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The Essence of Opera.*

Emogene et Almanzor,

SUJET DE CET OPERA.

Un jeune Prince Americain

Adore une jeune Princesse ;

Cet Amant, qui perit au milieu de la piece,
Par le secours d'un Dieu ressuscite á la fin.

Prologue.

UN MUSICIEN.

Peuples entrez; que l'on s'avance.
(Aux chanteurs)

Vous, tâchez de prendre le temps.
(Aux danseurs)

Vous, le jarret tendu, partez bien en cadence.
Celebrons le bonheur des fidèles amans!

*

Nobody ever claimed this once celebrated, but long since forgotten, jeu d'esprit.

Acte E.

IMOGENE.

Cher Prince, on nous unit!

ALMANZOR.

J'en suis ravi, Princesse !

LES DEUX.

Peuples, chantez, dansez, montrez votre alégresse!

Le CHŒUR.

Chantons, dansons, montrons notre alégresse!

Acte EE.

IMOGENE.

Amour!

(Tumulte de guerre. Le Prince paraît, poursuivi par ses Ennemis. Combat. La Princesse s'evanouit. Le Prince est tué.)

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IMOGENE.

O Malheur !

Peuples, chantez, dansez, montrez votre douleur !

LE CHŒUR.

Chantons, dansons, montrons notre douleur !

Acte EEE.

(PALLAS dans un nuage. A Almanzor.)

Pallas te rend le jour !

IMOGENE.

Ah! quel moment!

ALMANZOR.

Ou suis-je ?

LES TROIS.

Peuples, chantez, dansez, célébrez ce prodige!

LE CHOEUR.

Chantons, dansons, célébrons ce prodige!

SONG FROM THE NORMAN-FRENCH.

In a late number of the Quarterly Review, there is a paper which contains much curious information as to the ancient state of the law in England-and, above all, the very ancient standing of the complaints as to "the law's delay."

In treating of certain abuses which obtained, to a very crying extent, in the time of King Edward the First, the reviewer introduces an old Anglo-Norman ballad of the period, strikingly illustrative of the popular feeling of the period. He ought to have given a translation of it also; for it is not every reader, even of the Quarterly Review, that can be expected to comprehend that exploded dialect. However, as he has not done this, we see no good reason why another should not.

We accordingly now reprint the original, and subjoin thereto a version as literal as may be, and in the same metre, the good old ballad-metre, which was once well-pleasing in the ears alike of French and English.

The Quarterly Reviewer thus introduces the ditty:

"Some remedies (for these evils in the administration of provincial justice) were afforded by the Eyre,

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when the judges made their circuits through the land, and inquired into and punished all wrongs and oppressions; and various extraordinary commissions to the same effect were issued from time to time. The most celebrated of these were the commissions of Trail-baston, which, according to Lord Coke, were so called because they proceeded as speedily as one might draw or trail a staffe.' But, in spite of these, we collect, from a ballad of that day, (no weak evidence in such a matter), that much evil remained unredressed, and that juries still lay under heavy imputations of corruption. We think our readers will agree with us, that it is very beautiful and picturesque, though written with almost a homely simplicity; and it is at all events valuable as speaking popular sentiments and feelings."

BALLAD.

Qaraunte souz prenent pur ma raunsoun; E le Viscounte vint souz, a son guerdoun, Qu'il ne me mette en profounde prisoun: Ore agardez Seigneurs, est ce resoun?

'Pur ce me tendroi al vert bois, soutz le jolyf umbray, La n'y a fauceté, ne nulle male lay;

En le bois de Bel-regard ou vole le jay,

E chaunte russinole touz jours santz delay.

'Mes le male doseyne, dount Dieu n'eit ja pieté,

Parmi lur fauce bouches me ount endité,

De male robberies e autre mavesté,

Qi je n'ose entre mes amis estre recepté.

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