ROYAL CIRCUS AND JUNE 18. Mr. Dibdin seizes every opportunity that offers to pay a compliment to the glory of the British Arms. On the anniversary of the ever memorable battle of Waterloo, he produced a new occasional Burletta Spectacle, under the title of "Waterloo; or, the Bridge and the Battle." The scenery is beautiful: and the panorama view of the field of battle is magnificent. The effect of this last scene is rendered peculiarly interesting by the introduction of musicians on the stage, mingled, as it were, with the troops. This novelty was highly applauded. JUNE 23. "Constantine and Valeria; or, the last of the Cæsars." This grand Melo Drama has been in preparation for three months; and is founded on Miss Joanna Baillie's Tragedy of "Constantine Paleologus." A more magnificent or interesting exhibition has never been presented. The acting of Miss Taylor would have established her fame in the first walk of the drama at any theatre and Mr. Huntley increases in attraction. The military banquet in the first act is superb; and the grandeur of the concluding scene afforded a display of brilliancy which drew down long and reiterated plaudits. The dresses and decorations are unusually appropriate and splendid. Don Giovanni increases in attraction. "Poor Vulcan" has been produced, with the assistance of Mrs. Orger and Mr. Gattie, from the Theatre Royal, try-and we saw him with pleasure, at the Regency Theatre, in many characters more suited to his abilities than that of Shylock. We shall be happy to see him again-and still happier if we can conscientiously give him our meed of praise, as we understand he is a gentleman, who has devoted a great portion of his time to classic attainments. Mrs. Glover's Portia was excellent. July 15. Wild Oats-Critic. 16. Such Things Are-Quaker. 17. Exit by Mistake-Day after the Wedding -Sleep Walker. 18. Bold Stroke for a Husband-How to die for Love. 19. Who Wants a Guine.-Darkness Visible. 21. Exit by Mistake-Wedding Day-Killing no Murder. 2. Wild Oats-Megul Tale. 23. Travellers Benighted-Exit by Mistake-A Chip of the Old Block. 24. Wild Oats-Agreeable Surprise, SURREY THEATRE. Drury-lane. They were welcomed with great cordiality, and contributed their best aid to the success of the piece. This elegant Theatre was honoured with a visit by Monsieur Talma, accompanied by a select party of friends, where he was received by Mr. and Mrs. Dibdin, Mr. Rorauer, &c. &c. and expressed the highest gratification, together with no small degree of surprise at the splendour and appointments of what is termed a Minor Theatre. At the close of the exhibition of Waterloo, Mr. Talma was conducted to the Green Room; and we cannot better describe the sensation created in the Green Room, than by quoting the address of Mr. Dibdin on this occasion. On introducing M. Talma, Mr. Dibdin said: "Ladies and Gentlemen, Among the pumerous distinguished personages your able and zealous exertions have attracted, the presence of ne visitor has given me more heartfelt gratification than the favour done us by M. Talma, whom I have now the honour of presenting to you, and whose name, though a synonym for first-rate genius and talent, is still more endeared to us by the hospitality and kindness he has ever afforded to those of our professional brethren who have had the happiness to be introduced to him at Paris.-Mons. Talma, in having the pleasure to present the collected artists of this house, I am happy to say, you see an assemblage of Ladies and Gentlemen, whose warmth in the cause they so powerfully serve, has raised this theatre to unprecedented respectability. Mr. Sheridan has said, "where actors do agree, their unanimity is wonderful; and the harmony which exists here gives me reason to stile this less a company than a family-a family who are as proud as myself to see you within these walls; who all regret, the shortness of your stay will not allow you to witDess a greater variety of those efforts which have obtained us the sanction of the public, who will appreciate us still more for the honour your notice has conferred on us." To which M. Talma replied, 1817. "Ladies and Gentlemen, "I cannot find words in my con fused knowledge of the English language to express my gratitude for the way in which I have been here and every where received in this country. I only. wish I might have the pleasure of meeting you in Paris, to shew my sense of feeling for your kindness." M. Talma then proceeded to view the stage and its arrangements, was afterwards reconducted to his box, and at his departure repeated his extreme satisfaction at the whole of his evening's entertainments. PERFORMANCES. June 2 to 8. Don Giovanni-Silver Swan--Waggery June in Wapping. 9 to 14. Waggery in Wapping-Who's the Murderer-Don Giovanni. 16. Waggery in Wapping-The Silver Swan Don Giovanni. 23. Waterloo, or the Bridge and the Battle Constantine and Valeria-Don Giovanni. From the extensive circulation of the EUROPEAN MAGAZINE, we are obliged to restrict our comments on Theatrical Exhibitions to the 20th of each month: and, although we deviated in the last Number from this rule, at considerable expense, that we might give our readers every particular we could collect respecting Mr. KEMBLE's retirement from the stage, we are obliged to postpone, till our next publication, observations POETRY, A RELIC FROM WATERLOO,* AREWELL!