vale,

THE FAREWEL.

AH! tell me, can Frederick prove a deceiver, And break all the vows he so often has sworn?

Ah! say, can he look at his Laura, and leave her,

The girl that he doats on, and leave her to mourn?

shore,

Bat their white bosoms heav'd with the soft

sigh in vain;

Fair Ellen alone did their William adore,

And Ellen had own'd that she lov'd him again.

Wing'd with rapture, too swiftly the moments fled o'er,

While his fair one each vow of true love would return;

But too soon did his heart beat with rapture no more,

His Ellen was perjur'd, and left him to

mourn.

By riches allur'd, on another the maid,

fore her?

My country demands me, her call I obey: 'Tis glory that summons, and trust me, my Laura,

'Tis that, and that only, should force me

away.

O Frederick, I see thee by dangers surrounded, Still panting for glory, still braving the foe; I see thee, O horror! pale, senseless, and wounded,

Thy hopes and thy valour for ever laid low. Why shouldst thou, dear girl, thus anticipate sorrow?

The ills we can't shun, we'll with fortitude meet;

roar,

Perhaps bring iny laurels to lay at thy feet. O! perish the laurels such dangers must gather, Besprinkled with blood, with the blood of

the brave!

Round the brows of ambition, ah! soon may they wither,

And droop their fall'n leaves o'er the wideopening grave!

But hark! the drum beats, and my brave comrades call me, [adieu; My heart's best belov'd, my sweet Laura,

But a blank stone best stories thee, Whom Sense, nor Wealth, nor Fame could find:

Poorer than aught beside we sce;

A human form without a mind.
A casket gemless-vet for thee
Pity suspends the tender wail;
For Re son shall a moral sete,

While Mem'ry paints thy simple tale.
Yes, it shall paint thy humble form,
Clad decent in its lowly weed,
Happ, in harmless wandering's charm,
And pleased thy father's flock to feed.
With vacant reckless smile she bore,
Patient, the scorner's cruel jest;
With u fix'd gaze could pass it o'er,
And turn it pointless from her breast.
Her tongue, unable to display

The unform'd chaos of her mind!
No sense its rude sounds could convey,
But to parental instinct kind.
Yet, close to every human form

Clings Imitation's mimic power,
And she was fond and proud to own
The school time's regulated hour.
And o'er the mutilated page

Mutter'd the seeming lesson's tone;
And ere the scholar's task was said,
Brought ever and anon her own.
And many a truant boy would seek,

And drag reluctant to his place;
And even the master's solemn rule
Would mock with grave and apt grimace.
Each heart humane could freely love

A nature so estrang'd from wrong;
And even infants would protect

Her from the passing traveller's tongue!

But her prime joy was still to be

Where holy congregations bow; Rapt in wild transports when they sung, And when they pray'd, would bend her low,

O Nature! wheresoe'er thou art,

Some latent worship still is there! Blush! ye whose form, without a heart, The Idiot's plea can never share! Poor guileless thing! just eighteen years, Parental cares had rear'd alone; Then (lest thou e'er shouldst want those cares) Heaven took thee spotless to its own.

Full many a watching eye of love

Thy sickness and thy death did cheer; And Reason, while she joys, approves The instinct of a parent's tear.

Poor guileless thing! forgot by men,

The heaving turf directs to thee; "Tis all thou art," to mortal ken,

But Faith beyond the grave can sce.

For what a burst of mind shall glow,
When, discucumbered from this clod,
Thou, who ou earth couldst nothing know,
Shalt risc to comprehend thy God!

Oh could thy spirit teach us now,

Full many a truth the gay might learn; The value of a blameless life,

Full many a scorner might discern.

Yes they might learn, who waste their time,
What it must be to know no sin;
They who pollute the soul's sweet prime,
What, to be spotless pure within.

Go! then, and seek her humble grave,
All ye who sport in Folly's ray,
Aud as the gale the grass shall wav e,

List to a voice that seems to say,

"Tis not the measure of your powers,

"To which the eternal meed is given; "Tis wasted or improved hours "Which forfeit or secure your heaven!”

LOVE.

LOVE still commands my life and purse, For life with love is worth possessing; Yet let me never have a curse

Of that, intended for a blessing. If faithless Chloe should deceive,

Am I to suffer death or anguish ? No, gentle Ladies-by your leave, I wish to love and not to languish.

