cloak around him.
81 should have taken" said Shelley, @he whole for
rough sketch of Campbc's"


'FNo," replied Lord Byron; Campbell would have
claimed it, if it had been his


afterwards had to think that the Ode was Lord
Byron's that he piqued of his being
tioned and, after he had praised the highly,
could them No other be assigned for
he great admrer of General Moore"