part with great spirit, and even bold in male difguife. The audience were much pleased with her exertions, and she was honoured with repeated tokens of approbation.

DRURY-LANE.

SEPTEMBER 17. This theatre commenced its career this evening with the Castle Spe&re 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 fame; for tafte and genius have already exhaufted themselves in the decorations by which it has been embellished on a former occafion. The fronts of the boxes, indeed, have been burnished into their native brightnefs; and the entire coup d'œil has a grand effect.

We fhall now have to record, in this, our Dramatic Regifter, the novelties of thefe two great theatres du. ring the enfuing winter. Even the ghosts and apparitions which may be introduced in grifsly array, fhall not affright us; we fhall at least attempt to grafp the phantoms, and prefent them, with their pallid charms, to the eye of gaping curiofity.

THE

PARNASSIAN GARLAND,

FOR SEPTEMBER, 1799.

THE

PROGRESS OF LIBERTY.

AN ODE.

Aurea Libertas, canimus tua dona, Britanni!

WH

I. 1.

HAT time in glitt'ing armour dreft,
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 ftrand.

In vain the British breaft 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 refiftlefs deluge forth;

Rome bows -the falls, and Britain free

Spurns the base yoke of flavery:

O'er all the land the light of freedom fhone,
And independance grac'd her facred throne.

On Cambria's rocks fhe fix'd her reign,
And gloried in her bleak domain;
Yet still her fons for glory burn,
Her heroes bleed, her widows mourn.
Pale mis'ry call'd the aid of death,
Fell flaughter shakes her fun'ral brand,
The tyrant waftes the groaning land,

And carnage dyes the crimfon'd heath.
Far from the rage of fcepter'd pow'r,
Where Snowdon's rocky fummits low'r,
Thou, goddess, badft thy flame still glow,
Encircled with eternal fnow;

O'er the rude coaft thy awful glories fhine,
And great Plinlimmon hails thy reign divine!

I. 3.

Long, in vain, the tyrant tried

To scale the fhaggy mountain's fide:
Hark! 'tis the din of battle loud,
That founds o'er Conway's distant flood;
Fearless, 'midft an hoft of foes,

Breaft to breaft thy chiefs oppofe.

Heard ye the fhout of victory?

Rufhing from yon airy height

They drive the flaves in headlong flight-
They fall, they bleed, they die.

Red ran the ftream, and warriors fláin,
With carnage heap'd the purple plain;

The free-born Cambrian, 'midft the clash of arms,
Nods his terrific creft and fmiles at war's alarms.

II. I.

Beneath the Norman's tyrant pow'r

Britannia funk in evil hour.

Where is thy patriot-spirit fled?
Fall'n is the confecrated* head;
On Haftings' plain, in glorious ftrife,
The monarch loft his facred life;

* Harold.

Besmear'd with blood a corse he lay, Long time for him did Britain mourn, Her heroes bleed, her cities burn,

Her harvefts fall-to force a prey. Ah! loft is all that wonted fire, That whilom did your breafts infpire; Beneath the ftraw-built roof, unftrung, Each Briton's useless bow is hung, Whilft proud oppreffion calls her vengeful band, And rules with iron fway the wafted land.

II. 2.

At length in fhining arms array'd,
Again they call thy pow'rful aid;
The lion rears his tawny breast,
Fierce rifing from the bed of reft;
He roars, he fpurns the fervile chain,
And vindicates his juft domain.

With angry blows his fides refound,
His eye-balls glare, his fury glows;
Eager to meet his tyrant foes,

With rage inflam'd he tears the ground: With breathless hafte 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 finile beneath returning day.

II. 3.

Thou can't wake the warlike foul,
Shiv'ring near th' inclement pole,
Or, fcorch'd beneath the torrid rays,
Where beams the fun's meridian blaze.
Long on Snowdon's haughty brow,
Frowning o'er the wave below,

Fair freedom took her armed ftand:
Iffuing to the fertile plain,

That willing own'd her gentle reign,
She frees her fav'rite land.

At Runemede, in gorgeous ftate,

Her daring fons the goddess met;

Rous'd by the hopes her chearing fmiles inspire,
Each British bofom flames with more than mortal fire.

III. I.

Encircled by his Barons bold,
Where fhone the tent with waving gold,

The tyrant king, no longer free,

The charter figns of liberty.

The trumpet fwells it's brazen throat,
And fame ftraight caught the lofty note.
Freed from a monarch's angry nod,
Britannia then her bondage broke,
With fcorn fhe spurns the galling yoke,
No more fhe dreads th' oppreffor's rod.
O'er ev'ry hill and vale around,
Th' exulting ftrains of joy resound,
Whilft fhaking high the glitt'ring lance,
Dauntless the leads the Pyrrhic dance;

Now rang the echoing woods with loud applaufe,
Whilft Britain gives her haughty fov'reign laws..

III. 2.

O'er Albion's unpolluted groves,
The filver-plumen goddess roves;
The first and fairest 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 feen,
By heav'nly contemplation led,
Slow wand'ring o'er the dewy mead,
Where, winding thro' the daified green,
Avon's smooth stream in chrystal pride,
Reflects each flow'ret by its fide;
Oft watching in the starry sphere,
The motions of the various year:

From Pindar's groves fhe calls the tuneful nine,
And Britain's fhore receives the train divine.