No play-mate can to thee repair; The silent worm,—my daughter. Of late, I mark'd on Avon's side, And thought on thee, my daughter. Alas, in one revolving hour, How like thy fate, my daughter. The spring is past, it swiftly fled; And blighted thee, my daughter. But ah, the graces of thy mind, Can I forget, my daughter? Since I must quit this fatal place, And press thy hand, my daughter. Or could I ope' thy lowly shrine, And sleep with thee, my daughter. LINES Occasioned by the departure of a Friend for Canada. UNRUFFLED the wave and unclouded the sky, The sails gently swelling as kissed by the wind, Sweet England receding, the passenger's eye Still look'd but in vain for the prospect behind. Down my cheek let the tear be permitted to steal, At the song I have caroll'd, my bosom to swell; Believe me," 'tis hard to be parted," I feelBelieve me," 'tis hard to be saying farewell;" And perchance too, "for ever." Before I return, Of those whom I leave with so keen a regret, Haply some will be gone to that far distant bourne, And the friend of their youth-haply others forget. As I dwell on the thought shadows transiently rise, And my breast, at the sound of " for ever," beats high; But a glance of sweet sunshine from Anna's bright eyes, Bids the gloom be no more, and disperses the sigh. Yes, Anna, with thee I contented will roam; With thee the wild beauties of nature explore; As thy falls in the sun, Niagara shall foam, We with awe will their mighty creator adore. When the beautiful white bird announces the spring, And the flowers of the cotton tree glisten with dew; When their fragrance around palms and cedartrees Aling, We will far from the dog star their solitude woo. When for mirth and for converse the circle we form, At the social fireside, when snów covers the ground, We will smile at the boisterous force of the storm, And pass to our friends," the sweet sentiment round. Thus the passenger spoke, till the shadows of night. Stole slowly the bosom of Ocean along; The cliffs proudly rising no more can he view-To its rocky abode the gull winging its flight, (Which the sailor, return'd after many a storm, Hails with transport as beacons of happiness true,) Not a shadow is left for sweet fancy to form. In vain would he catch, at the close of the day, For the last time, the sound of some far distant bell; But nought-save the vessel dividing its way, Is heard-or the boatswain proclaiming “all's well." Adieu, England! adieu, then my dear native land, Ye winds on your wings kindly waft my adieu; Many years must pass by, e'er again on your strand I may hope the sweet joys of the past to renew. On the breeze of night swelling the mariner's song. The white bird, mentioned in the 9th verse, is the chief Canadian bird of melody; it is a kind of Ortolan, and remarkable for announcing the return of spring. The cotton-tree is peculiar to Canada; tufts of flowers grow on its top, which, when shaken in the morning, before the dew falls off, produce honey that may be boiled up into sugar; the seed being a pod, containing a very fine kind of cotton. Immense forests apparently coeval with the world, abound in North America; trees in an endless variety of species, losing themselves in the clouds. TO A YELLOW BUTTERFLY. BY A YOUNG LADY. Hail, loveliest insect of the Spring! O lovely is thy airy form, That wears the Primrose hue so fair; It seems as if a passing storm Had rais'd the beauteous flower in air! Far different from the spotted race That sultry June's bright suns unfold, That seek in her fair flow'rs their place, And proud display their wings of gold. For, brilliant is their varying dye, And, basking in the fervid ray, They in the new blown roses lie, Or round the opening Cistus play! But thou, with April's modest flower, Her Violet sweet of snowy hue, Tranquil shalt pass the noontide hour, And sip, content, the evening dew. Ah, may no frosts thy beauties chill, No storms thy little frame destroy; But, sporting gay beside the rill, May'st thou thy transient life enjoy! TIME AND CUPID. His life in travelling always spent, And call'd for aid with all his might: "Will none have pity on my years, "I that preside in every clime? "O, my good friends, and passengers, "Lend, lend a hand to pass old Time!" Full many a young and sprightly lass, Upon the adverse bank appear'd, Repeated oft this moral rhyme→ He oft exclaim'd,-" Observe, my lasses, Triumphant now the veteran cries, "'Tis now my turn you find young lasses, "What the old proverb says is wise, "That Love with Time as lightly passes!" THE SWALLOW. Written on board his Majesty's Ship Vengeance, on a Swallow familiarly entering the Ward Room, the ship being then one hundred leagues from Land. BY DR. TROTTER. WELCOME hither, airy trav'ler, If along the trackless ocean, Thou by chance hast miss'd the way, I have news of note to freight thee, Love shall be thy pilot now. Shun, I pray thee, gentle stranger, Touch not Gallia's hated shore, There is death, and certain danger, She is stain'd with royal gore.