And every scheme of bliss our hearts had form'd, Yet O my soul, thy rising murmurs stay; With impious grief complain. That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his most righteous will-and be that will obey'd. Would thy fond love his grace to her control, That heavenly radiance of eternal light, E'en Love itself, if rising by degrees No feet but those of harden'd Guilt shall miss. There Death himself thy Lucy shall restore, There yield up all his power, ne'er to divide you Lord Lyttelton. more. MONODY WRITTEN NEAR STRATFORD UPON AVON. Avon, thy rural views, thy pastures wild, The willows that o'erhang thy twilight edge, Here first, at Fancy's fairy-circled shrine, Like spectres swarming to the wizard's hall; A weeping mourner, smote with anguish sore, And sternly shakes his sceptre, dropping blood. TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK. Ir dying excellence deserve a tear, If fond remembrance still be cherish'd here,* Or with quaint smiles dismiss the plaintive strain, His fame requires to act a tender part: The general voice, the meed of mournful verse, The grac'd respect that claim'd him to the last, So much are Garrick's praise—so much his due— Amid the arts which seek ingenious fame, Our toil attempts the most precarious claim ! To him, whose mimic pencil wins the prize, Obedient Fame immortal wreaths supplies: Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise, Raphael still boasts contemporary praise : Each dazzling light, and gaudier bloom subdu'd, With undiminish'd awe his works are view'd: Drury Lane Theatre, in which it was spoken. E'en Beauty's portrait wears a softer prime, The patient sculpture owns an humbler part, Content with slow and timorous stroke to trace Superior hopes the poets bosom fireO, proud distinction of the sacred lyre !Wide as th' inspiring Phoebus darts his ray, Diffusive splendour gilds his votary's lay. Whether the song heroic woes rehearse, With epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse; Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile Attempt no prize but favouring Beauty's smile; Or bear dejected to the lonely grove The soft despair of unprevailing loveWhate'er the theme-through every age and clime Congenial passions meet th' according rhyme : The pride of glory-Pity's sigh sincereYouth's earliest blush-and Beauty's virgin tear. Such is their meed-their honours thus secure, Whose arts yield objects, and whose works endure. The actor only shrinks from time's award; Feeble tradition is his memory's guard; By whose faint breath it must abide, Unvouch'd by proof-to substance unallied! The grace of action-the adapted mien, Faithful as nature to the varied scene: [draws Th' expressive glance--whose subtle comment Entranc'd attention, and a mute applause; Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, A sense in silence, and a will in thought; Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid tone Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its own; As light from gems assumes a brighter ray ; And cloth'd with orient hues, transcends the day!Passion's wild break-and frown that awes the And every charm of gentler eloquenceAll perishable !-like th' electric fire, [sense, But strike the frame-and as they strike expire; Incense too pure a bodied flame to bear, Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends with air, Where then-while sunk in cold decay he lies, And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes ;Where is the blest memorial that ensures Our Garrick's fame!-whose is the trust?-'tis yours. And O! by every charm his art essay'd By all those thoughts, which, many a distant night |