DEATH OF D. M. MOIR. (From the "Edinburgh Advertiser.")

New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 589, 6 December 1851, Page 4

DEATH OF D. M. MOIR. (From the "Edinburgh Advertiser.")

The following sketch will probably be peiused with intoicst by Siorao of our leaders : — ''It is with dt ep regret tbn* we have to announce the sudden death of Dr. Moir, of Muiselburgh, the well-known ' Delta,' of ' Blackwood's Magazine,' v lio expired at Dumfries, at two o'clock on Sunday ..lining. Having felt not quite himself of late, Iju thought of trying the benefit of a change of nu and a brief respite from his profpssional duties. Accordingly, on Tuesday last, he started for the west country, in almost hib usual health, and in pood spirits, Next day, at Ayr, he became ill, but quickly recovering, be proceeded on Thursday to Dumfries. Here, while walking m the evening with his brother poet, Mr. Aird, bis illness, which now assumed the form of peritonitis (a species of internal inflammation), suddenly seized him afresh with frightful virulence ; and from the first the most painful apprehensions were entertained for his recovery. Fortunately, bis wife and son accompanied him on his jaunt, and attended him throughout his shoit but severe illness. On Friday he 1 allied a little, and in the afternoon the rest of his family and Dr. Cbn-.ti«on arjived from Edinburgh. The rally, however, was deceittul. On Saturday it bocamobitt too evident that all was over ; and early on Sunday morning he calmly bioathed bis last, surrounded by his faimly, ant! his old friends, Mr. And and Mr. Blackwood "lie died at the age of fifty-three. Dr. Moir has been long known alike in the medical and in the literary world, and his death will occasion a sad blank in both. To the virtues of a Christian he added a gentle winning manner, that made him beloved by all who knew him. His character is reflected in his poetry, which is over s\\ eet and pleasing, ever graceful and delicate in its fancies, and ever appealing to the purest and best emotions of the heart. Some of bis poems belong to the very first class. We remember no verses more full of discrimination and poetic fire than his exquisite lines on Burns, written at the time of the Burns Festival ; and of all the elegiac pieces in our language, none is surer of immoitahty than his " Casa Wappy,"— a peerles3 outpouring of his muse and heart over the grave of a beloved child. It comos from the heart— nay, from the very heart of hearts of the bereaved parent; arid to the end of time it will bring- teais to the eyes even of those happy few to whom sorrow is ns yet but a name. Its very 1 by thm, is full of sadness. Wo cannot resist extracting some stanzas, premising that ' Casa Wappy was the name which his little boy always called himself by:—y :—: — ; Despair was in our last farewell, As closed thine eye ! Tears of our anguish may not tell Whon thou didst die ; Words may not paint our grief for thee, Sighs are but bubbles on the sea j Of our unfathomed agony. Casa Wappy ! Tiiou wert a vision of delight, To bless us given; Beauty embodied to our sight — A type of heaven ; So dear to us thou wort, thou art Even less thine own self than a part Of mine and of thy mother's heai t, Casa Wappy! Tby bright, brief day knew no decline— 'Twas cloudless joy : Sunrise and night alone were thine, Beloved boy! This morn beheld tbee blythe and gay ; That fouuil thee prostrate in decay ; And ere a third shone, clay was clay, Casa Wappy ! Gem of our hearth, our household pride, Earth's undefiled, Could love have saved, thou hadst not died, Our dear sweet child ! Humbly we bow to Fate's decree, Yet had we hoped that time should see Thee mourn for us, not us for thee, Casa Wappy ! Do what I may, go where I will, Thou meet'st my sight; There dost thou glide before me still — A form of light ! I feel thy breath upon my cheek — Till oh ! my heart is like to bieak, I see thee smile, I hear thee speak, Casa Wappy ! Methinks thou smil'st before me now, With glance of stealth ; The hair thrown back from the full brow In buoyant health ; I see thine eyes' deep violet light— Thy dimpled cheek carnation'd bright — Thy clasping aims so round and white — Casa Wappy f The nursery shows the pictured wall, Thy bat— thy bow— Thy cloak and bonnet— club and ball; But where art thou 1 A corner holds thine empty chair, Thy playthings idly scattered there, But speak to us of our despair — Casa Wappy ! As " Delta," Dr. Moir contributed to " Blackwood's Magazine" almost from its first starting ; and he continued to do so to the end His " Lament of Selim" appears m this month's number ; and a melancholy interest attaches to it ns being the last piece the lamented author ever wrote. As a critic of poetry, he stands deservedly high ; and the crowded audiences who last winter attended his lectures on the poetry of the last half century, will long remember them as models of popular criticism — at once clear, condensed, and animated, and delivered with a manner that would have lent interest to far inferior criticism. Besides his bereaved wife, who for more than twenty years was a devoted sharer of his joys and sorrows, he has left a family of eight children, the eldest of whom is now the wife of Dr. Scott, who for many years has been the able and successful partner of his fatber-in-law. By all wlu> knew him, and more especially by bis fellow townsmen, Dr. Moir was much beloved ; and at the urgent request of the inhabitants of MusseJburgh, his funeral was a public me.