The Sun.
London, England, 1849-05-28 00:00:00

HER MAJESTY'S T IJEATRE.

The opera of Semiramide was repeated here on
Saturday evening, and Mademoilselle Parodi more
than confirmed the favourable imp ression which she
had made on Tuesday by her magnificent im-
personation of the Assyrian Queen. Her per-
formance on Saturday was eves i superior to that
on Tuesday. It had greater bree dth and colouring.
On her. first appearance the sympatl 3ies of her audience
were excited, and were carried t •,o a climax by the
tomb scene, the scene with Assur, and the last scene
with Arsace. Her rendering of the "Giorno d'orrore"
in this last scene was excessively fine. It WAS diffi-
cult to whom to assign the pain I, to Parodi or to
Alboni in this exquisite duet, whic h was re-demanded
with enthusiasm. The " Bel ra. rgio," in the first
act, was a perfect marvel of brilliant execution. She
was frequently called before the curtain during the
course of the evening, and at the conclusion of the
duet was honoured with a separate call. The beauti.
ful ballet of Fiorita, with its staff ;ues and fountains,
concluded the evening's entertainn i ent.

ASTLEY'S ROYAL AMPHI-

THEATRE.

The recent campaign in the Pur ►jaub is the subject
of the new grand Eastern spectacle, which Mr. Batty
intends producing this evening fu r the amusement of
the Whitsuntide holiday-maker. I ; it is entitled
Mooltan and Goojerat, and ernh races all the prin-
cipal incidents of the campaign. It will be followed
by the scenes in the circle, in WI tich the celebrated
Marie Macarte will appear, and the favourite drama
of the White Maid of California a will conclude the
entertainments.

LITERATURE.
POEMS. By Sir F. H. Doyle. Second Edition.
It is a matter of no surprise that the poems of Sir
Francis Doyle should have become popular favourites,
for they are fraught with a spirit and energy that
render them most fascinating. One of the best of
the poems in this collection, " The Old Cavalier," has
been twice cited by Eliot Warburton in his recent
work on the Cavaliers. It presents an affecting picture
of the sufferings of the loyalists, and of the ingrati-
tude with which, in some instances, those sufferings
were repaid, as, for example, the first verse of the Old
Cavalier's lamentation :
" For our martyred Charles I fawned my plate,
For his son I spent my all,
That a churl might dine and drink my wine,
And preach in my father's hall:
That father died on Margon.moor,
My son en Worcester plain;
But the King he turned his b ick on me
When he got his own again."
The concluding verses will be rightly appreciated
by all who have perused the recent memoir of Prince
Rupert :
" On the fatal field of Naseby
Where Rupert lost the day,
By hanging on the flying crowd
Like a lion on his prey,
I stood and fought it out, until,
In spite of plate and steel,
The blood that left my veins that day
Flowed up above my heel.
" And certainly it made those quail
Who never quailed before,
To look upon the awful front
Which Cromwell's horsemen wore.
I felt that every hope was gone,
When I saw their squadrons form,
And gather for the final charge,
Like the coming of the storm.
" Oh! where was Rupert in that hour
Of danger, toil, and strife:
It would have been to all brave men
Worth a hundred years of life,
To have seen that black and gloomy force,
As it pour'd down in line,
Met midway by the Royal horse
And Rupert of the Rhine!"
" The Doncaster St. Leger," is a spirited description
of a hardly contested race. The following vivid pic-
ture of the spectators during the anxious moment of
trial will come home to all the visitors of Epsom
during the past week :
" Then momently, like gusts, you heard,
He's sixth—he's fifth—he's fourth—he's third!'
As on, like some arrowy meteor flame,
The stride of the Derby winner came.
And during all that anxious time
(Sneer, as it suits you, at my rhyme),
The earnesness became sublime;
Common and trite as is the scene,
At once so thrilling and so mean,
To him who strives his heart to scan,
And feels the brotherhood of man,
That needs must be a mighty minute,
When a crowd has but one soul within it."
The grand trial is between the " Derby winner " and
a Yorkshire mare, the favourite (of course) of the
people of Doncaster. The mare has taken the lead,
but after a while the " Derby winner" overtakes her :
" And bead to head, and stride for stride
Newmarket's hope, and Yorkshire's pride,
Like horses harnessed side by side,
Are struggling to the goal.
Ride ! gallant son of Ebor, ride !
For the dear honour of the north,
Stretch every bursting sinew forth,
Put out thy inmost soul,—
And with kneee, and thigh, and tightened rein,
Lift in the mare by might and main;
The feelings of the people reach,
What lies beyond the power of speech,
So that there rises up no sound
From the wide human life around;
One spirit flashes from each eye,
One impulse lifts each heart throat-high,
One short and panting silence broods,
O'er the wildly-working multitudes.

