Talk:Clement Clarke Moore

Shouldn't this page really be at Clement Clarke Moore?! I've never heard him referred to as 'Clement Moore' without middle name. Quill 05:33, 1 Aug 2004 (UTC)

His only full-length biography is titled Clement Clarke Moore. Wetman 05:38, 1 Aug 2004 (UTC)

That's good enough for me; I've moved it and fixed all the links Quill 03:28, 2 Aug 2004 (UTC)

Of course, the only thing he's known for (the poem he probably didn't write) is always credited to "Clement Moore". - Nunh-huh 03:33, 2 Aug 2004 (UTC)

1) What does this sentence mean? "Later in life, however, Moore was in the habit of writing out fair copies of the poem when asked to do so, and facsimiles have been published twice." What is a fair copy? I would fix this but I don't know how. What are the facsimiles of? The poem or of the fair copies? Anyone understand this? hdstubbs

A fair copy: "(of a manuscript) having few alterations or corrections; "fair copy"; "a clean manuscript"" (www.thefreedictionary)

2) What does this sentence mean? "He was the only son of Benjamin Moore, a president of Columbia College per support from student, Alexander Hamilton and Protestant Episcopal Church for the state of New York." ?

This is means that Bishop Benjamin Moore was asked to stay on at King's College and become the temporary replacement for the man who held the office before him. Political changes were happening that directly involved King's College which even led to its name change: Columbia University. Moore was supported by a majority of students led in part by young Alexander Hamilton, who asked that he stay at the school and become the interim president when the prior man was forced out due to his loyalty to the crown. Several faculty members left, fighting was taking place in the immediate vicinity, Tories were moving to places like Nova Scotia. Ironically, Bishop Moore had the sad duty of reading last rites to Alexander Hamilton after his duel.

3) The section on Children talks of a grandson. Aside from punctuation and grammar problems, it's pretty incoherent. The point seems to be that one grandfather started a competition that Clement Clarke Moore won, and the grandchild eventually inherited some of it? After rereading it I'm still not sure what it means.

Shouldn't this be more of a biographical page about Moore rather than an additional dispute about the authoriship of Twas the Night Before Christmas? CJJDay 21:11, 22 February 2006 (UTC)Reply

This is what Clement Moore wanted to be remembered for by his children, fame not being one of his priorities and vanity not one of his values:

From a Father to His Children After Having His Portrait Taken for Them

by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863)

This semblance of your parent's time-worn face Is but a sad bequest, my children dear: Its youth and freshness gone, and in their place The lines of care, the tracks of many a tear!

Amid life's wreck, we struggle to secure

Some floating fragment from oblivion's wave: We pant for somewhat that may still endure, And snatch at least a shadow from the grave. Poor, weak, and transient mortals! why so vain

Of manly vigour or of beauty's bloom? An empty shade for ages may remain When we have mouldered in the silent tomb. But no! it is not we who moulder there;

We, of essential light that ever burns, We take our way through untried fields of air, When to the earth this earth-born frame returns. And 'tis the glory of the master's art

Some radiance of this inward light to find; Some touch that to his canvass may impart A breath, a sparkle of the immortal mind. Alas! the pencil's noblest power can show But some faint shadow of a transient thought, Some waken'd feeling's momentary glow, Some swift impression in its passage caught.

Oh! that the artist's pencil could pourtray

A father's inward bosom to your eyes; What hopes, and fears, and doubts perplex his way, What aspirations for your welfare rise. Then might this unsubstantial image prove,

When I am gone, a guardian of your youth, A friend for ever urging you to move In paths of honour, holiness, and truth. Let fond imagination's power supply

The void that baffles all the painter's art; And when those mimic features meet your eye, Then fancy that they speak a parent's heart. Think that you still can trace within those eyes

The kindling of affection's fervid beam, The searching glance that every fault espies, The fond anticipation's pleasing dream. Fancy those lips still utter sounds of praise,

Or kind reproof that checks each wayward will, The warning voice, or precepts that may raise Your thoughts above this treach'rous world of ill. And thus shall Art attain her loftiest power;

To noblest purpose shall her efforts tend: Not the companion of an idle hour, But Virtue's handmaid and Religion's friend.