* But to happier Bri'ian tend thee, Where the milder virtues rove, And this kiss with which I send thee, Bear it to my distant love. Near her window fix thy dwelling, No rude hand shall do thee wrong, Safer far than arch or ceiling, Delia's self shall guard thy young. There a thousand soft sensations, Lull the tranquil mind to rest; Nature there, with fond persuasions, Oft shall soothe a parent's breast. Haste then, gentle bird of passage, When thou leav'st our wint'ry isle, Bring me back my Delia's message, Bring a kiss and bring a smile. *Prfectly coinciding in sentiment with the author of these stanzas, we cannot forbear observing, that this is a stain which will remain an everlasting blot in the annals of France. While his savage subjects dipped their handkerchiefs and pikes in the blood of the ill fated Louis, he fell, "By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd." PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS FOR JULY. FRENCH THEATRE. (Enter AGATHE, in a riding-habit.) Agathe. My presence, perhaps, is troublesome? Pauline. I give him up to you, Agathe. Had he seen me alone, I might not have been affronted with a refusal, but the charms of four girls younger than I, could not fail when compared with mine, to deprive me of all hope of success. Pauline. You have acted wrong in treating poor Ledoux so ill. Pauline. Not in the least, this gentleman was Agathe. Did you not remark that during about to leave me. But what means this riding-breakfast Mr. Corsignac had his eyes constantly fixed upon you. habit? Agathe. The weather is so beautiful, that I formed the project of exploring the neighbouring country. But you, my dear sister, what a studied negligence there is in your dress? Pauline. Studied; I assure you I paid no attention to it. Sainville (aside). Is all this intended to captivate my attention? Agathe. The old steward goes with me. Will Mr. Sainville be so good as to accompany me, we would hunt by the way. You are fond of the chace. Sainville. Moderately. Agathe. I like it passionately, and am glad my taste agrees with yours. Pauline (aside). Very well, my dear Agathe. Sainville (aside). This time it is plain that Corsignac was not mistaken. (Aloud). I am very sorry that I must tear myself from your company, but Mr. Jaquemin expects me, and the business in which we are engaged is too important to admit of any delay. My friend Corsignac is at liberty, and may prove a more acceptable companion. (To Pauline). I beg you will resume your reading-(side). They are mad, or at least very foolish; I'll go in search of Louise. [Exit. Agathe (aside). How impertinent to send me to his friend Corsignac ! Pauline (aside). He is a true citizen, some successful merchant's son perhaps; he has nothing of a gentleman; what stories Ursule has told me! Agathe. O that I had not been so difficult in my time!-Mr. Ledoux is now the only one who pays his addresses to me. Pauline. Hear me, Agathe, we promised to be frank: I had some intentions upon Sainville. Agathe. So had I, sister. Pauline. I guessed it, when I saw you dressed like an amazon. Pauline. Indeed! well he has at least some originality in him. But stay, it is he who told Ursule that Sainville was a romantic, sentimental swain. Agathe. You mistake; he told her that Sainville was fond of dashing, hunting, and horses. Pauline. Are you sure she did not deceive you? Agathe. No, it is rather through giddiness; but as to Corsignac, he has his views let yourself be taught by my example, do not refuse him. Pauline. And be you not so cruel towards your lover Ledoux. (Enter CORSIGNAC.) Corsignac (to Pauline). Vouchsafe to dispel my anxiety, and confirm the truth of what Sainville just now told me. Am I fortunate enough to have been sent for by you. Pauline. No, Sir; you have been misled, it is my sister who wishes for your company. Agathe. I am too much your friend for that, and I give up my walk; for I should be sorry to deprive Mr. Corsignac of the pleasure of Pauline's conversation. Corsignac. Amiable sister; how grateful I feel for your kindness! it encourages me, and plucks my secret from my heart.