PRESTO.

A RECIPE TO CURE LOVE.
THE one end of a rope fasten over a beam,
And make a slip noose at the other extreme;
Then just underneath let a joint stool be set,
On which let the lover most manfully get.

Then over his head let the halter be got,
And under the car be well settled the knot,
Next the stool kick'd away, let him take a good

swing,

And leave all the rest--to the care of the string! PROBATUM EST.

KING'S THEATRE, HAYMARKET.

AMELO-DRAMATIC Opera, in three acts, from the pen of Mr. Reynolds, was on Thursday, November 10th, produced, under the title of The Exile. The story of this piece has becu borrowed from Madame Cottin's "Elizabeth, ou les Exilés de Siberie," a Novel, which, though extremely successful, has not obtained a greater popularity than the Drama of Mr. Reynolds is likely to acquire.

SKETCH OF THE FABLE.

Count Ulrick, a nobleman of distinction, after acquiring great reputation in the Russian army, is nevertheless banished to Siberia, through the base influence of Prince Lowens ern over the Empress Catherine. He is thither fol lowed by Sedona, his wife, and his daughter Alexina. Romanoff, the nephew of the Governor of Tobolskow, frequently visiting the wretched family at their retreat in the neigh bourhood, a mutual attachment takes place between him and Alexina, which his uncle suspecting, in order to prevent his future visits, and to compel him to marry the niece of Prince Lowenstern, banishes him beyond the frontiers, 'and endeavours to force Alexina into a marriage with Welzien. Romanoff assumes the name of Daren, goes to St. Petersburgh, and, in the disguise of an Indian, gets into the service of Baron Alltradoff, a nephew of Prince Lowenstern, a pert, vain coxcomb, and in that capacity ac companies him to Tobolskow, whither the Baron is journeying to claim the hand of Cacha rine, the Governor's niece, whose afrections he in vain attempts to win by his skill in music and dancing, her heart being already devoted to Count Culmor, by whom she is beloved with equal ardour. Romanoff, aware of the ruin preparing for Count Ulrick, to conceal his benevolent designs, assumes a ferocious aspect, and expresses a deadly hate to the exile and his family, by which means he completely blinds the Governor as to his intentions, and jointly with Welzien, (the enraged and rejected suitor of Alexina,) is entrusted with the execution of the Empress's orders; in pursuance of which, Ulrick is dragged from his retreat, and imprisoned in Tobolskow, and they are sent in parsuit of Alexina, who has set out, accompanied by Yermack (a faithful domestic), on the desperate undertaking of travelling to St. Petersburgh to solicit ber father's pardon. In this undertaking he completely frustrates the vindictive designs of Welzien, and Alexina

reaches the neighbourhood of Moscow in safe ty. The rejoicings of the inhabitants of that city announce the grateful tidings of the acression of Elizabeth to the throne of Russia, aud of her approaching coronation. alexina hosteus thither, rushes i to the presence of her new Sovereign, and, notwithstanding the influence of the Patriarch (a near relation of Prince Lowerste n she procures through the means of the disguised Itomanoff, the pardon she solicited, and immediately departs for Siberia, without waiting for the deed of pardon to be completed, by which means she is again subjected to all the bitterness of sorrow; and, in order to save herself and family from acdiate destruction, she is compelled to marry the supposed Daran. The Governor at length receives the royal mandate from his Court for the liberation of Count Ulrick, and by it he becomes acquainted with the villainy and disgrace of Prince Lowenstern, which reconciles him to the union of his daughter with Count Calmar, to whose protection she had fled, after escaping from her uncle's house by the ingenuity of Serv iz Romanoff, not Daran, claims Aitana for his bride, and the exile is restored to his former honours