As a comparison to "A Visit" the following is a heart breaking poem written by Clement Clarke Moore in direct response to writings of then well-known English poet, Robert Southey. Moore read Southey's work and commented not only on the quality of his writing but also on their similar personal losses. Clement Clarke Moore and his wife lost their 6th child, daughter Emily, on April 19, 1828, age 6yrs and 6 days. His wife died on April 4th, 1830. Second eldest daughter, Charity, died on Dec. 14, 1830 at age 14. 'Lines To Southey' was also included in Moore's book, Poems, New York: Bartlett & Welford, 1844.

"The 'Lines to Southey' were written but never sent, after reading the dedication of that poet of 'A Tale of Paraguay' to his daughter, Edith May Southey. In Moore's poem he laments the loss of his wife and two of his children; and his grief has a note that makes its way to the heart in spite of the formal versification that hinders its free motions." - Clarence Cook, Century Magazine, December 1897, by permission of the Century Company.

The above paragraph was taken from a genealogical history including Clement Clarke Moore's family entitled: Rev. John Moore of Newtown, Long Island and some of his Descendants, Compiled by James W. Moore, Lafayette College. Chemical Publishing Company, Easton Pennsylvania. MCMIII. (1903). p. 107. Reprints of this out-of-print book are available via Higginson book company.

'Lines to Southey' from Poems, 1844.

Southey, I love the magic of thy lyre, That calms, at will, or sets the soul on fire; Whose changeful notes through ev'ry mode can stray, From deep-toned horror to the sprighliest lay. In Fancy's wilds with you I love to roam, Where all things strange and monstrous make their home. And when from wild imagination's dreams You wake to holy or heroic themes, My spirit owns the impulse of your strains; My circling blood flows freer through my veins.

Yet not amid these wonders of your art I find the trembling key-note of my heart. 'Tis not the depth and strength of tone that bring Responsive murmurs from a neighboring string. Soft sympathetic sounds and tremors rise Only from chords attun'd to harmonize. 'Tis when you pour the simple plaintive strain That tells a fond bereaved parent's pain, 'Tis when you sing of dear ones gone to rest, I feel each fibre vibrate in my breast. Alas! too well, bereavement's pangs I know; Too well, a parent's and a husband's woe.

To crown the num'rous blessings of my life, I had sweet children and a lovely wife. All seem'd so firm, so ordered to endure, That, fool! I fancied all around secure. Heav'n seem'd to smile; Hope whisper'd to my heart, These love-wrought ties shall never rudely part; But Time, with sow advance and gentle hand, Shall loosen, one by one, each sacred band. The old shall first drop peaceful in the tomb, And leave the young to fill their vacant room. Life's pleasures shall not wither at a blow, But quiet pass, with mild decay and slow. The buoyant joys of youth, so bright and fair, Like rainbow tints, shall mellow into air.

But sad reality has prov'd how vain This faithless prospect of a dreaming brain. Death's icy hand, within three fleeting years, Has chang'd this scene of bliss to sighs and tears. One lovely innocent was snatch'd away -- A rose-bud, not half-open'd to the day -- I saw my wife, then to the grave descend, Beloved of my heart, my bosom friend. So interwoven were our joys, our pains, That, as I weeping follow'd her remains, I thought to tell her of the mournful scene -- I could not realize the gulph between.

This was not all; there was another blow Reserv'd to put the finish to my woe. A sweet endearing creature, perish'd last, In youth's first spring, all childhood's dangers past -- Oh! awful trial of religion's power, To see a suffering innocent's last hour! But mark me well -- I would not change one jot Of Heaven's decrees, to meliorate my lot: Farewell to early bliss, to all that's bright! No thought rebels; I know, I feel 'tis right. Nor should I mourn as though of all bereft: Some transient pleasures, here and there, are left; Some short-liv'd flowers that in the forest bloom, And scatter fragrance in the settled gloom.

I look not round, and peevishly repine, As though no other sorrow equall'd mine. I boast no proud preeminence of pain -- But oh! these spectres that infest my brain! My death-struck child, with nostrils breathing wide, Turning in vain, for ease, from side to side; The fitful flush that lit her half-closed eye, And burned her sunken cheek; her plaintive cry; Her dying gasp; and as she sank to rest, Her wither'd hands cross'd gently o'er her breast.

