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part with great spirit, and even bold in male disguise. The audience were much pleased with her exertions, and she was honoured with repeated tokens of approbation,
SEPTEMBER 17. This theatre commenced its ca. reer this evening with the Castle Spectre and the Prize, Miss Biggs, Miss DE CAMP, Mrs. Walcot, MR. BANNISTER, Mr. C. KEMBLE, MR. PALMER, &c. were greeted with reiterated plaudits. The interior of the house remains much the same ; for taste and genius have already exhausted themselves in the decorations by which it has been embellished on a former occasion. The fronts of the boxes, indeed, have been burnished into their native brightness; and the entire coup d'ail has a grand effect.
We shall now have to record, in this, our Dramatic Register, the novelties of these two great theatres du. ring the ensuing winter. Even the ghosts and apparitions which may be introduced in grissly array, shall not affright us; we shall at least attempt to grasp the phantoms, and present them, with their pallid charms, to the eye of gaping curiosity.
PROGRESS OF LIBERTY.
Aurea Libertas, canimus tua dona, Britanni!
HAT time in glitt'ing armour drest,
The Roman wav'd his plumy crest,
And, rushing to the glorious war,
Britannia drove her fcythed car;
The goddess freedom took her stand,
Triumphant on this rocky strand.
In vain the British breast is gor’d;
Again they bleed, again they die;
Urg'd by the love of liberty,
Unconquer'd still they wield the sword.
At length the regions of the north
Pour'd a refiitless deluge forth;
Rome bows -- the falls, and Britain free
Spurns the base yoke of llavery:
O'er all the land the light of freedom Thone,
And independance grac'd her sacred throne.
At Hengift's sable arms dismay'd,
Away the trembling goddess filed,
On Cambria's rocks the fix'd her reign,
And gloried in her bleak domain;
Yet still her sons for glory burn,
Her heroes bleed, her widows mourn.
Pale mis’ry call’d the aid of death,
Fell Naughter laakes her fun’ral brand,
The tyrant wastes the groaning land,
And carnage dyes the crimson'd heath.
Far from the rage of scepter'd pow'r,
Where Snowdon's rocky summits low'r,
Thou, goddess, bads thy flame still glow,
Encircled with eternal snow;
O’er the rude coaft thy awful glories shine,
And great Plinlimmon hails thy reign divine 1
Long, in vain, the tyrant tried
To scale the shaggy mountain's fide:
Hark! 'tis the din of battle loud,
That sounds o'er Conway's distant flood;
Fearless, ʼmidst an host of foes,
Breast to breast thy chiefs oppose.
the shout of victory?
Rushing from yon airy height
They drive the saves in headlong Alight
They fall, they bleed, they die.
Red ran the stream, and warriors fain,
With carnage heap'd the purple plain;
The free-born Cambrian, 'midst the clash of arms,
Nods his terrific crest and smiles at war's alarms.
Beneath the Norman's tyrant pow'r
Britannia funk in evil hour.
Where is thy patriot-spirit fled?
Fall’n is the consecrated * head;
On Hastings' plain, in glorious itrife,
The monarch lost his sacred life;
Besmeard with blood a corse he lay,
Long time for him did Britain mourn,
Her heroes bleed, her cities burn,
Her harvests fall-to force a prey.
Ah! loft is all that wonted fire,
That whilom did your breasts inspire ;
Beneath the firaw-built roof, unstrung,
Each Briton's useless bow is hung,
Whilst proud oppression calls her vengeful band,
And rules with iron fway the wasted land.
At length in thining arms array'd,
Again they call thy pow'rful aid
The lion rears his tawny breathe
Fierce rifing from the bed of rett;
He roars, he spurns the servile chain,
And vindicates his just domain.
With angry blows his sides resound,
His eye-balls glare, his fury glows ;
Eager to meet his tyrant foes,
With rage inflam'd he tears the ground:
With breathless hatte before him fly
The trembling train of tyranny.
Thou, goddess, to the brave a friend,
Come, from thy cloud-capt hills descend;
O'er the bleft ifle diffuse thy genial ray,
Let Britain sinile beneath returning day.
Thou can'ft waķe the warlike soul,
Shiv'ring near th' inclement pole,
Or, scorch'd beneath the torrid rays,
Where beams the sun's meridian blaze.
Long on Snowdon's haughty brow,
Frowning o'er the wave below,
Fair freedom took her armed stand:
Ifsuing to the fertile plain,
That willing own'd her gentle reign,
She frees her fav'rite land.
At Runemede, in gorgeous state,
Her daring sons the goddess met; Rous'd by the hopes her chearing smiles inspire, Each British busom flames with more than mortal fire.
Encircled by his Barons bold,
Where shone the tent with waving gold,
The tyrant king, no longer free,
The charter signs of liberty.
The trumpet swells it's brazen throat,
And fame straight caught the lofty note.
Freed from a monarch's angry nod,
Britannia then her bondage broke,
With scorn lhe spurns the galling yoke,
No more she dreads th’ oppressor's rod.
O’er ev'ry hill and vale around,
Th’exulting strains of joy resound,
Whilst shaking high the glitt'ring lance,
Dauntless the leads the Pyrrhic dance;
Now rang the echoing woods with loud applausen
Whilft Britain gives her haughty fov'reign laws. ,
O'er Albion's unpolluted groves,
The silver-plumeri goddess roves;
The first and faireit of the train,
Science adorn’d her peaceful reign,
The lofty nymph, to whom belong
The golden lyre, th’immortal fong.
Oft were her midnight footsteps seen,
By heav'nly contemplation led,
Slow wand’ring o'er the dewy mead,
Where, winding thro' the daisied green,
Avon's smooth stream in chrystal pride,
Reflects each flow'ret by its lide;
Oft watching in the starry sphere,
The motions of the various year:
From Pindar's groves she calls the tuneful pine,
And Britain's Thore receives the train divine,