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| WHEN mitred Zeal, in wild, unholy days, | |
| Bared his red arm, and bade the fagot blaze, | |
| Our patriot sires the pilgrim sail unfurl’d, | |
| And Freedom pointed to a rival world. | |
| Where prowl’d the wolf, and where the hunter roved, | 5 |
| Faith raised her altars to the God she loved; | |
| Toil, link’d with Art, explored each savage wild, | |
| The lofty forest bow’d, the desert smiled; | |
| The startled Indian o’er the mountains flew, | |
| The wigwam vanish’d, and the village grew; | 10 |
| Taste rear’d her domes, fair Science spread her page, | |
| And Wit and Genius gather’d round the stage! | |
| The Stage!—where Fancy sits, creative queen, | |
| And waves her sceptre o’er life’s mimic scene; | |
| Where young-eyed Wonder comes to feast his sight, | 15 |
| And quaff instruction while he drinks delight.— | |
| The Stage!—that threads each labyrinth of the soul, | |
| Wakes laughter’s peal, and bids the tear-drop roll; | |
| That hoots at folly, mocks proud fashion’s slave, | |
| Uncloaks the hypocrite, and brands the knave. | 20 |
| The child of Genius, catering for the Stage, | |
| Rifles the wealth of every clime and age. | |
| He speaks! the sepulchre resigns its prey, | |
| And crimson life runs through the sleeping clay. | |
| The wave, the gibbet, and the battle field, | 25 |
| At his command, their festering tenants yield. | |
| Pale, bleeding Love comes weeping from the tomb, | |
| That kindred softness may bewail her doom; | |
| Murder’s dry bones, reclothed, desert the dust, | |
| That after times may own his sentence just; | 30 |
| Forgotten Wisdom, freed from death’s embrace, | |
| Reads awful lessons to another race; | |
| And the mad tyrant of some ancient shore, | |
| Here warns a world that he can curse no more. | |
| May this fair Dome, in classic beauty rear’d, | 35 |
| By Worth be honor’d, and by Vice be fear’d. | |
| May chasten’d Wit here bend to Virtue’s cause, | |
| Reflect her image, and repeat her laws; | |
| And Guilt, that slumbers o’er the sacred page, | |
| Hate his own likeness, shadow’d from the Stage. | 40 |
| Here let the Guardian of the Drama sit, | |
| In righteous judgment o’er the realms of wit. | |
| Not his the shame, with servile pen to wait | |
| On private friendship, or on private hate; | |
| To flatter fools, or Satire’s javelin dart, | 45 |
| Tipp’d with a lie, at proud Ambition’s heart; | |
| His be the nobler task to herald forth | |
| Young, blushing Merit, and neglected Worth; | |
| To brand the page where goodness finds a sneer, | |
| And lash the wretch that breathes the treason here. | 50 |
| Here shall bright Genius wing his eagle flight, | |
| Rich dew-drops shaking from his plumes of light, | |
| Till, high in mental worlds, from vulgar ken | |
| He soars, the wonder and the pride of men. | |
| Cold Censure here to decent Mirth shall bow, | 55 |
| And Bigotry unbend his monkish brow; | |
| Here Toil shall pause, his ponderous sledge thrown by, | |
| And Beauty bless each strain with melting eye. | |
| Grief, too, in fiction lost, shall cease to weep, | |
| And all the world’s rude cares be laid to sleep. | 60 |
| Each polish’d scene shall Taste and Truth approve, | |
| And the Stage triumph in the people’s love. | |
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