Wherefore is my fair-one chang'd?
And why are plighted hearts estrang'd'
Perchance you'll say my faith has rov'd,
My fancy new impressions prov'd-
I own the charge-In frantic hour,
When reason lost her guardian pow'r,
1 breath'd warm vows to wanton maids
Where Isis glides thro' classic shades-
But wily Comus brew'd the bowl,
Fre Circe's snare beguil'd my soul:
When sobering morn dispers'd the charms,
I started from the tempter's arms,
And rais'd a pray'r, from passion free,
To Love, to Purity, and thee!

Thou injur'd excellence! ah, deign
To cheer a fond, repentant swain-
And let his frank confession prove,
How fix'd his heart, how true his love!
Pronounce "forgiveness!" and that word
Like life to fainting frames restor❜d,
The tide of transport, full and strong,
Will rush my slacken'd veins along;
Again my pulse shall beat and burn,
Till thine its amorous throb return;
Our days revolve in soft delights.
And boundless rapture crown our nights.

LACHIN Y GAIR. *

BY THE RIGHT HON. G. GORDON, LORD BYRON.

AWAY, ye gay landscapes; ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake re-

poses,

Though still they are sacred to freedom and love;

Yet, Caledonia! belov'd are thy mountains,

Round their white summits tho' elements war, Tho' cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd,
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the
plaid;

On Chieftains, long perished, my memory pon-
der'd,

As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade; I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. “Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

"Rise on the night rolling breath of the gale?" Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,

Round Loch na Garr, while the stormy mist

gathers,

Winter presides in his cold icy car;
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers,
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na
Garr.

"Ill-starr'd, tho' brave, did no visions foreboding,
"Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"
Ah! were you destin'd to die at Culloden,

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause; Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,

You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar, The Pibroch resounds to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.

Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,

Years must elapse e'er I tread you again; Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you;

Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. England! thy beauties are tame and domestic, To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar; Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.

THE PIOUS PAINTER.

THERE once was a Painter, in Catholic days,
Like Job, who eschewed all evil.
Still on his Madonas the curious may gaze
With applause and with pleasure, but chiefly
his praise

And delight was in painting the Devil.
They were angels (compar'd to the devils he drew)
Who besieg'd poor St. Anthony's cell;
Such burning hot eyes, such a damnable hue!
You could even smell brimstone, their breath was
so blue,

He painted the Devil so well.

And now had the artist a picture begun,

'Twas over the Virgin's church door; She stood on the Dragon, embracing her Son,Many Devils already the artist had done,

But this must out do all before.

The old Dragon's imps, as they fled thro' the air,
At seeing it, paus'd on the wing;
For he had the likeness so just to a hair,
That they came as Apollyon himself had been
there,

To pay their respects to their king.
Every child, at beholding it, shiver'd with dread,
And scream'd as he turn'd away quick;
Not an old woman saw it, but, raising her head,

And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland Drop'd a bead, made a cross on her wrinkles, and vale :

said

Oh! save me from ugly Old Nick!

Pronounced in Erse Loch na Garr.

As I wander'd one morn through yon wood-Elephants, viz. the Adagio in the opera of

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS FOR OCTOBER.

Sainville. Where you have not been an unprofitable student.

Ursule. I have learned enough, perhaps, not to be out of countenance in a select party. But no more of this. I have told you some truths of

Therese (aside). Excellent, she betrays her- my friends, only because I know they are plan

ning something against me. You are fond of botany, I have heard?

Louise. Have you not refused my father's offer?

in

Jaquemin. This is very lucky indeed, Sir; but do you not fear lest-Oh! by heavens, I cannot

Sainville. Did you not tell him I was odious keep any rancour; your hand, my son-in-law. your sight?

Louise. Had you not been the sole cause of his anger against me?

Sainville. He flew into a passion before he rightly understood me. Recollect how frankly I addressed you this morning, and the answer you gave me.

