Page:The Literary Magnet 1824 vol 2.djvu/148

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MOMENTS OF DELIGHT.

lively Ann, we would fain hear by Miss Paton. Why do the ladies appear “in silk attire?” Do they believe the daughter and the niece of a Bohemian ranger of a forest, walk about like fashionables? Of the fault of the execution, none was more striking than the first chorus of evil spirits at the Wolf’s glen. Here the word Uhi should he sung pianissime, like an echo, and then it would communicate a thrilling feeling of awe and secret horror. But it was howled fortissime, and the effects was, fits of laughter. The last celebrated chorus of huntsmen was badly executed, there was nothing to be heard of its original beauty. The bridal song, the greatest favourite of all the popular songs in Germany, was well sung, but did not take:-so much for national taste. The scenic arrangement deserves great praise. It was much superior to what could be expected from a small theatre. We never saw a finer representation of a waterfall on any stage, than that at the Wolf’s glen.

The applause was loud and stormy, although not without some opposition. We conclude our remarks, fully determined, that had der Freyschütz been represented in Germany in its present shape, it would never have obtained any popularity whatever.

J. G―ns.

MOMENTS OF DELIGHT.

I love to look on the rising sun,When light and life from his beams are shed,But better I love, when his race is run,The glory that circles his golden bed.
Gladly I hail the spring’s return,When earth is gay, and the heavens are bright:But my heart still loves, though mine eyes may mourn,The fading glow of the Autumn light.
Oh bright as the rays of the rising morn,And joyous as earth, on the smile of the spring,Are the regions through which the spirit is borne,On Fancy’s ever unwearied wing.
But the grief, wrought charm of memory’s power,Is far more touching, and soul-subduing;’Tis hallow’d, and calm as the sun-set hour,Though mournful as Autumn, the yellow leaves strewing.
Yes! Memory’s mirror, though dimmed by tears,Must ever be dear to the heart of feeling;For its visions recall our happier years,When Time’s dull mist o’er their beauty is stealing.Mary.
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