To heaven the monarch bird exulting springs,
And shakes the night-fog from his mighty wings.
Bards all our own shall yet enchant their age,
And pour redeeming splendour o'er the Stage.
For them, for you, Truth hoards a nobler theme,
Than ever blessed young Fancy's sweetest dream.
Bold hearts shall kindle, and bright eyes shall gaze,
When genius wakes the tale of other days,
Sheds life's own lustre o'er each holy deed
Of Him who planted, and of Him who freed!
And now, Fair Pile, thou chaste and glorious shrine,
Our fondest wish, our warmest smile be thine;
The home of genius and the court of taste,
In beauty raised, be thou by beauty graced.
Within thy walls may Wit's adorers throng,
To drink the magick of the poet's song:
Within thy walls may youth and goodness draw
From every scene a lecture, or a law.
So bright the fane, be priest and offering pure,
And friends shall bless, and bigot foes endure:
Long, long be spared to echo truths sublime,
And lift thy pillars through the storms of time.
WRITTEN BY THOMAS WELLS, OF BOSTON, FOR THE NEW ORLEANS THEATRE, DECEMBER 1823.
When first, o'er Learning, Persecution trod,
And fettered Letters felt his iron rod;
Long, long in darkness bound, the Muses slept,
Each haunt left bardless, and each harp unswept;
Till, bursting through the gloom, dramatick fire
Apollo darted o'er each slumbering lyre;
Through clouds of dulness shot his Attick light,
And chased the shades of Superstition's night;
Loud pæans, then, broke forth from every tongue,―
The temples echoed,—and the chorus rung.
Warm with new soul, young Musick smote the strings,
To Song gave life-to Inspiration wings!
Genius, by Freedom roused, shook off his yoke,
And from his deep oblivious dream awoke!
Awoke! and saw the Drama's towering dome
Swell its asylum arch, and call him home;—
Allured to higher worlds, he took his flight,
And rose to realms of empyrean height;
Explored the winding paths of Fiction's bowers,
And gathered, for the Stage, his deathless flowers;
Her ample page, redeeming Learning spread,
And, o'er the night of Mind, her radiance shed;
Taste polished life,-the arts refined the age-
And Virtue triumphed as she reared the Stage.
Patrons!-this night, our cause to you we trust,
As guardians of the Drama's rights-be just!—
Support from you, the child of Thespis draws,
Warms in your sun, and thrives on your applause;
At your tribunal, he expectant stands,
And craves indulgent judgment at your hands;
Your willing smiles, then, let his efforts share,
And, to your shelter, take the Buskin's heir!-
O, let your presence, let your plaudits, cheer
Our Protean toil, and give us welcome here;
And yet, not purchased favour we would ask;
Unbiassed, and unbought, fulfil your task.
Before your critick bench, we humbly bend,
And, to your righteous voice, ourselves commend ;-
No servile suppliants, to your court, we sue,
But praise and censure claim alike from
Assembled here, to your decree submit,
And hail in you the arbiters of wit.
And now, in scenick beauty drest, thou Dome-
The shield of Morals, and of Song the home,—
The nurse of Eloquence, the school of Taste,
Hence, be thy altars by the Muses graced.
Within thy walls, perhaps, by Genius led,
Shall future Shakspeares sing, or Garricks tread;
In Roman grace and majesty of mien,
Some Kemble reign, the monarch of the scene;
Her fire of soul, some Siddons here impart,
Shoot through each quivering nerve, and storm the heart.
On rapid wing, still speeds the auspicious time,
When Bards our own the Olympick Mount shall climb;
When round their consecrated shrines shall throng
Our buskined heroes, and our sons of song;
In Attick pride, our Drama then shall rise,
And nobly daring, claim the Thespian prize;
To classick height exalt the rising age,
And give to peerless, lasting fame the Stage.
The following Address was written for the prize at New Orleans, and forwarded in due time, but was unsuccessful.
When Gothic fury spoiled the realms of taste,
And Ruin sat, cold raven of the waste,
The Drama's minstrels bade their shrines farewell,
The canvass mouldered, and the marble fell;
Believing man confessed the crosier's sway,
And holy darkness round creation lay.
At length, bright Genius, starting from his sleep,
Morn's herald angel, swept the mantling deep.
Then shrank the flood!-again the Stage was reared,
And Dulness fled, to curse the foe he feared.
From shore to shore the scenick dayspring played,
Illumed the court, and flashed along the shade :-
Sweetly it glanced o'er Arno's tuneful stream,
And Gallia's laughing vine-hills caught the beam;
Round Albion's cliffs it poured undying fire,
And Nature's Bard bade Nature's sons admire!
Time shook his plumes-yet sighed the Muse to grace A prouder empire, and a purer race.
Lo! from a fettered world she comes in light,
And earth's young realm puts off its heathen night.
|