It was about the year 1812 that, impelled far more by the encouraging suggestions of friends than impelled by any confident promptings of my own ambition, I was induced to attempt a Poem upon some Oriental subject, sad of those quarto dimensions which Scott's Late triumphs in that form had then rendered the regular poetical standard. A negotiation on the subject was opened with the Messrs. Longman in the same year, but, from some causes which have now escaped my recollection, led to no decisive result; nor was it till a year or two after, that any further steps were taken in the matter,-- their house being the only one, it is right to add, with which, from first to last, I held any communication upon the subject.

On this last occasion, an old friend of mine, Mr. Perry, kindly offered to lend me the aid of bis advice and presence in the interview which I was about to hold with the Messrs. Longman, fr the arrangement of our mutual terms; and what with the friendly zeal of my negotiator on the one side, and the prompt and liberal spirit with which he was met on the other, there has seldom occurred any transaction in which Trade and Poesy have shone out so advantageously in each other's eyes. The short discussion that then took place, between the two parties, may be comprised in a very fe sentences. "I am of opinion," said Mr. Perry,-enforcing his view of the case by arguments which it is not for me to cite,

that Mr. Moore ought to receive for his Poem the largest price that has been given, in our day, for such a work." "That was," answered Le Messrs. Longman," three thousand guineas." Exactly so," replied Mr. Perry, "and no less a sum ought he to receive."

It was then objected, and very reasonably,

This preface first appeared in the collected edition of ten mes, published in 1841, 1842.]

on the part of the firm, that they had never yet seen a single line of the Poem; and that a perusal of the work ought to be allowed to them, before they embarked so large a sum in the purchase. But, no; the romantic view which my friend, Perry, took of the matter, was, that this price should be given as tribute to reputation already acquired, without any condition for a previous perusal of the new work. This high tone, I must confess, not a little startled and alarmed me; but, to the honour and glory of Romance, -as well on the publisher's side as the poet's, this very generous view of the transaction was, without any difficulty, acceded to, and the firm agreed, before we separated, that I was to receive three thousand guineas for my Poem.

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At the time of this agreement, but little of the work, as it stands at present, had yet been written. But the ready confidence in my success shown by others, made up for the deficiency of that requisite feeling, within myself; while a strong desire not wholly to disappoint this auguring hope," became almost a substitute for inspiration. In the year 1815, therefore, having made some progress in my task, I wrote to report the state of the work to the Messrs. Longman, adding, that I was now most willing and ready, should they desire it, to submit the manuscript for their consideration. Their answer to this offer was as follows:-"We are certainly impatient for the perusal of the Poem; but solely for our gratification. Your sentiments are always honourable.” *

I continued to pursue my task for another year, being likewise occasionally occupied with the Irish Melodies, two or three numbers of which made their appearance, during the period employed in writing Lalla Rookh. At length, in the year 1816, I found my work sufficiently

April 10, 1815.

advanced to be placed in the hands of the publishers. But the state of distress to which England was reduced, in that dismal year, by the exhausting effects of the series of wars she had just then concluded, and the general embarrassment of all classes, both agricultural and commercial, rendered it a juncture the least favourable that could well be conceived for the first launch into print of so light and costly a venture as Lalla Rookh. Feeling conscious, therefore, that, under such circumstances, I should act but honestly in putting it in the power of the Messrs. Longman to reconsider the terms of their engagement with me,-leaving them free to postpone, modify, or even, should such be their wish, relinquish it altogether, I wrote them a letter to that effect, and received the following answer:"We shall be most happy in the pleasure of seeing you in February. We agree with you, indeed, that the times are most inauspicious for 'poetry and thousands;' but we believe that your poetry would do more than that of any other living poet at the present moment."

The length of time I employed in writing the few stories strung together in Lalla Rookh will appear, to some persons, much more than was necessary for the production of such easy and "light o'love" fictions. But, besides that I have been, at all times, a far more slow and painstaking workman than would ever be guessed, I fear, from the result, I felt that, in this instance, I had taken upon myself a more than ordinary responsibility, from the immense stake risked by others on my chance of success. For a long time, therefore, after the agreement had been concluded, though generally at work with a view to this task, I made but very little real progress in it, and I have still by me the beginnings of several stories, continued, some of them, to the length of three or four hundred lines, which, after in vain endeavouring to mould them into shape, I threw aside, like the tale of Cambuscan, "left half-told." One of these stories, entitled The Peri's Daughter, was meant to relate the loves of a nymph of this aërial extraction with a youth of mortal race, the rightful Prince of

⚫ November 9, 1816.

Ormuz, who had been, from his infancy, brought up, in seclusion, on the banks of the river Amou, by an aged guardian named Mohassan. The story opens with the first meeting of these destined lovers, then in their childhood; the Peri having wafted her daughter to this holy retreat, in a bright, enchanted boat, whose first appearance is thus described:

For, down the silvery tide afar,
There came a boat, as swift and bright

As shines, in heav'n, some pilgrim-star,
That leaves its own high home, at night,
To shoot to distant shrines of light.

