Star.
London, England, 1819-02-11 00:00:00

LITERAPORE. •

The Appeal : a Tragedy, in Thige Acts: as per-
formed at the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh. Lomat!.
MAW and Co.
The success which attended the performance of
this Tragedy during the Siring of last year at the
Theatre Royal, Esfinburgh, will be in the recollection
of many of Readers ; and to such of them as it
may have inspired with a curiosity to know some-
thing more of its merits than they could gather from ,
public report at the time, the present publication will,.
we think, afford ample gratification. The Appeal
is, we understand, the production of Mi. GALT, a
gentleman to whom the public are already indebted
for an interesting book of Travels in Sicily, a Life of
Cardinal Wolsey, and another of the present venerable
President of the Royal Academy ; besides several
other works of distinguished merit: and, as we are
farther informed, in a neat Prologue to the Play, is
the Author's " first appeal"—to the Tragic Muse, for
the sake of whose interests, so much sacrificed of late
years to the infantine wonders of the Melo-Drasne,"
we sincerely hope it may not be the last. Mr. (liar
has exhibited in this little piece such strong proofs of
dramatic and poetical talent—a spirit conversant in
the darkest ways of the human heart, combined with
much vivacity of imagination and power of descrip-
tion; a style of expression felicitous in its union
of strength and harmony ;—so much, in short, of all
that is most wanted by our modern Drama-makers,
that we should have but little regard to the real pros-
perity of the legitimate Drama did we not feel anxi-
ously desirous to see so able an auxiliary as Mr.
GALT, habitually and zealously attached to its ser-
vice. Our limits preclude us from the gratification
of going into a detailed review of the merits of the
Tragedy before us; but we shall subjoin an extract
or two, which, we doubt not, will vindicate us fully
in the judgment-of our Readers for the general opi-
nion we have ventured to pronounce of the Powers
of its Author :

'SCENE IL
lidgert. Why loots my Arlene so sadly pate?
.Merle. The solemn magic of this poet'e verse
• Enchants my mirk into pleasing wonder,
Tinctured with holiest awe. His every thought
Ilath, like the halo round the sainted head,
A heavenly and religious intimation.
Ilelg. What is the theme?
414. A rude pathetic tale,
How a poor damsel hopeless died in sin.
Her mind was tender as the lacy film
Woven at morning in the hawthorn bloseoms,
And.deek'd with gems of dew which the soft gale
That breaths but fragrance, or the gentler stir
Of the fond linnet nestling with her yam&
Shakes from the weeping boughs. Oft as the moon,
Round, full, and golden, fac'd the golden west,
An evil spirit, faithful to the time,
Came with persuasive dreams. Long she withstood
His soft seduction, and with flowing eyes,
That glimpsed like dew drops in the moon's chaste light,
She pray'd her guardian angel to be watchful.
But there are times, as the sad poet si.igs,
When our celestial guards go up to Heaven
With their account of that which we have done;
And in the interim, the unguarded hour,
Pew can mist the instigating fiends. •
herd. Alas ! 'tis even so!
ACT lII.—SCENE. 11.
helm?. I am, my Lords, an old woe-stricken woman,
Whose gray hairs flutter in the winter winds;
And lam poor,—a mendicant, my Lord.— ,
Shrunk age, lean want, and slow consuming sorrow,
Have made me all so hideous to the sight,
That the spare alms which but provoke my need
Are less in piteous charity beloved,
Than in the sad sorprisal to behold
A thing so miserable human still.
I have outliv'd compassion, and to fee
The advocacy that my cause requires
Have only these salt tears.—But yet, my Lords,
The Mighty Maker of all Things that are.
Judges, and laws, and kings, made me himself;
Yea from as old a date as he contriv'd
The glory of the sun, he fashion'd me,
And I demand my just equalities.
- - -

The objection; most likely, we think, to be stated
to "The Appeal" as an acting Drama are, that its
plot has too much singleness in its structure; that
the master principle which is sought to be developed
is more of a metaphysical cast than is suited to ordi-
nary composition; and, that the bustle of incideqt
has been too much neglected for. the mere graces of
language. These, however, are but the faults of a
apl*al, which the Author can have no difficulty
I in avoiding in his maturer eforts.

PROLOGUE,
IT • 02NTLIMAW Of rDLWEICAGPI.
To Fame a stranger, unadorred his brows
With that immortal wreath the Muse bestows,
This night a Bard essays to wake again
The Tragic I.yre's too long neglected•strain ;
And while he dares to hope. 'mid troubled fears,
The silent tribute of your heart-born tears ;
0 ! need I say, how usinbllogly must feel
Ills soul, now trusting to its first Arezat !
No cynic wish is his, e'er to controul
The bright•eyed mirth that mantles from the soul
When Comedy, gay nymph's, soft smiling showers,
O'er eartit's dull stage, the glow of Fancy's flowers,
And for a while life 'e darkness fades away,
Before the sunshine of sweet fletion's day;
Yet smelt' saw on that high glory led,
Wises boon wept o'er her awn Dollars dead,
And the bet sobbing of maternal love
Brestki hear sadness o'er that solemn grove ;
Humbly be lieges his tale of Man may wake
Some kindred drops, that BM for Natures sake ;
For maniac anguish, sitting sight and day,
In ghastly truce, and beaten-forgot decay;
The dire remorse, that thro' unnumbeed years
Had dimm'd the light of day with rueful teen ;
Affection sighing thro' the hopeless gloom
Of filial sorrow o'er a Father's tomb ;
From the red earth, blood's unappeased try,
- And the wild stream of bursting destiny.
A critic whispers, " 11l such theme may suit
Oar stage, where now each actor Is a mute ' •
Where starting crows devour, with eyes on lame,
All the &jar wonders of-the Ile/o-Drame." ,
Yet thews brazen thunders rent the air ;
Tho' no cheep lightning o'er our forests glare ;
Tho' no barbaric podtps, nor guards we show ;
Mao' all our made is, " The voice of wee;' •
Yet neer fsll4 Troth tag Nature to engage,
When, like monis gimp, the/ sterna the stage ;
And every gams= soul exults again,
To hail the straws to their rightful reign.
To maim Ise% the Deli sessmits his cause;
lie asks hot *lke "Wit mostry's laws.
Bet ince the d.IM WWI which ye seal—
Ana Agee so Yobs beach swell" " The Arent,"
The Passel bsyskstlsist,
tech geode hurt *add be Isla mod here.
Far be the Bemis, breath of aide wits,
Free Bows the ruins' genial tide weight.
Let no hiss elms the woman boom steel:
Your bruits one hommeassi yoo blush WWI?
Bc what you are; Om assemes working rows
And your young !set him au tor kirdosue.