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Those grand heroics acted as a spell : He first sunk to the bottom-like his works, The angels!stopp'd their ears and plied their But soon rose to the surface-like himself;
For all corrupted things are buoy'd, like The devils ran howling, deafen'd, down to
By their own rottenness, light as an elf, The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own Or wisp that flits o'er a morass: he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf, (For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell, In his own den, to scrawl some “Life” or And I leave every man to his opinions);
“Vision," Michael took refuge in his trump- but lo! As Wellborn says—“the devil turn'd preHis teeth were set on edge, he could not
As for the rest, to come to the conclusion Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known of this true dream, the telescope is gone For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, Which kept my optics free from all delusion, And at the fifth line knock'd the Poet down; And show'd me what I in my turn have Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease,
shown: Into his lake, for there he did not drown, All I saw further in the last confusion, A different web being by the Destinies Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven Woven for the Laureate's final wreath,
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, Reform shall happen either here or there. I left him practising the hundredth psalm.
for one ;
A SKETCH FROM PRIVATE LIFE. Foild was perversion by that youthful
mind, Honest- honest Iago!
Which flattery fool'd not, baseness could If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.
not blind, SHAKSPEARE. Deceit infect not, near contagion soil,
Indulgence weaken, nor example spoil, Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, Nor master'd science tempt her to look down Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head; On humbler talents with a pitying frown, Next-for some gracious service unexprest, Nor genius swell, nor beauty render vain, And from its wages only to be guess'd— Nor envy ruffle to retaliate pain, Raised from the toilet to the table, where Nor fortune change, pride raise, nor passion Her wondering betters wait behind her
Nor virtue teach austerity-till now. With eye unmoved, and forehead unabashid, Serenely purest of her sex that live, Shedines from off the plate she lately wash'd, But wanting one sweet weakness_to forgive; Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie, Too shock'd at faults her soul can never The genial confidante, and general spy;
know, Who could, ye gods! her next employment She deems that all could be like her below:
Foe to all vice, yet hardly virtue's friend An only infant's earliest governess ! For virtue pardons those she would amend. She taught the child to read, and taught That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to But to the theme-now laid aside too long,
The baleful burthen of this honest songAn adept next in penmanship she grows, Though all her former functions are no As many a nameless slander destly shows:
more, What she had made the papil of her art, She rules the circle which she served before. None know—but that high soul secured the if mothers - none know why-before her heart,
quake; And panted for the truth it could not hear, If daughters dread her for the mother's sake; With longing breast and nndeluded ear. If early habits—those false links, which bind
OP DRURY -LANB
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind- Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, Have given her power too deeply to instil | The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast The angry essence of her deadly will;
spread ! If like a snake she steal within your walls, Then, when thou fain wouldst weary heaven Till the black slime betray her as she
Look on thine earthly victims—and despair! If like a viper to the heart she wind, Down to the dust!- and, as thou rott'st And leave the venom there she did not find;
away, What marvel that this hag of hatred works Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous Eternal evil latent as she lurks,
clay. To make a Pandemonium where she dwells, But for the love I bore, and still must bear, And reign the Hecate of domestic hells? To her thy malice from all ties would tear,
Thy name - thy human name—to every eye
The climax of all scorn should hang on high, Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers,
And festering in the infamy of years. With all the kind mendacity of hints,
March 30, 1816. While mingling truth with falsehood, sneers
with smiles, A thread of candour with a web of wiles ; A plain blunt show of briefly-spoken seeming,
ADDRESS, To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd
scheming; A lip of lies, a face form’d to conceal, THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. And, without feeling, mock at all who feel; With a vile mask the Gorgon would disown, In one dread night our city saw, and sigh’d, A cheek of parchment, and an eye of stone. Bow'd to the dust the Drama's tower of pride; Mark how the channels of her yellow blood In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign. Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale, (For drawn from reptiles only may we trace Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and Congenial colours in that soul or face).
mourn'd, Look on her features! and behold her mind Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) As in a mirror of itself defined :
Through clouds of fire, the massy fragLook on the picture! deem it not o'er
ments riven, charged
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from There is no trait which might not be
enlarged; Saw the long column of revolving flames Yet true to "Nature's journeymen,” who Shake its red shadow o'er the startled made
Thanes, This monster when their mistress left off While thousands, throng'd around the trade,
burning dome, This female dog-star of her little sky, Shrank back appalld, and trembled for Where all beneath her influence droop or die.
their home, As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly
shone Oh! wretch without a tear-without a The skies, with lightnings awful as their thought,
own, Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought-Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall The time shall come, nor long remote, Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her
when thou Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now; Say-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, Reard where once rose the mightiest in And turn thee howling in anpitied pain.