-(To Pauline). I love you to madness. Pauline. Sir? Corsignac. Forgive this sudden declaration, but when it is the resistless power of sympathy that acts upon us. Agathe. Of sympathy! Corsignac. I am a man such as you want. It is true, I have met with no romantic adventures, but I feel capable of writing novels; and in order to taste the joys of life, I believe it is far preferable to be their author than their hero. We will translate together all the chefs-d'œuvre of the Agathe. The same idea struck me when I per- English misses, will melt with interest at every ceived you had turned shepherdess. stroke of misfortune their imagination shall have invented. In after times we may perhaps invent some ourselves: and then the delightful pleasure of enriching them we love, will stand within your reach. In a word, I am an honest man, a good natured fellow, I have obtained your guardian's consent, and feel inclined to be for ever in love with my wife. What else could you require. Pauline. You will permit me, Sir, to look upon this speech as a mere joke. Carignac. As you please, only remember that unter a veil of pleasantry, many serious affairs may be conducted. Pauline. Answer this question; what account of your friend Sainville, did you give Ursule. Consignac. That which honour and truth dictated to me. But let me dwell a little more on the tender and powerful sentiment which a glance of yours has awakened in my heart. Pauline. Not yet, think only of assisting my sister. Corsignac. To be useful to the sister of the person I love so ardently, would indeed make me happy. Pauline. This morning she received Mr. Ledoux very coldly; and now she repents her imprudence. Corsignac. I understand you, in a few minutes he will be at her feet. [Exit Agathe. His vivacity is charming-but how could you send him after Mr. Ledoux? Pauline. Shall I call him back? Agathe. I do not mean that; but let me know what is your opinion about this Mr. Corsignac. Pauline. My opinion-hush! here is Louise. (Enter LOUISE) Pauline. I will be as plain with you, my dear Louise, as I have been with my sister; you may without apprehension of hurting my feelings, marry Sainville; I think no more of him. Agathe. Nor I either; we resign the conquest; for it is just you should not be disappointed of the husband your father meant to give you. Farewell, I must talk a little in private with my sister. Louise (alone). They yield Sainville to me, have they discovered more of his disposition than Ursule has revealed to me. Always gallant with the ladies, she said; yet he appears so sincere, so open, perhaps I should be able to change him. Should I love, or should I avoid him? -Shall I act a coquette's part?--Yes-I must follow Ursule's advice. O heav'ns! he is coming towards me, and she has forsaken me. I must try to escape him. (Enter SAINVILLE) Sainville. Do I intrude upon your time, madam ? you seem desirous of shunning me, the reception On Wednesday, July 1, Mr. Young made his appearance in the character of Don Felix, in The Wonder. He does not appear to have that ease and versatility of countenance, or that vivacity of feeling and variety of expression, which are necessary to a comic actor. His features are stern and unpliable, and his general manner solemn and harsh. Nothing can be more foreign from merriment than his attempt at mirth: his gaiety is too apparently effort, and what humour he brings forth is spoiled by the constraint and labour of its production. To succeed in comedy a man must have a peculiar temperament which no education can give. All the excellencies of the tragic actor may be taught; the comedian's are the gift of nature alone. We can pronounce, therefore, that Mr. Young will never become celebrated as a comic actor. The general fault of his performance in this character was, that he was boisterous and declatragic cast, and more suited the ravings of an matory; that his jealousy was too much of a Othello, or the phlegmatic acrimonious jealousy of a Kitely, than to the busy, bustling, sanguine temperament of Don Felix. Altogether, his performance was that of a man of good sense, who was unequal to the character for no other reason form it. than because nature never intended him to per Mrs. Litchfield's Violante was admirable. Her clear, mellow, and harmonious enunciation was excellently fitted for the character. She