WRITTEN BY ROBERT TREAT PAINE JUN. ON OPENING THE FEDERAL-STREET THEATRE, BOSTOŃ,
WHEN, first, o'er Athens, learning's dawning ray
Gleamed the dim twilight of the Attick day,
To charm, improve, the hours of state repose,
The deathless father of the drama rose.
No gorgeous pageantry adorned the show,
The plot was simple, and the scene was low.
Without the wardrobe of the Graces, drest,
Without the mimic blush of Art, caressed,
Heroick Virtue held her throne secure,
For Vice was modest, and Ambition poor.
But soon the Muse, by nobler ardours fired,
To loftiest heights of scenick verse aspired.
From useful life her comick fable rose,
And curbless passions formed the tale of woes :
The daring Drama heaven itself explored,
And gods descending trod the Grecian board;
Each scene expanding through the temple swelled,
Each bosom acted what each eye beheld;
Warm to the heart, the chymick fiction stole,
And purged, by moral alchymy, the soul.
Hence artists graced and heroes nerved the age,
The sons or pupils of a patriot stage.
Hence, in this Forum of the virtues fired,
Hence, in this school of eloquence inspired,
With bolder crest, the dauntless warrior strode :-
With nobler tongue, the ardent statesman glowed;
And Athens reigned Minerva of the globe;
First, in the helmet-fairest, in the robe ;-
In arms she triumphed, as in letters shone,
Of taste the palace, and of war the throne.
But lo! where, rising in majestick flight,
The Roman eagle sails the expanse of light!
His wings, like heaven's vast canopy, unfurled,
Spread their broad plumage o'er the subject world.
Behold! he soars, where golden Phoebus rolls,
And perching on his car, o'erlooks the poles!
Far, as revolves the chariot's radiant way,
He wafts his empire on the tide of day;
From where it rolls in yon bright sea of suns;
To where in light's remotest ebb, it runs.
The globe half ravaged by the storm of war,
The gates of Greece admit the victor's car;
Chained to his wheels is captive science led,
And taste transplanted blooms at Tyber's head.
O'er the rude minds of empire's hardy race,
The opening pupil beamed of lettered grace;
With charms so sweet, the houseless Drama smiled,
That Rome adopted Athens' orphan child.
Fledged by her hand, the Mantuan swan aspired;
Awed by her power, e'en Pompey's self retired;
Sheathed was the sword, by which a world had bled;
And Janus blushing to his temple fled:
The globe's proud butcher grew humanely brave; Earth staunched her wounds, and ocean hushed his
At length, like huge Enceladus, depressed,
Groaning with slavery's mountain on their breast,
The supine nations struggled from disgrace,
And Rome, like Ætna, tottered from her base.
Thus set the sun of intellectual light,
And, wrapped in clouds, lowered on the Gothic night.
Dark gloomed the storm-the rushing torrent poured,
And wide the deep Cimmerian deluge showered;
E'en learning's loftiest hills were covered o'er,
And seas of dulness rolled, without a shore.
Yet ere the surge Parnassus' top o'erflowed,
The banished Muses fled their blest abode.
Frail was their ark, the heaven-topped seas to brave,
The wind their compass, and their helm the wave;
No port to cheer them, and no star to guide,
From clime to clime, they roved the billowy tide;
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