Louise. Well, Sir, it is my turn to be frank, however ridiculous I may appear. Confiding in my father's choice, I felt disposed to esteem you, when the reports I heard about you filled me with terror. I was wrong, I should have trusted my father's powers of discrimination, and have moulded my inclinations after those of the husband he destined for me.

Sainville. It is I alone who will follow your inclinations. The sacrifice of my taste and habits will never repay this enchanting acknowledgement of your sentiments.

Louise. No; it is I who will sacrifice mine. We will settle at Paris.

Sainville. By your side,.I shall even there find happiness.

Louise. We will mix in the world, and see a great deal of company.

Sainville. We shall keep open house, for what would I not do to please you? I will try to anticipate and gratify your least wishes.

Louise. Alas! I have but one; it is, that amidst the noisy pleasures of the world, my husband should never cease to love me; for I must not deceive you, I can renounce my most ardent hopes, but would feel very unhappy should I not be repaid with constant love. Be satisfied with me, if I forsake the country for you alone.

Sainville. It is I who mean to settle at Paris, solely on your account.

Louise. Why, I have no desire of seeing Paris. Sainville. And I delight to live in the country. There, far from the storms of a troubled world, in the arms of a beloved partner, in the bosom of my family, I had dreamed of felicity.

Louise. What did Ursule tell me?

(To Mr. Ledoux.) Agathe is yours; Pauline has told me how she sympathised with you, Mr. Corsignac. But where is Therese; I must make peace with her too?

Enter THERESE.

Therese. Ursule's servant is come to fetch these two gentlemen.

Jaquemin. Make their excuses, they dine with us; Sainville marries your sister, my two wards have found husbands, and to-night the contracts will be signed.

Therese. Oh, how glad I am! Do you permit me to write this good news to my cousin?

Jaquemin. Assuredly, let him get a holiday, and be present at the nuptials of others, till his own turn shall come.

Corsignac. Bravo, my dear guardian! The handsome Agathe with the good Mr. Ledoux; the sensible Pauline with the tender Corsignac; friend Sainville with the amiable Louise, will taste happiness. The marriage of the young Therese is now in perspective, and the wicked Ursule alone is husbandless.

DRURY-LANE.

E. R.

ON Tuesday, September 29th, a gentleman appeared in the character of Alonzo, in Pizarro. The character is very subordinate, and the performer was not much better-He is equal, however, to what he pretends to; and thus, in the present state of the theatre, and constant rivalry for leading characters, will be more useful as he is less eminent. There is always wanting in both houses a contented race of steady subordi nates, who are willing to do the business they are hired for, and think as moderately of themselves as the public think.

On October 1st was performed the School for Scandal. This admirable comedy is always seen with new pleasure; and the theatre has seldom been so destitute of talent as not to give full effect to its characters.-Of the excellence of Mrs.

Sainville. Ursule! All is cleared up. Oh, Jordan's Lady Teazle we have often had occasion Louise! how happy you have made me.

to speak; but, on Thursday, October 1, her usual vivacity seemed depressed by indisposition, and her performance was less effective than usual. Wroughton's Sir Peter Teazle, is an admirable

Jaquemin. Leave me alone, I am angry, he piece of acting-If not equal to King's in his shall not stay with my daughter.

best days, he is much superior to his latter per Sainville. My worthy friend, my dear Jaque-formance. In those characters of comedy, such min, how many excuses I ought to make for my conduct. Louise and I have been both deceived. Our tastes, inclinations, sentiments, are the

same.

as Moody and Sir Peter Teazle, where the humour is strictly copied from life, and the colours, sufficiently brilliant in their genuine purity, require no exaggeration froin artificial dies,

Wroughton succeeds as well as any performer of

his time.