My dying wife's emaciated form, So late, with youthful spirit fresh and warm. The deep, but noiseless anguish of her mind At leaving all she lov'd on earth behind. The silent tear that down her cheek would stray, And wet the pillow where resign'd she lay. Her stiffen'd limbs, all powerless and weak; Her clay-cold parting kiss; her pale damp cheek; Her awful prayer for mercy, at the last, Fainter and fainter, till her spirit pass'd -- The image of the next lov'd suffer too Is ever, ever present to my view. Her cease cough -- her quick and panting breath, With all the dreadful harbingers of death. No anxious mother watching at her side, To whisper consolation as she died.

Oh! do not ask me why I thus complain To you a stranger, far across the main -- Bear with a bleeding heart that loves to tell Its sorrows, and on all pangs to dwell. A strange relief the mourner's bosom knows In clinging close and closer to its woes. In unheard plaints it consolation finds, And weeps and murmurs to the heedless winds.

Author: Clement Clarke Moore; Father of nine, married once, devoted husband and father. Widower at 51 left with 7 surviving children to raise. Philanthropist.

Soon after 'Poems' was published, Moore lost his oldest daughter, Margaret Elliott Moore Ogden on April 13, 1845. She had recently given birth to a son named Clement Moore Ogden on Feb. 24th of 1845 and he died at the age of 2, on Nov. 11th, 1847.

It is not surprising that more lighthearted poetry did not follow. 'A Visit' has endured. And so have Moore's descendants. So has his support of the General Theological Seminary - which sits on land that was once his apple orchard on the Chelsea Farm, before becoming part of the growing city a few miles to its south. Like so many gentlemen of his day, writing poems was something Moore did as a creative outlet. It is hard to imagine he expected to be remembered for it.

Added an internal section about Moore's ownership of slaves and his opposition to abolishment of slavery. Other references include his own tracts. --Chalyres 02:22, 8 December 2006 (UTC)Reply

I noted this addition, and was fairly offended by the fact that you irrelevantly connect this fact to his authorship of the "Visit from St. Nicholas" poem. It's fine that you note that he's a slave-owner - that's a valid, and important historical note about Moore, as a historical figure. But the fact that he had slaves while he wrote that poem is irrelevant to both Moore's personal history, and irrelevant to the poem. It was simply a spiteful connection. Of course, you'll probably ignore this - but I just thought I'd point it out. Frankly, your behavior by including this little jab is petty and self-serving, when considered in light of the fact that Moore owned slaves at a time when a considerable percentage of Americans found it to be acceptable. Piperatthegates2 19:39, 20 December 2006 (UTC)Reply

I'm inclined to agree. I took out the reference about the timing of his owning slaves. I also took out the part where he opposed suffrage for people who didn't own land. That's completely unrelated to his owning slaves, so if you want to put it in, give it its own section. As it stood before, you may as well just had a section that said "Clement Moore was a benighted, evil person" which would hardly be NPOV. -- HowardW, Jan 13, 2007

QUESTIONABLE CONTENT. I don't know enuf about Clement Moore, but the following phrase does not seem to fit in appropriately in the biography. Perhaps someone with more knowledge can make the correct changes. "...per support from student, Alexander Hamilton and Protestant Episcopal Church for the state of New York"

For the person 'fairly offended' some time ago (14 years prior to this comment, I must note), according to a NYT article discussing an exhibit at the NY Historical Society, connecting his enslavement of others to his poem is not 'irrelevantly' as there is a document at the Society that places a slave as the operator of the sleigh itself. ^[1] — Preceding unsigned comment added by 68.175.32.100 (talk) 00:05, 12 August 2020 (UTC)Reply

That's not what the source says, it says " As one document at the Historical Society shows, Moore was a slave owner, and some historians have recounted a journey to the market to buy a Christmas turkey, the event said to have inspired the poem, in a sleigh driven by a slave." Doug Weller talk 14:48, 12 August 2020 (UTC)Reply

