ADDRESS FOR THE AMATEUR THEATRE.
(SPOKEN IN THE CHARACTER OF AN OFFICER.)

    THE following Address, (which, however, was not accepted,) was written for the Halifax Garri­son Theatre, when it was opened in March, 1822, under the auspices of Mrs. ARNOLD, and Mrs. XIMENES, who, with the assistance of other ladies of the Garrison, sustained the principal female cha­racters during the season.  The performances com­menced with “The Maid and Magpie,” and the Farce of “The Midnight Hour.”  The very ex­cellent and chaste acting of these ladies obtained the highest applause, and the favourable opinion of their theatrical talents was shewn in the crowd­ed circle of beauty and fashion, which attended their appearance on every occasion. [Page 128]

    Since dreadful war distracts the land no more,
Nor hostile fleets invade the affrighted shore,
But peace her gentle banners now unfurled,
In softness waves triumphant o’er the world,
Our swords are sheathed; those swords which gain­ed us fame,

And raised our country’s greatness and her name.
How many days will pass ere England’s band
Of noble hosts shall press Corunna’s strand;
And years expire, ere on the ensanguined plain
Her heroes’ bones shall blanch the fields of Spain.

How many suns will sink in Western skies,
Ere victory’s flag on Waterloo shall rise!
That awful day, when Britain’s towering might
Bade Gaul’s proud eagles vanish into flight, [Page 129]
Her gallant sons, by native ardour led,

In glory’s cause so nobly fought and bled.
Then, since we can no more our arms employ,
To guard Old England and her foes destroy;
No longer on the field and mountain wave,
As Britons conquer, or as Britons save:

We’ve turned our arts to suit the peaceful age,
And try our valour on this humble stage.
To night we come as candidates for fame,
And trust our merits will your plaudits claim.
In hopes to please with this our first essay,

We give “The Maid and Magpie” for the play.
Should that succeed, we’ll next exert our power,
And keep you here until “The Midnight Hour.”
Then if we fail or overact our part,
The fault is in the head and not the heart.

Methinks I see among these charming fair,
Yet no—there cannot be a critic there.
These manly souls I then may hope to find
Not less indulgent, generous, and kind. (Going.) [Page 130]
Yet hold! one humble wish I have to tell

Before I go, and bid you all farewell,
Upon a soldier’s wife our hopes depend,
Oh! crown these hopes; be all we ask, her friend!