I. WILLIAM WARREN. 1812-1888. AT midnight, in October, 1882, a genial company was assembled in the quaint parlor of an old mansion in Boston, to do honor to one of the greatest actors who have graced our Stage. Afternoon and evening performances had occurred, amid general acclamation, to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of his first professional appearance, and the purpose of that midnight assemblage was to crown a brilliant occasion of public rejoicing with a private testimonial of affectionate friendship. The actor was William Warren. A committee, of which I was the leader, had been designated to present to him a Loving Cup, the gift of five eminent members of the dramatic profession, and it was my privilege to make the presentation speech. The Cup, an exceptionally handsome vessel of its kind, bears this inscription: To William Warren On the Completion of His Fiftieth Year In closing my speech I read a poem which I had written, expressive not simply of my admiration for the actor and the man, but of the esteem and affection with which Warren was universally regarded. It truthfully describes him, and the presentment of it is appropriate here: Red globes of autumn strew the sod, The bannered woods wear crimson shields, The aster and the golden-rod Deck all the fields. AMARANTH No clarion blast, at morning blown, Should greet the way-worn veteran here, No jewelled ensigns now should smite, No bolder ray should bathe this bower No ruder note should break the thrall But here should float the voice of song, Like evening winds in autumn leaves, Sweet with the balm they waft along From golden sheaves. 19 |