our isle, May the strong curse of crush'd affections Know the same favour which the former light
knew, Back on thy bosom with reflected blight! A shrine for Shakespeare-worthy him and And make thee, in thy leprosy of mind,
you? As loathsome to thyself as to mankind! Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, Black as thy will for others would create: Yes, it shall be-the magic of that name Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, Defies the scythe of time, the torch of Aame; And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. On the same spot still consecrates the scene,
And bids the Drama be where she hath been: Springs from our hearts, and faln would This fabric's birth attests the potent spell
win your own. Indulge our honest pride, and say, How well! The curtain rises -may our stage unfold
Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, As soars this fane to emulate the last, Still may we please-long, long may you Oh ! might we draw our omens from the past,
preside! Some hour propitious to our prayer& may
A loud lament along the sweeping sea ! But still for living wit the wreaths may If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
What should thy sons do ?_any thing but That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
weep: Such Drury claim'd and claims—nor you And yet they only murmur in their sleep.
In contrast with their fatherg—as the slime, Ono tribute to revive his slumbering muse; The dull green ooze of the receding deep, With garlands deck your own Menander's Is with the dashing of the spring-tide-foam,
That drives the sailor shipless to his home, Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead! Are they to those that were; and thus they
Crouching and crab - like, through their Dear are the days which made our annals
sapping streets. bright,
Oh! agony--that centuries should reap Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write. No mellower harvest! Thirteen hundred Heirs to their labours, like all high-born
Of wealth and glory turn’d to dust and tears; Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs; And every monument the stranger meets, While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's Church, palace, pillar, as a mourner greets;
And even the Lion all subdued appears, To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, And the harsh sound of the barbarian drum, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine With dull and daily dissonance, repeats Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, The echo of thy tyrant's voice along Pause – ere their feebler offspring you The soft waves, once all musical to song,
condemn, That heaved beneath the moonlight with Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
the throng Of gondolas—and to the busy hum
of cheerful creatures, whose most sinful Friends of the stage! to whom both Play
deeds ers and Plays Were but the overbeating of the heart, Must sue alike for pardon, or for praise, And flow of too much happiness, which needs Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The aid of age to turn its course apart The boundless power to cherish or reject; From the luxuriant and voluptuous flood If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
Of sweet sensations, battling with the blood. And made us blush that you forbore to blame; But these are better than the gloomy errors, If e'er the sinking stage could condescend The weeds of nations in their last decay, To soothe the sickly taste, it dare not mend, When Vice walks forth with her unsoften'd All past reproach may present scenes refute,
terrors, And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! And Mirth is madness,and but smiles to slay; Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, And Hope is nothing but a false delay, Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause; The sick man's lightning half an hour ere So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's
When Faintness, the last mortal birth of Pain, And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours! And apathy of limb, the dull beginning
Of the cold staggering race which Death
is winning, This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, Steals vein by vein and pulse by pulse away; The Drama's homage by her herald paid, Yet so relieving the o’ertortured clay, Recetve our welcoine too, whose every tone To him appears renewal of his breath,
And freedom the mere numbness of his | And trample on each other to obtain
The cup which brings oblivion of a chain And then he talks of life, and how again Heavy and sore,- in which long yoked He feels his spirits soaring - albeit weak,
they plough'd And of the fresher air, which he would seek; The sand, - or if there sprung the yellow And as he whispers knows not that he gasps,
grain, That his thin finger feels not what it clasps, 'Twas not for them, their necks were too And so the film comes o'er him - and the
much bow'd, dizzy
And their dead palates chew'd the cud of Chamber swims round and round and
pain :shadows busy Yes! the few spirits—who, despite of deeds At which he vainly catches, flit and gleam, which they abhor, confound not with the Till the last rattle chokes the strangled
Those momentary starts from Nature's laws, And all is ice and blackness, - and the earth Which, like the pestilence and earthquake, That which it was the moment ere our birth.
smite But for a term, then pass, and leave the carth
With all her seasons to repair the blight There is no hope for nations !-Search the With a few summers, and again put forth
Cities and generations—fair, when freeOf many thousand years--the daily scene, For,Tyranny, there blooms no bud for thee! The flow and ebb of each recurring age, The everlasting to be which hath been, Hath taught us nought or little : still we Glory and Empire! once upon these towers
With freedom godlike Triad! how ye On things that rot beneath our weight, and
The league of mightiest nations, in those Our strength away in wrestling with the air;
hours For 'tis our nature strikes us down: the When Venice was an envy, might abate,
But did not quench, her spirit - in her fate Slaughter'd in hourly hecatombs for feasts All were enwrapp'd: the feasted monarchs Are of as high an order, they must go
knew Even where their driver goade them, though And loved their hostess, nor could learn to to slaughter.
