Poems [45]
to rate "With study good--in time--but--never great:" Not like you travelled native, just to say "Folks in this country can act a play-- The can't 'pon honor!" How the creature starts! His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts! Nay, madam, spare your blushes--you I mean-- There--close beside him--oh, you're full nineteen-- You need not shake your flowing locks at me-- The man, your sweetheart--then I'm dumb you see; I'll let him off--you'll punish him in time, Or I've no skill in prophecy or rhyme! A nobler motive fills your bosoms now, To wreathe the laurel round the silvered brow Of one who merits it--if any can-- The artist, author, and the honest man. With equal charms his pen and pencil drew Bright scenes, to nature and to virtue true. Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared, And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered; But not alone on budding genius smile, Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while; To boyish hope not every bounty give And only youth and beauty bid to live. Will you forget the services long past-- Turn the old war-horse out to die at last?-- When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o'er, His faithful bosom dares the charge no more! Ah, no!--The sun that loves his beams to shed Round every opening floweret's tender head, With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws To cheer the sadness of the fading rose: Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd, Points to the past, and has his claims allowed; Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done, And rests in triumph--like the setting sun.
Address.
For the benefit of James Sheridan Knowles.
(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.)
Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite-- To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!-- I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie! To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try!
From him I turn to these more generous souls The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES. Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here! What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere! Names that shine brightest on our country's page! The props of science--literature--the stage! Above--below--around me--woman smiles, The fairest floweret of these western wilds-- All come to pay the tribute of their praise To the first dramatist of modern days: And welcome, to the green home of the free, With heart and hand, the bard of liberty!
His is a wizard-wand. Its potent spell Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, And placed him on his native hills again, The pride and glory of his fellow-men! The poet speaks--for Rome Virginia bleeds! Bold Caius Gracclius in the forum pleads! Alfred--the Great, because the good and wise, Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise! Sweet Bess, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen, Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene! The Hunchback enters--kindly--fond--severe-- And last, behold the glorious Wife appear!
These are the bright creations of a mind Glowing with genius, chastened and refined. In all he's written, be this praise his lot: "Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot!"
Upon my life 'tis no such easy thing To land the bard, unless an eagle's wing My muse would take; and, fixing on the sun Her burning eye, soar as his own has done!
Did you speak, sir?--What, madam, did he say? Wrangling!--for shame!--before your wedding-day! Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue, And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you! Bless me, what friends at every glance I see! Artists and authors--men of high degree; Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, The next election, and the war with France; Doctors, just come from curing half a score-- And belles, from killing twice as many more; Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs! All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces Might well become Apollo and the graces, Except one yonder, with a look infernal, Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble's Journal!
But to my task. The muse, when I began, Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man. Genius, at best, acts but an humble
Address.
For the benefit of James Sheridan Knowles.
(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.)
Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite-- To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!-- I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie! To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try!
From him I turn to these more generous souls The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES. Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here! What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere! Names that shine brightest on our country's page! The props of science--literature--the stage! Above--below--around me--woman smiles, The fairest floweret of these western wilds-- All come to pay the tribute of their praise To the first dramatist of modern days: And welcome, to the green home of the free, With heart and hand, the bard of liberty!
His is a wizard-wand. Its potent spell Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, And placed him on his native hills again, The pride and glory of his fellow-men! The poet speaks--for Rome Virginia bleeds! Bold Caius Gracclius in the forum pleads! Alfred--the Great, because the good and wise, Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise! Sweet Bess, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen, Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene! The Hunchback enters--kindly--fond--severe-- And last, behold the glorious Wife appear!
These are the bright creations of a mind Glowing with genius, chastened and refined. In all he's written, be this praise his lot: "Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot!"
Upon my life 'tis no such easy thing To land the bard, unless an eagle's wing My muse would take; and, fixing on the sun Her burning eye, soar as his own has done!
Did you speak, sir?--What, madam, did he say? Wrangling!--for shame!--before your wedding-day! Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue, And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you! Bless me, what friends at every glance I see! Artists and authors--men of high degree; Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, The next election, and the war with France; Doctors, just come from curing half a score-- And belles, from killing twice as many more; Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs! All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces Might well become Apollo and the graces, Except one yonder, with a look infernal, Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble's Journal!
But to my task. The muse, when I began, Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man. Genius, at best, acts but an humble