The Charles of this night (May 13,) went through his part with all the energy and truth, that have ever diftinguished 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.
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'Keefe, (See the preceding pages of this Review) evince beyond a doubt, that our old dramatists, such as they are, have 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.
There have been two Masquerades-one at Ranelagh, on the last day of April, and another at the Opera House, on Monday May 21. Neither of them were diftinguished by good taste, or good company.
The Camp Elysées of the metropolis, commenced on Thursday the 24th inftant, in its accustomed career of elegance.
The AMPHITHEATRE, SADLER'S WELLS, 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.
A MARTIAL ODE, FOR THE YEAR 1798.
BY GEORGE WALKER.
ARK! hark! I hear in loud acclaim,
Ten thousand shouts, ten thousand cries,
That shake the earth and tear the skies-
And war, terrific war, proclaim!
Britannia rous'd, the trumpet takes;
Her fons, 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 fons, no more repreft
By paltry doubts, shall feel the blaze
That genial burns in freedom's breaft,
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 founding furges are her zone:
On adamantine rocks she stands,
Enshrouding tempests wreathe her head;
Eternal ocean laves her strands,
Bestrew'd with many an hero dead:
VOL. IV
Shall Britain, then, the yoke receive?
Shall Britain own a congu'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 meridian height,
Shall feel the deep convulsive jar,
And fet in never-ending night.
No more the nations own her name,
Nor independence feeks her shore;
But, loft 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,
Shall vanish; - and her healthful swains
The wide destruction share!
No more fhall British beauty shine,
The boast of freedom, and of worth;
For then, Britannia, shall be thine
The lawless flame of abject birth,
The fin of elder days, the scorn and scourge of earth t
Arife, then Britons, greatly rife,
The vaunts of Gallia's fons despise:
Arife! and firm together stand
Embattled on the briny fand:
Or, c'er the billow'd ocean ride,
And in loud thunder check her pride.
From every rock, from every cave,
Refound the clamour of the brave!
From every cliff, from every steep,
Pour streams of lightning o'er the deep!
Nor let the British flag be furl'd,
Before the hosts of half the world:
Heroic courage scorns to fly,
Tho' certain death were hov'ring by.
And what the death with fuch applause,
As in our own and country's cause?
DEFENSIVE WAR, ev'n heaven will bless,
And crown each effort with fuccess.
Hark! hark, the brazen trumpets found.
Arife! ye patriot warriors round;
Arite! Arife! Arife!
The thrilling, thrilling clangor,
In founds of kindling anger,
Rends and tears,
Tears and rends,
Rends and tears the skies.
The deeply thund'ring drum,
And shrilly-founding fife,
Bid ev'ry warrior come,
To join the mortal strife.
While hearts and tongues their notes prolong,
In swelling chorus loud and strong-
"BRITONS UNITED, LONG SHALL RULE THE WAVES!
BRITONS UNITED, NEVER SHALL BE SLAVES!"
TO S. W. AT HERTFORD.
ELIEVE me, S. tho' far-off I roam
Thro' woods, or pace the flow'ry banks along,
The while attentive to the milk-maid's fong,
Yet I do think of thy most friendly home,
Where we were happy all the live-long day,
And gaily wander'd, or at eve or morn
Thro' vale sequester'd, or o'er verdant lawn,
And mark'd the abbey haft'ning to decay:
Or when appear'd the ebon fhades of night,
We fat, and hearken'd to the howling blast,
Or rain-drops beating 'gainst the cafement fast,
And bless'd our hapy lot.-Then calm delight
Fill'd my young bofom:-all was peace and rest!
Sweet scenes of innocence, fupremely blest!
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
AIN would I check thy frequent fighs;
With soothing arts those woes beguilę-
That cloud the lustre of thine eyes,
And drive away each sportive smile;
With kindred pangs I view thee faint
Beneath the iron rod of Fate,
And hear each unavailing plaint,
Extorted by thy hapless state.
As youthful hope, with raptur'd eye,
Explor'd the hidden tracks of Time,
Thou thought'st thy future years would fly,
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 :
Oft didst thou on those moments think,
When Care no more with rude alarms
Should haunt thy breast, but thou shouldst sink
To peace within a fair one's arms;
And haply know what pow'r refides
In chaste Affection's melting glance;
(As to the heart it gently glides,
It can the raptur'd foul entrance.-
Yes! modest beauty's potent spell,
Can grief's corroding pangs assuage,
Her voice with magic notes can quell
The fury of resistless rage.)
But now is fled each past delight, Once felt, when mimic Fancy drew 'ufian scenes, that rose to fight lovely forms, and vivid hue.
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