A voice proclaims thee, that we must | That voice too Rolla heard, and, greatly believe, brave, A voice, that surely speaks not to His Cora's dearest treasure died to save; Gave to the hopeless parent's arms her child, deceive; That voice poor Cora heard, and closely Beheld her transports, and expiring smiled. That voice we hear-Oh! be its will obey'd! 'Tis Valour's impulse, and 'tis Virtue's aid It prompts to all Benevolence admires, And clasp his bosom, though it stream'd That with gore;. Honour sanctifies, and Time reveres. VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK. SPOKEN AS A MONODY, AT THE THEATRE ROYAL IN TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE COUNTESS SPENCER, WHOSE APPROBATION AND ESTEEM WERE JUSTLY CONSIDERED BY MR. GARRICK AS THE HIGHEST PANEGYRIC HIS TALENTS OR CONDUCT COULD ACQUIRE, THIS IMPERFECT TRIBUTE TO HIS MEMORY IS, WITH GREAT DEFERENCE, INSCRIBED BY HER LADYSHIP'S MOST OBEDIENT MARCH 25TH, 1779. HUMBLE SERVANT, RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF OF GARRICK. IF dying excellence deserves a tear, Can we persist to bid your sorrows flow Point the quick jest-indulge the comic To him, whose mimic pencil wins the prize, Obedient Fame immortal wreaths supplies: Whate'er of wonder Reynolds now may raise, Raphael still boasts cotemporary praise: Each dazzling light and gaudier bloom subdued, With undiminish'd awe his works are view'd: E'en Beauty's portrait wears a softer prime, Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing Time. The patient Sculptor owns an humbler part, A ruder toil, and more mechanic art; Content with slow and timorous stroke to trace The lingering line, and mould the tardy grace: But once achieved--though barbarous wreck o'erthrow The sacred fane, and lay its glories low, Yet shall the sculptured ruin rise to day, Graced by defect, and worship'd in decay; Th' enduring record bears the artist's name, Demands his honours, and asserts his fame. Superior hopes the Poet's bosom fire; O proud distinction of the sacred lyre! Wide as th' inspiring Phoebus darts his ray, Diffusive splendor gilds his votary's lay. With epic grandeur, and the pomp of But strike the frame-and as they strike verse; expire; Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile, Incense too pure a bodied flame to Or bear dejected to the lonely grove and clime Congenial passions meet th' according The pride of glory-pity's sigh sincere- virgin tear. Such is their meed-their honours thus secure, comment draws Entranced attention, and a mute applause; Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught, 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 Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame; To you it is bequeath'd,-assert the trust, What inore is due from sanctifying To cheerful wit, and many a favour'd O'er his graced urn shall bloom, a deathless wreath, A sense in silence, and a will in thought; quid tone mask beneath. Gives verse a music, scarce confess'd its For these,—when Sculpture's votive toil own; shall rear As light from gems assumes a brighter The due memorial of a loss so dear- ray, And clothed with orient hues,transcends the day! Passion's wild break and frown that awes the sense, thine The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine. As Fancy, oft by Superstition led And every charm of gentler eloquence-To roam the mansions of the sainted dead, |