The article states that Livingston never claimed authorship of "A Visit From St. Nicholas." Livingston couldn't have claimed authorship. He died before it was published. I vote for the removal or clarification of this statement. Graymornings 22:48, 8 July 2007 (UTC)Reply

Henry Livingston, Jr. lived until 1828 and the poem was first published in 1823 in the Troy Sentinel. He was alive for five years after it had been circulated publicly. Coincidentally, Troy had an Episcopal Church that was part of the region that was covered by Clement Clarke Moore's father until 1816 and his successor at Trinity Church afterwards. The Bishop of New York was the bishop for the entire state and either traveled extensively or was in turn visited by his ministers regarding matters of the church. This may help answer how the daughter of the minister from Troy was in the Moore's personal residence when the poem was first read to the children of the Moore family. It was the minister's daughter who brought it back with her to Troy, hence its publication there, first, in 1823.

[Note: The above comment refers to the Henry Beekman Livingston article, not this article. It should probably be moved to that page.] 12.15.114.194 (talk) 16:39, 2 December 2008 (UTC)Reply

I'm not sure how to cite this, so I present it here for discussion and advice. I was intrigued to read that "There is reputed to be another handwritten copy of the poem by Moore in the archives of the New Brunswick Museum in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada," so I decided to follow up on it by writing to the museum. I was rewarded with a sheet of notes on Moore items in the museum's collection and a scan of the handwritten poem itself. In the notes, it is mentioned that the watermark is 1825, though the poem itself is undated, and that the curators think that the handwriting is that of Mary Odell, a close family friend of the Moores. I haven't had a chance to study the scan closely, and it's a little difficult to read, but I have noticed that the reindeer aren't presented quite in the order we're used to seeing today:

Now Dancer and Prancer - now Dasher and Vixen
On Comet, on Cupid - on Donder and Blixen -

The opening of this article violates the standard for articles. A biography of a person—living or dead—should follow this format:

John Doe (<date>–<date>) was a <insert nationality> <insert profession or notable role>.

This article doesn't state what Moore was (profession), just that he was perhaps the author of a famous poem. From the rest of the information in the article, I can't tell what he did in life, other than maybe was some sort of clergyman. Can someone clarify what he did in life, besides writing one poem? — Frεcklεfσσt | Talk 17:52, 15 December 2010 (UTC)Reply

I found the info in an old version of the article. Please expand if you know anymore about his life. — Frεcklεfσσt | Talk 17:56, 15 December 2010 (UTC)Reply

I've expanded it a bit. I was aware of the problem you describe in the lede, but the trouble is that Moore is really only notable for the fact that his huge inherited estate was developed into the neighborhood of Chelsea, and for the poem. As far as I can tell his scholarship is not particularly noteworthy, although I guess it is what he "did". He is basically a rich guy who got richer by devleoping the land he has given at birth. Beyond My Ken (talk) 18:58, 15 December 2010 (UTC)Reply

Put material about his mother in girlhood in his early life. Makes separate section on "Marriage and family", as standard in bios. Reduce duplication of material - repetitive on land development, even same words.Parkwells (talk) 15:34, 5 December 2015 (UTC)Reply

I'm a relative novice to disputes on Wikipedia, so forgive any failures to adhere to any bylaws, statutes, dogmas, or dictums.

The concluding paragraph of the introduction to the article reads "Scholars once debated the identity of the author, but the latest work proves definitively that Moore was not the author, but that Henry Livingston was."

First of all, that's a torturously awkward sentence. But the greater concern is that the sentence presents a definitive conclusion (i.e., "proves definitively") about an ongoing debate, and fails to identify the evidence for this absolute and final conclusion, obliquely attributing it to "the latest work." Academics, as recently as 2016, continue to assert that Moore authored "The Night Before Christmas." There have been no intervening developments to suggest that the matter has been settled. If anything, the debate should be characterized as "ongoing," the way it's currently characterized in the "The Night Before Christmas" and "Henry Livingston" entries.

I propose to excise the "definitive conclusion." It doesn't seem like a controversial idea to me, but I'll give it a few days. You never know anymore, in an era where Wikipedia has become a battleground to "decide" "facts", rather than a resource from which to learn them.

ICHH 16 (talk) 16:50, 28 June 2016 (UTC)Reply

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