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The Charles of this night (May 13,) went through his part with all the energy and truth, that have ever distinguished his exertions. He was received with the most heart-felt gratulations by an audience who did not expect any apology for fuch acting, though he thought fit to deliver one at the conclufion of the play.
COVENT GARDEN. April 30th. The last day of the month was concluded by
THE ECCENTRIC LOVER, a new comedy, from the pen of Mr. Cumberland – This production, together with that of O'Keeft, (See the preceding pages of this Review) evince beyond a doubt, that our old dramatists, such as they are, hare now done with their day and generation. It would be a waste of time, short as is the drama of this month, to enter into the least species of critique on the merits of the Eccentric Lover.
MASQUERADES. There have been two Masquerades—one at Ranelagha on the last day of April, and another at the Opera House, on Monday May 21. Neither of them were distinguished by good taste, or good company.
VAUXHALL. The Camp Elysées of the metropolis, commenced on Thursday the 24th inftant, in its accustomed career of elegance.
The AMPHITHEATRE, SADLER's W'ELLS, and The Circus, are at this time in very high estimation. Two of these favourite places of entertainment have availed themselves of the “Escape of Sir Sidney Smith," in order to gratify the generous feelings of the Public and with honour and advantage to themselves.
FOR MAY, 1798.
A MARTIAL ODE, FOR THE YEAR 1798.
BY GEORGE WALKER.
ARK! hark! I hear in loud acclaim,
Ten thousand shouts, ten thousand cries,
And war, terrific war, proclaim !
Her sons, exulting, catch the found,
The brazen notes re-echo round, And war! war! war! each rock and mountain shakes, Mourn then, Britannia, mourn no more,
Hibernia shall forget her wrong, Shall crowd upon her sea-beat shore,
A bold, undaunted, warlike throng. Brave Caledonia, too, shall haste,
From deepest glen to meet the foe; Shall march, embattled, o'er the waste,
And lay their tarnish'd laurels low. And Albion's sons, no more represt
By paltry doubts, shall feel the blaze That genial burns in freedom's breas,
And round the heart of valour plays. Then France shall dearly learn to feel,
That independent and alone, Britannia's garments are of steel,
And sounding surges are her zone:
Enshrouding tempefts wreathe her head;
Shall Britain, then, the yoke receive?
Shall Britain own a conqu’ror's power? Her children's children doom'd to grieve
The torpid langour of an hour !
Should Gallia triumph, Britain's star,
Which shines in full nieridian height, Shall feel the deep convulsive jar,
And set in never-ending night. No more the nations own her name,
Nor independence seeks her shore; But, lost to empire, and to fame,
She rules the rebel waves no more. Her fertile fields no longer bloom,
Beneath a foreign tyrant's sway; But o'er the land unvarying gloom
Marks the gaunt progress of decay.
Her blooming gardens, happy plains,
That teem with many a fleecy care,
The wide deítruction snare!
The boast of freedom, and of worth;
The lawless fiame of abject birth, The sin of elder days, the scorn and scourge of earth
Arise, then Britons, greatly rise,
And what the death with such applause,
Hark! hark, the brazen trumpets sound.
Ariel Arise! Arise!
Rends and tears,
Rends and tears the skics.
And Ihrilly-sounding fife,
To join the mortal strife,
TO S. W. AT HERTFORD.
ELIEVE me, S. tho' far-off I roam
Thro’ woods, or pace the flow'ry banks along,
And gaily wander'd, or at eve or morn
Thro' vale sequetter'd, or o'er verdant lawn,
We sat, and hearken’d to the howling blast,
Or rain-drops beating 'gainst the casement fast, And bless'd our hapy lot.--Then calm delight Filld my young bosom:-all was peace and rest ! Sweet scenes of innocence, supremely bleft!
Lynn, 16th March, 1798.
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
TAIN would I check thy frequent fighs;
With soothing arts those woes beguile That cloud the luftre of thine eyes,
And drive away each sportive smile ; With kindred pangs I view thee faint
Beneath the iron rod of Fate,
Extorted by thy hapless itate.
Explor'd the hidden tracks of Time,
And fraught with happiness sublime. Then Love too beckon'd thee away
And promis'd more exalted joy, To brighten each auspicious day,
With pure delights that never cloy :
When Care no more with rude alarms
To peace within a fair one's arms;
In chaite Affection's melting glance ; (As to the heart it gently glides,
It can the raptur'd soul entrance. Yes! modest beauty's potent spell,
Çan grief's corroding pangs assuage,
The fury of refifless rage.)
Once felt, when mimic Fancy drev
Bovely forms, and vivid huç.