-the blow that ends the strife Dooms but a ruin to decayOne-but one link of less than life Remains to end in nameless clay. Let him who treads the death-field, spare The home a miser dare not wrong. My father lifts his hoary head, Thy pity gave the Cuirassier. Collected from fragments found near a dead cuirassier, with a broken picture." My mother!-Fancy's earliest flow'r Receive the last!-thy glory's stem Oft to the brink of ruin's flood Thou cam'st a wand rer to arrest; And smiling in thy bounty shew'd The softness of a matrou's breast. Then by thy mild-thy pleading look, Light of my erring life!--I vow'd To write my name in Glory's book, Or moulder in an early shroud. BRIGHT are the Muses' gifts, they say, It forms attachments near and strong- We praise not circles that abound Is more than modern honour's worth: June 2d. V. On board a ship T'inbale the sea's salubrious air, To none can come amiss. The thing indeed were well,-discreetly us'd, But Margate trips are apt to be abus'd; For what with getting drunk, and getting loo'd, Numbers ere they come back to town, With swimming heads and faces brown, Empty their pockets, and derive no good. - Not so with Stop: He, like a man of sense, Look'd to his health, and sav'd bis pence ; And though he lov'd a little pleasure, Would always take it at his leisure, And then, knew where to stop. It should indeed be said, none thought him fool, Though he'd some queerish notions in his head, And different doctrines held, from every school, Where your true, sapient M.D.'s all are bred. From College rules turn'd renegado, He bore the nickname of Sangrado; For like that sage (though seldom he imbib'd it), "AQUA" his motto was, and he pre scrib'd it. The Spanish Doctor, 'tis well known, But while Sangrado's tribe, I wot, Now gliding down the stream in state, Far from the fumes of Billingsgate, Our Doctor heard the Cockney crew "Vish for a Vind"—he wish'd one too; But no wind came, which prov'd a serious matter: And had the calm much longer lasted, All their sea stores had been exhausted; For long ere CRAVESEND stood in sight, Some found a dev`lish appetite T'attack the platter: They muster'd every knife and fork, Lugg'd out the prog, and fell to work, Whilst giblet-pie, and tongue, and German sausage, Nice savory bits, prepar'd to last the pas sage, Went all to wreck !- "Right gentle friends,-this circling flood 'Tis my director. Whate'er the modern schools may say, -More had he said, when lo! I ween from London City, Instead of shewing Christian pity, Held both his sides, and laugh'd. And when reprov'd by all around For this demeanor so unsound, Dryly exclaim'd,-" Why all this pother, When each to save a drowning brother In this I thought you'd all agree Islington, May 15, 1817, A long and last adieu ! Like fields refresh'd with dewy light, Thy parting presence makes more bright And Memory conjures feelings up To" KEMBLE, Fare thee well!" Full many a tone of thought sublime; But ne'er efface the charm, Or Hotspur kindled warm. What soul was not resign'd entire To the deep sorrows of the Moor What English heart was not on fire With him at Agincourt? And yet a majesty possess'd His transports' most impetuous tone, But who forgets that white discrowned head, glare, Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed, Had SHAKSPEARE's self amidst you been, And triumph'd to have seen! And there was many an hour Of blended kindred fame, Her Tragic Paragons had grown- And undivided favor ran From heart to heart in their applauseSave for the gallantry of Man In lovelier Woman's cause. Robust and richly grac'd, That, when supernal light is given, And tell its height in Heaven. His mind survey'd the Tragic page, These were his traits of worth And must we lose them now? And shall the scene no more shew forth Alas! the moral brings a tear 'Tis all a transient hour below; And we that would detain thee here Ourselves as fleetly go. Yet shall our latest age The following song has, we believe, appeared in one or two London Journals, but we cannot, on that account, withhold it from our readers; there is a gloomy grandeur about some of the thoughts, that reminds one of the best passages of Lord Byron's poetry. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, Who fell at the Battle of Corunna, in 1808. OT a drum was heard, nor a funeral note. Nora As his corse to the rampart we hurried: Not a soldier discharged bis farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast; Nor in sheets, nor in shroud, we bound' But be lay like a warrior taking his rest, And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But we stedfastly gazed on the face of the dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, T And smooth down his lowly pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread, on his head, And we far away on the billow. CHAN HANT we the requiem, solemn, sad, and sweet; And mute awhile, amid the festive throng, Be Joy's inspiring song! Strew we with cypress boughs the Muses' seat; For he, the father of the varying lay, Of pain and sickness long the suffering prey, Sinks to the grave; and leaves unstrung the lyre, Silent each liquid note-extinct its sacred fire. List to that plaintive strain! Was it Thy voice, O Harmony!"* that sung Anselmo's magic lyre unstrung Ne'er on th' enraptur'd sense to burst again Those chords, so sweetly wild, so full, so clear? It was thy" awful sound!"—the distant bell Beats slow, responsive to the anthem's swell That pours the parting tribute o'er his hallow'd bier. "When winds breathe soft"+ where rests Anselmo's clay, Round our lamented Minstrel's shrine Shall forms unseen" the deathless wreath intwine, Soft warbling in the breeze the tributary Jay. |