hate, Ye men, who pour your blood for kings as Although they humbled-with the kingly water,
few What have they given your children in The many felt,for from all days and climes
She was the voyager's worship;-even her A heritage of servitude and woes,
crimes A blindfold bondage where your hire is Were of the softer order-born of Love,
She drank no blood, nor fattend on the dead, What! do not get the red-hot ploughshares But gladden'd where her harmless conquests burn,
spread; O'er which you stumble in a false ordeal, For these restored the Cross, that from above And deem this proof of loyalty the real ; Hallow'd her sheltering banners, which Kissing the hand that guides you to your
Flew between earth and the unholy Crescent, And glorying as you tread the glowing bars? Which, if it waned and dwindled, Earth All that your sires have left you, all that
The city it has clothed in chains, which clank Bequeaths of free, and History of sublime, Now, creaking in the ears of those who owe Spring from a different theme!- Ye see and The name of Freedom to her glorious read,
struggles ; Admire and sigh, and then succumb and Yet she but shares with them a common woe,
And call'd the “ kingdom" of a conquering Save the few spirits, who, despite of all,
foe,And worse than all, the sudden crimes But knows what all- and, most of all, we engender'd
know --By the down-thundering of the prison-wall, with what set gilded terms a tyrant juggles! And thirst to swallow the sweet waters
tender'd, Gushing from Freedom's fountains – when The name of Commonwealth is past and the crowd,
gone Madden'd with centurios of drought, are O'er the three fractions of the groaning loud,
Venice is crush'd, and Holland deigns to own Thy storms have awaken'd their sleep,
weep, For tyranny of late is cunning grown,
To see the foul stain on thy breast; And in its own good season tramples down For where is the glory they left thee in trust? The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime, 'Tis scatter'd in darkness, 'tis trampled Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean
in dust! Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion Of Freedom, which their fathers fought
Go look through the kingdoms of earth, Bequeath'd-a heritage of heart and hand, From Indus all round to the pole, And proud distinction from each other land, And something of goodness, of honour, Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's
and worth, motion,
Shall brighten the sins of the soul. As if his senseless sceptre were a wand But thou art alone in thy shame, Full of the magic of exploded science
The world cannot liken thee there ; Still one great clime, in full and free Abhorrence and vice have disfigured thy defiance,
name Yet rears her crest,unconquer'd and sublime, Beyond the low reach of compare; Above the far Atlantic !-She has taught Stupendous in guilt, thou shalt lend us Her Esau - brethren that the haughty flag,
through time The foating fence of Albion's feebler crag, A proverb, a bye-word, for treachery and May strike to those whose red right hands
crime! have bought Rights cheaply earn’d with blood. Still,
still, for ever While conquest illumined his sword, Better, though each man's life-blood were While yet in his prowess he stood,
Thy praises still follow'd the steps of thy That it should flow,and overflow,than crcep
lord, Through thousand lazy channels in our And welcomed the torrent of blood :
Though tyranny sat on his crown, Damm'd like the dull canal with locks and And wither'd the nations afar,
Yet bright in thy view was that despot's And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
renown, Three paces, and then faltering :- better be Till fortune deserted his car; Where the extinguish'd Spartans still are Then back from the chieftain thou slunkest free,
away, In their proud charnel of Thermopylæ, The foremost t' insult, the first to betray! Than stagnate in our marsh,-or o'er the deep Fly, and one current to the ocean add, One spirit to the souls our fathers had, Forgot were the feats he had done, One freeman more, America, to thee!
The toils he had borne in thy cause; Thou turnedst to worship a new rising sun,
And waft other songs of applause.
But the storm was beginning to lower, ODE.
Adversity clouded his beam;
And honour and faith were the brag of an Or, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul!
hour, Oh, shame to thy children and thee! And loyalty's self but a dream :Unwise in thy glory, and base iu thy fall, To him thou badst banish'd thy vows were How wretched thy portion shall be!
restored, Derision shall strike thee forlorn, And the first that had scoff d were the first A mockery that never shall die;
that adored! The curses of hate, and the hisses of scorn,
Shall burden the winds of thy sky;
His sceptre shall rule them alone. Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,
Reverses shall brighten their zeal, The spirit that breathed in thy dead, Misfortune shall hallow his name, When gallantry's star was the beacon before, And the world that pursues him shall And honour the passion that led ?