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.
For Freedom's ear the maiden strikes her notes,
And steps in beauty where his banner floats.
Still to the glowing West she moves to sing,
Where Rome's exploring bird ne'er bathed his wing,
Till, snow-crowned hills and sun-kissed valleys past,.
Here, Gallia's offspring hails her sight at last!
Child of Renown! before whose infant hand,
The wreathed invader withered from the land,
Thy Deed shall freshen on the penman's page,
The shame and glory of a wondering age,
And still reviving in the poet's lay,
Thrill the young warrior of some distant day.
In arms supreme, come forth, to greatness dear,
Protect the pilgrim, and the patriot cheer;
Thy slumbering shield with olive garlands dressed,
Rise! crowned by Science, Monarch of the West!
And thou, inspiring Dome! to greet thy reign,
The Muse, exulting, pours her prophet strain.
For thee the bard shall draw, from every clime,
The swelling triumph, and the curtained crime;
Death's moss-grown gates unbar, the sleepers wake,
To charm the good, and bid the guilty quake;
Love's moonlight scene, War's crimson deed unfold,
And all the legends of the days of old.
Wisdom and Wit thy guardian priests shall stand,
And Taste refine, as Truth reforms the land;
Rapture and Grief their rose and cypress twine,
And every heart go mended from thy shrine.
Here pranking youth shall learn, in Pleasure's school,
To hate the folly, and to shun the fool;
Vice, saddening here, shall live for purer days,
And Goodness sanction, while her children gaze;
Learning shall close his page for thy white hour,
And love-lipped Beauty leave her evening bower,
With soul all gladness, and with eye all light,
To hail thy altar, and to bless thy rite.
Here, too, O kindling thought! when Time shall shed
His holy incense o'er the mighty dead,
For thee the Sage shall burst his sacred grave,
To guide in death the realm he lived to save;
For thee the Chief revive the battle's roar,
And wake the sons, whose sires he led before.
Thus shalt thou triumph, decked with every grace,
To charm another and another race;
And, one long day of quenchless splendour past,
Blessed by thy beamy god, in glory go at last!
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