This play is costi ucted in a manner which, for the most part, differs very widely from that of Mr Reynolds's former productions, in the pantomimic sort of incide t, which, however lisagreeable to the squeamish critics of the old class, is evertbess the most entertaining. To such p am people as go into a theatre merely for amusement, Mr. Reynolds is certainly a writer of powerful talent: he was the founder of the mourn school; and, since the appeara ce of his Dramatist, which was the urst play of the bustling kind, has had many imitaters, though few rivals. The wretched attempts of some among his followers, who copied his boldacss without catching his talent, brought this kind of writing into very general disrepute; and, as perpetually happeus m literature as well as politics, the public began at last to believe the declaimers who argued against good from the abuse of it. Mr. Reynolds, who, anrong his other merits, possesses in a singular degree the happy power of discovering the public taste, and of adjusting himself by it as by a glass, has perceived this turu in the popular tide, aŭd now comes forward to avail himself of his discernment. Accordingly, he his almost totally altered his syle; instead of broad merriment, he has Hh2

given us a serious play, regularly, simply, and interestingly constructed; supported by elegant and frequently poetical dialogue, and occasionally varied by comic passages, which relieve, without distracting, our attention. In short, The Exile is a piece containing excellencies so striking, and so various, that we think Mr. Reynolds will rather rejoice than repine at the virulent attacks of false critics, who, by their noise, if not by their sense, have forced him from his accustomed course: since they have given him an opportunity of shewing the public, how much talent he possesses for a species of writing in which he has never before taken the trouble of displaying himself.

Mr. Young made his first appearance on this stage in the character of Daran. He was received with tumults of applause, and sustained the important part with which he was entrusted in an undeviating style of manly firm

ness.

Mr.

Mrs. H. Johnston was unusually successful in Alexina. Her attitudes and her beauty first made an impression in her favour, and that impression was strengthened by the feeling with which she delivered a great part of the dialogue. Her only fault was an occasional extravagance in action and utterance. Fawcett's performance of Servitz deserves that unqualified praise, which it is so often the business and the pleasure of candid critics to bestow on the performances of that admirable Comedian. The rest of the performers exerted themselves with great effect: Mrs. Dickons and Mr. Incledon sang most impressively, and were encored in several songs: Mr. Mazzinghi's music was very appropriate, particularly that part of it which was merely pantomimic; the scenery was new and beautiful; the processions were tasteful and splendid; and the curtain dropped, literally, amidst the universal applauses of an overflowing audience.

DRURY-LANE.

ON Thursday, November 10th, was produced, for the first time, a Drama with music, intituled, “The Siege of St. Quintin; or, Spanish Heroism.”

THE FABLE

pected sight of his father, is confined beneath the stage in a cage of iron, over which his wife and son are immured. The son contrives to steal the key, and liberates his father; and whilst De Courcy and his soldiers descend into the iron repository in search of Egmont, the key is turned, and by a little legerdemain, the captives become free, and the guards become prisoners-Egmont succeeds in passing the centinels; but his wife, sou, and Rosa de Valmont, their attendant, are detained; and at the instant that the latter is about to suffer death for having deceived De Courcy, and attempted to effect the emancipation of his prisoners, her rescue is accomplished, and De Courcy overthrown, by a party of English soldiers, who, by a ruse de guerre, have obtained admission to the fortress, under the auspices of Sir Leinster Kildare, a gallant Irishman, and an old inamorato of Rosa's; with whose nuptials, and the re-union of Egmont with Adriana, the piece happily concludes.

This piece has been gotten up for the occasion by a young writer of very considerable talents, Mr. Hook, jun. It is an immediate address to the prevailing public sympathy in the cause of Spain. It has been constructed ad captandum, and the means have not failen short of the proposed end.

This piece combined all the various attrac tions of the opera, the pantomime, and the melo-drama. It had men employed to march as well as to sing; and women for dumb shew as well as for action.

In the dialogue of the serious parts of this play, there was now and then a touch of fustian; but it was an error, we believe, not so much upon the side of false taste, as a wilful mistake of convenience-When a writer warbles out melodies of national eulogy, and strains his throat for patriotic clap-traps, it is not easy to avoid falling into something of extravagance and bombast-But, according to the good humoured rule, which the Epicureans, or the disciples of the fleeting hour of the Theatre as well as of the world, have a right to sin under, viz. Necessitas quod cogit defendit; has his plea in his pocket. according to that maxim, we say, Hook, jun.

Mr. Hook, sen. contributed some excellent music to the support of his son's piece. The Managers were not niggardly in their expences, and the public applauded the whole performance to the skies.

Two pupils of Mr. Corri's were introduced to sing in this piece, who reflect infinite credit upon their instructor, and gave universal satisfaction.