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MR KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS,
OH THING LEAVK OF THE BDIMBIIGH STAGE.
As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's Round,
Erects bis mane, and neighs, and paws the ground—
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,
And longs to rush on the embattled lines,
S« I, your plaudits ringiug on mine ear,
Can scarce susrai n to think our parting near;
To think my scenic hour for ever past,
And that those valued plaudits are my last.
Why should we pari, while still some powers remain,
That in your service strive not yet in vain?
Cannot high zeal the strength of vouth supply,
And sense of duly fire the fading eye?
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued
IWicath the burning glow of gratitude?
Ah no' the taper, wearing to its close,
<>fi for a space in fitful lustre glows;
Eut all too soon the transient gleam is past,
It ranum he renew d, ami will not List;
torn duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.
irt! It were poor, remembering what I was,
To like a pensioner on your applause,
Todr.iio 1 he dregs of your endurance dry.
And take, as alms the praise I once could buy,
Till every sneering youth around inquires,
« I* this the man who once could please our sires!»
And scorn assumes compassions doubtful mien,
Tn *nrn me off from the encumber'd scene.
This must not be;—and higher duties crave
Somr space between the theatre and the grave;
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,
I may adjust my mantle ere 1 fall:
Mr life's brief act in public service flown,
The last, the closing scene, must be my own.
Ih-re, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced parts Miy lix an ancient favourite in your hearts, Not quite to be forgotten, even wheii Tou look on better actors, younger men: And if your bosoms own (his kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget— »>. liow forget!—how oft I hither came In anxious hope, how oft relurn'd with fame! Hijw oft around your circle this weak baud Has waved immortal Shak*pea re's magic wand, I'll the full hurst of inspiration came, And I have felt, and yon have fann'd the flame! Uv memory treasured, while her reign endures, Those hours must live—aud all their charms-are yours.
0 favourd land ! renown d for arts and arms, for manly talent and for female charms, ■oulj this full bosom prompt the sinking line, "Ijat fervent benedictions now were thine! Hut my last part is play d, my knell is rung, wlieo e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue; And all tltat you can hear, or I cau tell, h—Friends and Patrons, hail, aud Fa Be You Well!
FPIIOGUE TO THE APPEAL,
SVOKEK BY MRS B. BIDDONS.
A Cat of yore (or else old jfcsop bed)
"as changed into a fair and blooming bride,
Hut spied a mouse upon her marriage day.
Forgot her spouse and seized upon her prey;
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw,
Threw off poor me and pounced upon papa.
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose,
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose.
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour,
Since the New Jail became our next door neighbour.1
Yes, times are changed, for in your fathers' age
But now astounding each poor mimic elf,
Ob, say not, my love, with that mortified air.
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair,
Though April his temples may wreathe with (he vine,
Its tendrils in infancy curl'd,
Whose life-blood enlivens the world.
Though thy form, that was fashion'd as light as a fay's. Has assumed a proportion more round.
And thy glance, tli.it was bright as a falcon's at gaze. Looks soberly now on the ground,—
Enough, after absence to meet me again,
Thv steps stdl with ecstasy move;
For me the kind language of love!
The glen is white with the drifted snow,
«No outlaw seeks your ensile gate,
Though even an outlaw's wretched slate
« A weary Palmer, worn and weak,
I wander for my sin;
A pilgrim's blessing win!
«I '11 give you pardons from the pope,
Or if for these you will not ope,
« The hare is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind;
No shelter can I find.
« You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,
And I must ford the Ettrick o'er,
wTlic iron gate is bolted hard.
At which I knock in vain;
Who hears mc thus complain.
« Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be, You never may the shelter want,
That's now denied to me.»
The ranger on his couch lay warm.
But oft, amid December's storm,
For lo, when through the vapours dank,
Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank,
The Palmer welter d there.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATII.
Tiikrk is a tradition in Twecddalc, that when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Karls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between n daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushiclaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption, and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, ou the road to Tushiclaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house iu Peebles, belonging to the family,
that she might see him a* he rode past. Hersmtrrr and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that dw i» said to have distinguished his horse's footstep* aiaaiacredible distance. But TushieUw, unprepared for t!«e change iu her appearance, and not expecting to see 1*; in that place, rode on without recognizing her, of ewn slackening his pace. The lady was unable to tapper? the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the armof her attendants. There is an iustance similar to ii; traditional talc in Couut Hamilton's Fteur dEpine.
0 Lovers' eyes are sharp to see.
And love, in life's extremity,
Disease had been in Mary's bower,
Though now she sits ou Neidpath's tower,
. To watch her love's returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
llcr form decay'd by pining, Till through her wasted hand, at night.
You saw the taper shining. By fits, a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying, By fits, so ashy pale she grew,
Her maidens thought ber dying.
Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Scem'd in her frame residing;
She heard her lovers riding;
Si"* knew, and waved to grot t him; And o'er llie battlement did bend,
As on the wing to meet him.
He came—he pass'd—an heedless gaze,
As o'er some stranger, glancing; Her welcome, spoke in faltering phnse.
Lost in his courser's prancing— The castle arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken. Could hardly catch the feeble moan,
Which told her heart *as broken.
Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Mu>ic to me were the wildest winds roaring,
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blythc was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.
But now shall thou tell, while I eagerly listen,
And, trust me, I 'II smile though my een they may
And oh, how we doubt when there 's distance 'tween lovers, When there's nac thing to speak to the heart thro' thece; How often the kindest, and warmest prove rovers, Aud the love of the faithfulest ebbs like the sea.
