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Say thy life's new guided action
Flow'd from Virtue's fairest springsStill would Envy and Detraction
Double not their stings? Worth itself is but a charter To be mankind's distinguish'd martyr." I caught the moral, and cried, “ Hail! Spirit! let us onward sail Envying, fearing, hating none Guardian Spirit, steer me on!”
J. P. KEMBLE, Esq.
COMPOSED FOR A PUBLIC MEETING, HELD JUNE, 1817.
PRIDE of the British stage,
A long and last adieu !
Revived to Fancy's view.
When the sun smiles his last,
Our memory of the past;
That wine or music need not swell,
To Kemble--fare thee well!
His was the spell o'er hearts
Which only Acting lends,-
Where all their beauty blends :
Full many a tone of thought sublime,
And Painting, mute and motionless,
Steals but a glance of time.
Illusion's perfect triumphs come,
And Sculpture to be dumb.
Time may again revive,
But ne'er eclipse the charm,
Or Hotspur kindled warm.
To the deep sorrows of the Moor,--
With him at Agincourt?
His transport's most impetuous tone,
The Graces gave their zone.
High were the task--too high,
Ye conscious bosoms here!
Of Kemble and of Lear ;
Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguish'd glare,
If 'twas reality he felt?.
Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been, Friends, he had seen you melt,
And triumph'd to have seen!
And there was many an hour
Of blended kindred fame, When Siddons's auxiliar power
And sister magic came. Together at the Muse's side
The tragic paragons had grownThey were the children of her pride,
The columns of her throne, And, undivided favour ran
From heart to heart in their applause, Save for the gallantry of man
In lovelier woman's cause.
Fair as some classic dome,
Robust and richly graced,
Of genius and of taste;
That, when supernal light is given,
And tell its height in heaven. At once ennobled and correct,
His mind survey'd the tragic page, And what the actor could effect,
The scholar could presage.
These were his traits of worth :
And must we lose them now ! And shall the scene no more shew forth
His sternly-pleasing brow! Alas, the moral brings a tear !
'Tis all a transient hour below; And we that would detain thee here,
Ourselves as fleetly go ! Yet shall our latest age
This parting scene review : Pride of the British stage,
A long and last adieu ?