was at once dignified and tender; she rallied and re. humour was without constraint, and her dignity buked her lover with equal ease and nature. Her without severity. In a word, we know no actress who approaches her in this character but Mrs. Jordan, to whom the comic muse has justly yielded the palm. Mr. YOUNG's STRANGER. On Friday, July 3, Mr. Young appeared in the character of the Stranger, and we can say, with justice, that whatever reason we had to condemn him in the char cter of Felir, we feel no inclination but to applaud him, almost without reserve or moderation, in the performance of this difficult part That solemnity and severeness of style which rendered his comedy ineffective and disagree. bl, adapted him in a more peculiar manner to the part of the Stranger. His sorrow was truly dignified and simple, his misanthropy was majestic, and the whole of his representation was suited to the tone of feeling of the Stranger; it was a warm heart, ke niy sonsible of injury; a 'oating husband, with a distempered sensibility of honour; a friend more credulous thin prudent; in a word, a man of extensive philanthropy, whose powers of mind, and high wrought delicacy of feeling, served rather to attract misfortune,-to accumulate and fasten it upon him, than to lighten it by a worldly philosophy, and an obvious yielding to the streamn. All the features of this varied character, the more subtile distinctions, and nicer traits, were inost admirably caught and embodied by Mr. Young in his performance on the above night. His judgment was conspicuous in what may be called the grand style of acting,-in sinking subordinate parts; in other words, in subduing them to the general ease and simplicity of nature, and bringing forward and rendering promi nent those parts alone, to which strength and effect belong. His taste was excrcise in a just and forcible selection of beauties, as well in the delivery of the dialogue and tone and feeling of the character, as in the choice of attitude and general manner of personation: we can say no more. His correctness never made him languid or mechanical; his warmth was natural feeling. rising by due degrees to its proper height. In the se ne which he relates his misfortunes to Baron Steinfurt. he as not surpassed by Kemble; and in the reconiation with his wife, Kemble alone has excelled him. Mr Litchfield's Mrs Haller is inferior only to Mr. Siddons. On Thursday night, July 16, was produced at this theatre a new melo drama, called The Fortress It is from the pen of Mr. T. Hook, the author of Tekeli, and is a free translation from the French. The name of the French piece is Les I'venements d'un Jour The following are the principal DRAMATIS PERSONE. Mr. Hook, jun. is a young man of much talent; and it is to be lamented that he confines himself to translating, and the importation of what is perhaps not very well worth the freight -The chief merit of this Piece, however, is the Music which accompanies it. The excellence of Mr. Hook, the composer, is not fully understood He is truly a master; his music has a distinct character of its own. It has the sweetness, the plaintiveness, and simplicity of the Scotch melody, without its weakness and monotony.-It thus produces a pleasing and gradually increasing impression, when listened to with attention. It is strictly the music which is suited to Silvan scenery; to Gondolas gliding through the waters on a summer's evening-to any thing that is tranquil, placid, and Arcadian. He neither excels in gaiety or greatness; his music has too much sentiment for the one, and too much regularity for the other. In the pastoral kind of music (we mean the Italian pastoral) where simplicity does not preclude elegance, nor nature science, Mr Hook is not only the first master of his time, but we believe, without exception that he is perfectly at the head of this species. There is one song in this piece peculiarly in this master's best manner. The words, we believe, were "The village in which I was born.” From some accident, however, the whole effect of this song was spoilt by a most barbarous inelegance-a strain of peculiar sweetness was terminated by a full burthen, or symphony, or whatever they call it, of Tol, lol, de, rol, iol; and which Mr. Taylor, to mend the matter, gave with infinite fun. Surely this should be omitted, as the song alluded to is the sweetest in the whole piece. To conclude, this Melo-Drama was received with great applause, and must prove extremely popular. |