I saw the Master of the drama stand,
Like some bright vision from a foreign land,
With all his glory far around him spread,
And all his laurels waving on his head—
The Passions, at his feet, a various crowd,
In mute submission to their master bowed.
Years had rolled o'er him-he was still the same,
The child of Fancy, and the heir of Fame;
Still the same spirit, in his burning eye,
Shone, undiminished in its energy;
And every slumbering Passion, when he spoke,
To vigorous action, at the sound awoke ;
Wild Anger started with his glittering spear—
In Pity's eye arose the trembling tear-
Revenge, impatient, his loud trumpet blew,
And Love still closer to his master drew.
Bring forth, he cried, the children of my care;
Fresh, as I drew them, let them all appear.
Straight the Third Richard, in his robes appears,
In all the glory of his former years;
Fit to shed terror o'er a trembling land,
While Murder led him by his bloody hand.
Hope fled affrighted at his gloomy train,
Subduing Pity raised her hands in vain.
Next young Cordelia, in her matchless charms,
Clasping her aged father in her arms,
Walked slow and pensive; while the big round tear
Told all the sorrows of the royal Lear.
Grief was her story as her way she kept,
And Love, who led her, at her sufferings wept.
Slowly she vanished from my eager view,
And on Prince Hamlet, in his madness, drew.
His were wild actions, and his words were wild;
Sometimes a hero, and sometimes a child.
His theme was varied, yet it still betrayed
To all, the part unreal, that he played.
Next came Othello with his matchless bride,
As loved, and loving, in his arms she died.
He wept, and kissed her, yet he madly swore,
Well as he loved her, she should live no more;
No more, he cried,―thy pleadings were in vain,—
O would to God, thou wert alive again.
His murmurs ceased, and royal in array
The kings of old came marching on their way;
Dark were their forms, yet, far around them thrown,
The light of diamonds and of beauty shone.
Beauty, who loosened all her flowing curls,
Jetty, and spangled with a thousand pearls;
Valour beside her was well pleased to tread,
And Wit commended all she did or said.
Such are the pictures, which the master drew,
Still fresh in beauty, and to nature true :
Time cannot change them-they will gain from years
That mellow richness, which most fair appears;
And future ages with delight shall dwell
On every picture, that we love so well.
Then, when thy magick shall enchant the soul,
When smiles shall waken, or when tears shall roll,
All hearts, enraptured, with a jubilee,
Unequalled Shakspeare, shall remember thee.
Power of the visioned throne, hail! sceptred Thought!
Of heaven-born lineage, inspiration-taught;
O'er time and space, thy empire vast extends,
The past and present, earth and heavenly blends.
Hail! wondrous genius! thine the mighty power,
With potent spell, at inspiration's hour,
To array the past, retrace the march of time,
And throng with life, the desolated clime;
Revive the deeds by fraud or greatness wrought;
Where glory fired, or heathen wisdom taught;
With power creative, conjure worlds unknown,
Teeming with life, strange beings of thy own;
Or, soaring high in regions unconfined,
Charm the rapt soul, and wing the mortal mind.
To what blest brow, the unfading wreath pertains?
The proudest meed, which Fame's high will ordains?
What chosen breast has inspiration fired
With peerless flame? What heaven-born soul attired
In Fancy's robes ? and deigned her loftiest lyre,
With varied tones, to thrill, amaze, inspire?
To thee, great Shakspeare! thee, her favourite child, She gave her wand, and on thy magick smiled;
Thee, Bard of Avon! master of the heart;
Lo! Grecian greatness owns thy matchless art,
And future ages, pageant honours raise,
Award the palm, and celebrate thy praise.
Thy soul, capacious, Inspiration chose,
To quaff her fount, and visioned worlds disclose;
Her magick mantle o'er thy senses threw,
And spread her glories to thy raptured view—
The secret depths of thought's ideal stores,
The boundless height, thy phrensied glance explores;
Imagination gave her flighty wings,
To fearless soar, and tempt the verge of things;
And playful Fancy's fairy hands attend,
To airy build, or rainbow's colours blend.
To picture Nature in her varied dress,
Where tempests rend, or zephyr winds caress;
In Alpine grandeur clothe the lofty scene,
Or stretch the lawn in gently waving green,
To flood all nature in day's golden stream,
Or palely gild with moonlight's silver beam,
Was thy unrivalled skill; thy pencil true
Sketched the green deeps, or caught the etherial blue;
Gay blooming Spring, or fruit-crowned Autumn smiled,
And echo answered to "thy wood-note wild;"
Lo! herald morn proclaims the god of day,
Or western clouds reflect his parting ray;
Now noontide height in radiant splendour rides,
Now curtained midnight all creation hides;
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