genius would have made it immortal." A London reviewer speaking of the first number, says, "the idea is excellent, and the twelve vocal airs which this first number of the work contains, are tastefully arrayed by sir John Stevenson, and happily provided with language by Mr. Moore. "We are happy (continues the reviewer) to find that even where Mr. Moore's subject is amatory, his poetry is very little in the style of those baneful effusions which are undergoing so rigorous an examination. His verse is here fanciful and gentlemanly, full of his subject, and, as far as our English souls can judge, faithfully expressing it. Nothing can be more pathetic than "Oh! breathe not his name;" nothing more brilliant than "Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour;" and nothing more poetical than "As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow." We must be indulged in quoting one of those effusions of Mr. Moore's genius; and we can find none more elegant or natural than the following: _SONG._ Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, And as free from a pang as they seem to you now, Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of tonight, Will return with tomorrow to brighten my brow. No, Life is a waste of wearisome flowers, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns. But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile; May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here Than the tear that Enjoyment can gild with a smile, And the smile that Compassion can turn to a tear. The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows! If it were not with friendship and love intertwined; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind! But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest, Too often have wept o'er the dream they've believed; And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest, Is happy indeed if 'twas never deceiv'd. But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this pray'r shall be mine, That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, And the moonlight of friendship console our decline. "The airs of the first number are excessively beautiful in themselves--particularly those of the well known "Gramachree," "Plausty Kelly," and the "Summer is Coming," and the duets of "The Maid of the Valley," and the "Brown Maid," are very delightful. "The latter (says the London reviewer) is a perfect specimen of the genius of duet, each part taking up the other alternately. The publication of these Irish airs fully discovers the source of Mr. Moore's musical compositions."