Till, at times—could I help it?—I pined and I ponder'd,
Now I 'U ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd,
Wrlcome, from sweeping o'er sea and, through channel,
Furnishing story for glory's bright Miih.ii,
Enough now thy story in annals of glory
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shall thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave ma,
1 never will part with my Willie again.
Waikn, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear;
Hounds arc in their couples yelling,
Hawks arc whistling, horns arc knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
« Waken, lords and ladies gay.»
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in tlie dawn arc steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Kow we come lo chaunt our lay,
• Waken, lords aud ladies gay.»
Waken, lords aud ladies gay,
Wc can show the marks he made,
Louder, louder chaunt the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, aud glee,
Rub a course as well as wc;
Time, stern huntsman 1 who can baulk.
Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk;
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.
The violet in her green-wood bower,
Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle,
May boast itself the fairest flower
Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dew-drops weight reclining,
I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue,
More sweet through watery lustre shining.
The summer sun that dew shall dry.
>'or longer in my false love's eye,
TO A LADY,
WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.
Take these flowers, which, purple waving,
On the mind rampart grew, Where, the sons of freedom braving,
Rome's imperial standards flew.
Warriors from the breach of danger
They hut yield the passing stranger
THE BARDS INCANTATION.
WRITTEN UNDER TUE THRFAT OF INVASION, IN THE AUTUMN OF I^o4
The Forest of Glenmore is drear,
It is all of black pine and the dark oak-tree;
Is whistling the forest lullaby:
There is a voice amoug the trees
That mingles with the groaning oakThai mingles with the stormy breeze, . And the lake-waves dashing against llut rock;There is a Toice within tiie wood,
The Toice of the Bard in fitful mood;
His song was louder than the blast,
As the Bard of Glenmone through the forest past.
« Wake ye from your sleep of death.
Minstrels and Bnrds of other days!
Aud the midn:ght meteors dimly bla!e!
« Souls of the mighty, wake and say,
To what high strain your harps were strung,
When Lochlin plough'd her billowy way,
Her Norsemen train'd lo spoil and blood,
Skill'd to prepare the raven's food,
All, by your harpings doomd to die
On bloody Largs and Loncarty.* «
« Mute are ye all: no murmurs strange
Nor through the pines with whistling change,
Mute are ye now?—Ye ne'er were mute.
When Murder with his bloody foot,
And Rapine with his iron liand.
Were hovering near yon mountain strand.
«Oyet awake the strain to tell,
By every deed in song enroll'd,
For Albion's weal in battle bold;—
»< By all their swords, by all (heir scars,
By all their names, a mighty spell!
Arise, the mighty strain lo tell!
The wind is hush'd, and still the lake—
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,
• When targets clnsh'd, and bugles rung,
And blades round warriors* heads were Hung,
The foremost of the band were we.
And hymu'd the joys of Liberty !»
IN IMITATION OP AN OLD INGUSH MEM.— Ie»0.
Mt wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;
Yet all was but a dream:
So it was quickly gone;
But coldly dwell alone.
Not maid more bright than maid was rer
My fancy shall beguile.
By gesture, look, or smile:
Till it has fairly flown,
I 'II rather freeze alone.
Each ambush'd'Cupid 1 II defy,
In cheek, or chin, or brow.
As weak as woman's vow:
That is but lightly vou .
And learn to live alone.
The flaunting torch soon bhxes out.
The diamond's ray abides,
The gem its lustre hide-;
Aud glow'd a diamond stone.
I II darkliug dwell alone.
No waking dream shall tinge my ihoojki
With dyes so bright and vain.
Shall tangle me again:
I 'II live upon miue own;
I '11 rather dwell alone.
And thus I 'II hush my heart to rest,—
• Thy loving labour's lost;
To be so strangely erost:
The phoenix is hut one;
I 'II rather dwell alone.»
This simple tablet marks a father's bier,
Still wouldst thou know why, o'er the marble spread,
Till waked to join the chorus of the just,
to! one brief line an answer s.id supplies, llouour'il. beloved, and inourn'd, here Seward lies! Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,— Go seek her genius in her liviug lay.
THE RETURN TO ULSTER.
0*ce again, but how changed since my wanderings
It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,
rilonia's old heroes awoke at the call,
And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall;
And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,
lake a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.1
It seem d that the harp of green Erin once more
O-uld rrnew all the glories she boasted of yore.—
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, slrouldst thou
But was she too a phantom, the maid who stood by,
Oh' would it had been so! Not then this poor heart
• ■• nrint Iri.li foetrj. Iho lUadard of lion, or Fiocsl. U rall^t «!'<■ Sum-hmrut ID rpitfaet feebly reodcrwl l<j Ibu Sun-bfitm 01 asacwlwnoa.
ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.
«0 Tell roe, harper, wherefore flow
Where none may list their melody?
Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?"
«No, not to these, for they have rest,—
Abode of lone security.
Gould screen from treach'rous cruelly.
« Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum,
hi guise of hospitality.
To lend her kindly housewifery.
«The hand that mingled iu the meal,
Meed for his hospitality!
Their red and fearful blazonry.
« Then woman's shriek was heard iu vain,
Nor infancy's unpitied plain,
More than the warrior's groan, could gain
llespite from ruthless butchery! The winter wind that whistled shrill. The snows that night tint choked the bill. Though wild and pitiless, had still
Far more than soulhrou clemency.
« Long have my harp s best notes been gone. Few are its strings, and faint their lone, They can hut sound in desert loue
Their gray-hair'd master's misery. Were e.ieh gray hair a minstrel string. Each chord should imprecations fling. Till startled Scotland loud should riug,
'Revenge for blood and treachery!"
TO MISS BAIU.IES PLAT Or THE FAMIIT LEGEND.
T is sweet to hear expiring summer's sigh,