"It comes, it comes," young Orian cries,
And panting to Mohassan flies.
Then, down upon the flowery grass
Reclines to see the vision pass;
With partly joy and partly fear,
To find its wondrous light so near,
And hiding oft his dazzled eyes
Among the flowers on which he lies

Within the boat a baby slept,

Like a young pearl within its shell;
While one, who seem'd of riper years,
But not of earth, or earth-like spheres,
Her watch beside the slumberer kept;
Gracefully waving, in her hand,

The feathers of some holy bird,

With which, from time to time, she stirr'd The fragrant air, and coolly fann'd The baby's brow, or brush'd away The butterflies that, bright and blue As on the mountains of Malay, Around the sleeping infant flew.

And now the fairy boat hath stopp'd Beside the bank,-the nymph has dropp'd lier golden anchor in the stream:

A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, of which the following forms a part:

My child she is but half divine,

Her father sleeps in the Caspian water; Sca-weeds twine

His funeral shrine,

But he lives again in the Peri's daughter.
Fain would I fly from mortal sight

To my own sweet bowers of Peristan :
But there, the flowers are all too bright
For the eyes of a baby born of man.
On flowers of earth her feet must tread;
So hither my light-wing'd bark hath brought her ;
Stranger, spread

Thy leaflest bed,

To rest the wandering Peri's daughter.

In another of these inchoate fragments, a proud female saint, named Banou, plays a principal part; and her progress through the streets of Cufa, on the night of a great illuminated festival, I find thus described:

It was a scene of mirth that drew
A smile from ev'n the Saint Banou,
As, through the hush'd, admiring throng,
She went with stately steps along,
And counted o'er, that all might see,
The rubies of her rosary.

But none might see the worldly smile That lurk'd beneath her veil, the while :Alla fortid for, who would wait Her blessing at the temple's gate,What holy man would ever run To kiss the ground she knelt upon, If once, by luck less chance, he knew She look'd and smil'd as others do. Her hands were join'd, and from each wrist By threads of pearl and golden twist Hung relics of the saints of yore, And scraps of talismanie lore,Charms for the old, the sick, the frail, Some made for use, and all for sale. On either side, the crowd withdrew, To let the Saint pass proudly through; While turban'd heads, of every hue, Green, white, and crimson, bow'd around, And gay tiaras touch'd the ground,As tulip-bells, when o'er their beds The musk-wind passes, bend their heads. Nay, some there were, among the crowd Of Moslem heads that round her bow'd, So fill'd with zeal, by many a draught Of Shiraz wine profanely quaff'd, That, sinking low in reverence then, They never rose till morn again.

There are yet two more of these unfinished sketches, one of which extends to a much greater length than I was aware of; and, as tar as I can judge from a hasty renewal of my acquaintance with it, is not incapable of being

yet turned to account.

In only one of these unfinished sketches, the tale of The Peri's Daughter, had I yet ventured to invoke that most home-felt of all my inspirations, which has lent to the story of The Fire-worshippers its main attraction and interest. That it was my intention, in the concealed Prince of Ormuz, to shadow out some impersonation of this feeling, I take for granted from the prophetic words supposed to be addressed to him by his aged guardian:

Bright child of destiny! even now

I read the promise on that brow,
That tyrants shall no more defile
The glories of the Green-Sea Isle,
But Ormez shall again be free,

And hail her native Lord in thee!

In none of the other fragments do I find any trace of this sort of feeling, either in the subject or the personages of the intended story; and this was the reason, doubtless, though hardly known, at the time, to myself, that, finding my subjects so slow in kindling my own sympathies, I began to despair of their ever touching the hearts of others; and felt often inclined to say,

"Oh no. I have no voice or hand

For such a song, in such a land."

Voltaire, in his tragedy of“ Les Guèbres," written with a simiunder-current of meaning, was accused of having transformed

Had this series of disheartening experiments been carried on much further, I must have thrown aside the work in despair. But, at last, fortunately, as it proved, the thought occurred to me of founding a story on the fierce struggle so long maintained between the Ghebers, or ancient Fire-worshippers of Persia, and their haughty Moslem masters. From that moment, a new and deep interest in my whole task took possession of me. The cause of tolerance was again my inspiring theme; and the spirit that had spoken in the melodies of Ireland soon found itself at home in the East.

Having thus laid open the secrets of the workshop to account for the time expended in writing this work, I must also, in justice to my own industry, notice the pains I took in long and laboriously reading for it. To form a storehouse, as it were, of illustration purely Oriental, and so familiarise myself with its various trea sures, that, as quick as Fancy, in her airy spiritings, required the assistance of fact, the memory was ready, like another Ariel, at her "strong bidding," to furnish materials for the spell-work,- such was, for a long while, the sole object of my studies; and whatever time and trouble this preparatory process may have cost me, the effects resulting from it, as far as the humble merit of truthfulness is concerned, have been such as to repay me more than sufficiently for my pains. I have not forgotten how great was my pleasure, when told by the late Sir James Mackintosh, that he was once asked by Colonel Wilks, the historian of British India, "whether it was true that Moore had never been in the East?" "Never," answered Mackintosh. "Well, that shows me," replied Colonel Wilks, "that reading over D'Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel.”

I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech, that although D'Herbelot's valuable work was, of course, one of my manuals, I took the whole range of all such Oriental reading as was accessible to me; and became, for the time, indeed, far more conversant with all relating to that distant region, than I have ever been with the

his Fire-worshippers into Jansenists :-"Quelques figuristes," he says, "prétendent que les Guèbres sont les Jansenistes."