The great Christopher North (Professor Wilson) had but a poor opinion of Thomas Moore, and in Noctes Ambrosianæ (Blackwood’s Magazine July 1823) he thus expressed himself;—
“Moore will not live long as a song writer, he has not the stamina in him at all. His verses are elegant, pretty, glittering, anything you please in that line; but they have defects which will not allow them to get down to posterity. His strong party views, his affectation of learning, his parade of his knowledge of botany, zoology, and the other ’ologies, these are serious defects, and then the mixed metaphors, and often down-right nonsense to be found in his songs, all detract from his chances of immortality.”
“Here” says Wilson “is a song he intended to be sung by:—
A Fallen Angel over a Bowl of Rum-punch.
Heap on more coal there,
And keep the glass moving,
The frost nips my nose,
Though my heart glows with loving.
Here’s the dear creature,
No skylights—a bumper;