| |
| WHEN learning slumber’d in the convent’s shade, | |
| And holy craft the groping nations sway’d, | |
| By dulness banned, the Muses wander’d long, | |
| Each lyre neglected, and forgot each song; | |
| Till Heaven’s bright halo wreathed the Drama’s dome, | 5 |
| And great Apollo call’d the pilgrims home. | |
| Then their glad harps, that charm’d old Greece, they swept, | |
| Their altars throng’d, and joy’s high sabbath kept. | |
| Young Genius there his glorious banners rear’d, | |
| To float forever loved, forever fear’d. | 10 |
| The cowl’s device, the cloister’s legend known, | |
| Old Superstition tumbled from his throne; | |
| Back to his cell the king of gloom retired, | |
| The buskin triumph’d, and the world admired! | |
| Since that proud hour, through each unfetter’d age, | 15 |
| The sons of light have cluster’d round the stage. | |
| From Fiction’s realms her richest spoils they bring, | |
| And Pleasure’s walls with Rapture’s echoes ring. | |
| Here hermit Wisdom lays his mantle down, | |
| To win with smiles the heart that fears his frown; | 20 |
| In mirth’s gay robe he talks to wondering youth, | |
| And Grandeur listens to the voice of 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, | 25 |
| 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 Labor rests, pale Grief forgets her wo, | |
| And Vice, whose mildew breath taints all below, | 30 |
| Even Vice looks on!—For this the Stage was rear’d, | |
| To scourge the fiend, so cherish’d, scorn’d and fear’d | |
| Not tied alone to poverty’s cold walls, | |
| He dwells with pomp, treads plenty’s marble halls; | |
| Proudly he sits where senate-sages meet, | 35 |
| Gravely he dooms in judgment’s awful seat; | |
| God’s lovely temple shall behold him there, | |
| With eye upturn’d, and aspect false as fair; | |
| Even at the altar’s very horns he stands, | |
| And breaks and blesses with polluted hands. | 40 |
| 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 | 45 |
| Seeks other worlds, and leaves his own behind: | |
| He lures from air its bright, unprison’d forms, | |
| Breaks through the tomb, and death’s dull region storms. | |
| O’er ruin’d realms he pours creative day, | |
| And slumbering kings his mighty voice obey. | 50 |
| From its damp shroud the long-laid spirit walks, | |
| And round the murderer’s bed in vengeance stalks. | |
| Poor maniac 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, | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| 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; | 70 |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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 splendor o’er the Stage. | 80 |
| For them, for you, Truth hoards a nobler theme, | |
| Than ever bless’d 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 | 85 |
| 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. | 90 |
| Within thy walls may Wit’s adorers throng, | |
| To drink the magic 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, | 95 |
| 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. | |
| |