But hark I what a rending shout was there,
He's beat I he's beat I—by heaven the mare !'
Just on the post she springs away
And by half a length has gained the day.
Then, how to life that silence wakes,
Ten thousand hats thrown up on high,
Send darkness to the echoing sky,
And like the crash of hill-pent lakes,
Out bursting from their deepest fountains,
Among the rent and reeling mountains,
At once from thirty thousand throats
Rushes the Yorkshire roar,
And the name of their northern winner floats
A league from the course, and more."
This is only a sample of Sir F. Doyle's power of
description ; poetry of a more thoughtful cast abounds
in this volume. As he truthfully says in the" Poetas-
ter's Plea," addressed to Mr. Gladstone—
" Still there are times, when fever and unrest
Besiege the silent fortress of the breast;
Unspoken heaviness and cares unshown,
Which yet are bitter to endure alone;
When on some sunny dream cloud shadows fall
Or sorrows come to me that come to all—
Days of uprooted hope—of fading flowers—
Of rainbows, waning into wintry showers—
When hidden languor follows secret strife,
And the heart sickens at the length of life—
. These are the seasons, which of right belong
To thoughts, which rush and kindle into song.

Milton rose up when fate grew hard to bear,
From earth to Heaven, and drew empyrean air.
From the salt bread he loathed, and paths of pain,
Up alien stairs, when life was on the wane,
The Tuscan sought his seraph love again.
And Tasso kept in gloom, when hope was dead,
One brightness, from the laurel on his head.
Auguster grief was theirs, whose awful sound,
Sca- like, is heard the listening earth around—
But yet the same perennial fountains fill
The ocean-deeps, and shadows of the rill.
Though vast the space between us, not the less
We seek a common solace in distress."
The influence of such hours occasionally chas-
tens and subdues, in a beautiful manner, the fire
and energy which forms the predominant characteris-
tic of the muse of Sir Francis. It is said that smiles
and tears are, at their source, not far apart. Be this
as it may, Sir Francis Doyle possesses the power of
evoking either by his strains of melodious pathos, or
his outbursts of martial energy.

CHEAP EDITION OF EUGENE ARAM.
A startling announcement is made by Sir Edward
Bulwer Lytton, in his preface to the present edition
of "Eugene Aram," the last volume completed of
the beautiful edition of his works now publishing by
Messrs. Chapman and Hall. The announcement will
henceforth confirm the fame acquired by this noble
romance, and will materially tend toelevatethe already
noble and lofty character of Eugene Aram. Says the
author—" On going with maturer judgment over all
the evidences on which Aram was condemned, I have
convinced myself, that although an accomplice in the
robbery of Clarke, he was free both fromthe premedi-
tated design and the actual deed of murder. So
thorough is the conviction of Sir Edward on this
point, and so fully has that conviction been corrobo-
rated, that he says further on—" Finding my convic-
tions, that in the murder itself he had no share, borne
out by the opinion of many eminent lawyers, by
whom I have heard the subject discussed, I have
accordingly so shaped his confession to Walter." This
will be grateful news to those who, like ourselves
regard " Eugene Aram" as one of the best, and cer-
tainly as one of the most moral of his productions.
It is almost unnecessary to say of the cheap re-issue of
the works, four of the volumes of which have already
appeared, "Rienzi," "Paul Clifford," "Pelham," and
"Eugene Aram," that it is admirably calculated, by
extending the reputation of a great writer, to im-
prove and cultivate the tastes of the multitude.