Here hermit Wisdom lays his mantle down,
To win with smiles the heart that fears his frown;
In mirth's gay robe he talks to wondering youth,
And Grandeur listens to the stranger, Truth.
Beauty, with bounding heart and tingling ear,
Melts at the tale to love and feeling dear.
Their sacred bowers the sons of learning quit,
To rove with fancy, and to feast with wit.
All come to gaze, the valiant and the vain,
Virtue's bright troop, and Fashion's glittering train :
Here Labour rests, pale Grief forgets her wo,
And Vice, that prints his slime on all below,
Even Vice looks on!-For this the Stage was reared,
To scourge the fiend, so scorned and yet so feared.
The halls of judgment, as the moral school,
His foot defiles, the bronzed and reckless fool:
God's lovely temple shall behold him there,
With eye upturned, and aspect false as fair;
Even at the altar's very horns he stands,
And breaks and blesses with polluted hands.
Then hither let the unblushing villain roam,
Satire shall knot its whip and strike it home.
The stage one groan from his dark soul shall draw,
That mocks religion, and that laughs at law!
To grace the stage, the bard's careering mind
Seeks other worlds, and leaves his own behind:
He lures from air its bright, unprisoned forms,
Breaks through the tomb, and death's dull region storms.
O'er ruined realms he pours creative day,
And slumbering kings his mighty voice obey.
From its damp shroud the long-laid spirit walks,
And round the murderer's bed in vengeance stalks.
Poor maniack beauty brings her cypress wreath,
Her smile a moon-beam o'er a blasted heath;
Round some cold grave she comes, sweet flowers to strew,
And lost to reason, still to love is true.
Hate shuts his soul when dove-eyed Mercy pleads;
Power lifts the axe, and Truth's bold servant bleeds;
Remorse drops anguish from his burning eyes,
Feels hell's eternal worm, and, shuddering, dies.
War's trophied minion, too, forsakes the dust,
Grasps his worn shield, and waves his sword of rust,
Springs to the slaughter at the trumpet's call,
Again to conquer, or again to fall.
With heads to censure, yet with souls to feel,
Friends of the Stage! receive our frank appeal.
No suppliant lay we frame; acquit your trust;
The Drama guard; be gentle, but be just!
Within her courts, unbribed, unslumbering, stand;
Scourge lawless Wit, and leaden Dulness brand,
Lash pert Pretence, but bashful Merit spare ;
His firstlings hail, and speak the trembler fair;
Yet shall he cast his cloud, and proudly claim
The loftiest station and the brightest fame.
So from his perch, through seas of golden light,
Our mountain eagle takes his glorious flight:
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 you;
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;
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