Upon the part of Charles there has always hung a doubt. The question has been after what model is it to be acted?-If the polish which is required in a Valentine or a Mirabel be given to Charles, the humour is destroyed. The ordinary gentleman of the stage, as our old authors have drawn him, is too dry; and the modern man of gallantry too gross. The just performance of this character, therefore, lies between the extremes of that refinement which belonged to the wit of Congreve, and their consequent dryness; and the boisterous rampancy, and gross inelegance || of the modern rake. Had Charles been drawn after the model of Ranger he would have been execrable; if after Mirabel, dry. The mixture, therefore, has been made with equal genius and knowledge of the taste of the age.

her art; she has not the sublimity, majesty, or pathos of her sister, but she has too much genius and taste to be classed with mediocrity. In a word, had not Mrs. Siddons come before her, she would have ranked with any tragic actress of her time. Her reception was very flattering.

A young lady of the name of Lyon has made her first appearance in the character of Rosetta, in the opera of Love in a Village. She is a pupil of Corri. Her person is good, her face handsome, and her manner is natural and simple; her voice is a good soprano, and of more compass and soundness than this species of voice in common possesses. From D. upwards to C. downwards, there is no deficiency or abruptness; the scale is gradual, and the rise and fall by an equal chain of harmony. Within this compass her notes are complete and musical.

Her professional education, however, seems to

one (Corri), she has either not sufficiently profited by his lessons, or, perhaps, has not received them long enough. Her great deficiency is in that necessary embellishment which belongs equally to taste and to science; to which the latter supplies its rudiments, and the former its regulations.

The analysis of the character will explain how have been trusted to chance, and though we unit should be acted. Charles should be a gentle-derstand she still has a master, and an eminent man, bending to the relaxation of humour, and to some of its more agreeable broadness, without any thing of grossness, or affectation of the antic. His humour should have neither trick nor extravagance, at the same time it should not be curbed for want of vivacity. It is given to him as a substitute for wit,-as more pleasing in its effect, and more agreeable to the taste of the age. Elliston's humour is perhaps too solemn, and his ordinary reciprocation of dialogue too labour-harmony., Singing is more of a science; and ed for Charles; but he is still far from displeasing in his part. If not the best we have seen in the character, he must be pronounced the best on the present stage.

Dowton's Sir Oliver is admirable. It is wholly unmixed with the ordinary dross; it is sterling truth; the strong imprint of nature. It is hearty, generous, and open, with a full display of the natural turn of humour that is given to the character. We confess that we never saw a representation of this character that pleased us so much.

Barrymore's Joseph was extremely respectable; and Wewitzer, in Moses, was admirable.

The House has been crouded every night of performance.

Mrs. Whitelock, the sister of Mrs. Siddons, appeared in the beginning of the month at this theatre. The part chosen for her first appearance was the heroine in Miss Moore's tragedy of Percy.

Mrs. Whitelock is a strong resemblance of her sister; not so tall, but, otherwise, of the same proportions in her person. Her voice resembles that of Mrs. Siddons; but it is inaudible in the lower tones. Her general appearance, perhaps, is somewhat too matronly. She is certainly an actress of sound sense, and well accomplished in

We are not now what we were some years since; content with mere native, unprofessional

though a voice may lose its natural simplicity in superfluous embellishments, and art be pursued to that extent as to become mere artifice and trick; though singing may be degraded to a mere experiment of sounds, and the embroidery be suffered to obscure the canvas, it is nevertheless necessary to give their proper value to that science and taste which the present age have so much improved, and which they now demand from every professional singer.

Here is the deficiency of Miss Lyon: she wants taste and refinement, both of which science alone must supply: natural feeling gives little. Singing is as much a study as acting; nature may give a person for the stage as she gives a voice, but art must accomplish both.

It was the want of a moderate portion of this science which occasioned Miss Lyon to fail in a song which is almost always secure of an encore; we mean the "Travellers benighted."The same deficiency spoiled the songs "How blest the Maid whose bosom,” and “Young I am." In a word, this young lady has most excellent natural endowments, and we venture to say, that she will even lead in her profession, if she endeavours to accomplish herself in that science and taste, without which, singing, in the present age, is not much regarded.