As I left my home one February morning there was a nip in the air, a hint of spring. A robin was singing and crocuses and daffodils were in bloom. I could sense that summer was not all that far away and that the seasons were changing.

On this late February day, 26th to be exact I decided to walk in the footsteps of one of our great Irishmen. The man who said “There exists no title or distinction to which I could attach so much value as that of being called your poet, the poet of the people of Ireland,” the words of the great Thomas Moore.

So on February 26th, the anniversary of his death in 1852, I began my walking tribute to Thomas, and who better to accompany me than the great Robert Emmet, who himself spent many happy days walking around Dublin in the poet’s company.

I remarked to Emmett how kindly he treated Thomas, always having a gentle regard for his welfare. Emmett reminded me of the other friends Thomas had– Shelley, Byron, Sydney Smith, Wordsworth and of course Samuel Rogers. He also remarked that Moore’s friendship was not confined to writers and artists. Indeed, all his life he seemed to have a genuine skill at making good friends.

As we walked through Ringsend the years rolled back and Emmet commented on the slums and beggars who shocked visitors when they landed at the South Wall and drove through the surrounding areas.

As we made our way to number 12 Aungier Street, where Thomas was born on May 27th 1779, we found a city whose streets were full of beggars while all around them the residential areas thrived. The contrast was vivid, with the poor and the well-off existing side by side. When Thomas was two years old Ireland had an independent parliament, Catholics had no political status and many professions were closed to them.

At number twelve we met the woman who played a huge part in the life of her son– Anastasia Moore. He loved her all his life. She reared Tom in an atmosphere that suited his nature. His was a happy childhood.

The old cemetery in Camden Row beckoned and we walked in the small gate. I recalled how the poet loathed the funeral when he buried his father in 1825. The weather we are told was awful that day, the undertaker was late and the journey to St Kevin’s was dreadful. We stood in silence at the graveside of the Moore family and I remarked to Emmett that Thomas had selected and paid for the erection of the tombstone.

Leaving the sacred place, we went to Grafton Street where the best school in Dublin was situated back then. Number 75 housed the English Grammar School. There we acknowledge Headmaster Samuel Whyte, who was delighted with Thomas’s progress and under whose tuition he developed so well. We nodded to Grumpy Donovan, his old master in classical studies. No time to stop for a chat.

Trinity College beckoned and despite being a Catholic Moore began his studies there in January of 1795. The years have passed and now he is Mr. Thomas Moore of Trinity College and his name proudly stands on the lists of subscribers to ‘Antholgia Hibernica’.
Trinity introduced him to Irish music and above all it gave him his friendship with Robert Emmet. Here, we acknowledged his tutor Robert Burrows, a great scholar and one-time Dean of Cork. In 1798 Thomas graduated with a B.A.

1798 was also the year of the rebellion and this left a deep impression on Tom. He later wrote the life of Fitzgerald. When the rebellion broke, Tom was ill in bed and when Emmett died Moore was due to sail to Bermuda. At 25 he set the course he was to follow until his death.

The first of his melodies appeared in 1808 and the last one in 1834. In 1809 he met Miss Elizabeth Dyke and on March 25th 1811 he married his beloved Bessie. As a husband he was faithful and loving and remained happily married be Bessie.

A good Christian he was generous and kind. Of their five children none survived. The last few years of his life were sad but Moore remained at home and lived in peace and contentment.

We left Trinity College and at the junction of College Street and Westmorland Street we congratulated Christopher Moore, the Dublin born sculptor on his great statue of the poet erected here in 1859.

The Botanic Gardens was our last port of call. Planted inside a circular railing is a rose grown from a cutting taken from the original rose Thomas Moore was looking at when he composed ‘The Last Rose of Summer’.

My walk in the footsteps of Moore with my companion Robert Emmet was over. Before bidding Emmet farewell, I commiserated with him on his tragic love affair with Sarah Curran and reminded him that Thomas, who knew Sarah personally, had written the beautiful poem ‘She is far from the land’ in their memory.

Moore died on 26th Februray 1852. His beloved Bessy lived until 1865 when on September 4th she joined Tom in Bromlam Churchyard on the North side of the church.
As dusk fell I recalled the visit the great landscape painter Cheswick made to Tom. He found him pottering in his garden. It was planted with laurels and Moore in an inspired moment joked “you found me reposing upon or among my laurels!”

May he continue to repose in our history and culture. He will always be good company.