Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays Must sue alike for pardon, or for praise, Whose judging voice and eye alone direct And made us blush that you forbore to blame; This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obeyed, The Drama's homage by her herald paid, Receive our welcome too, whose every tone Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own. The curtain rises - may our stage unfold Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old! Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, Still may we please long, long may you preside! TO THYRZA. ONE struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain; One last long sigh to love and thee, Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before : Though every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more ? Then bring me wine, the banquet bring, That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear, It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, and left me lonely here; Thou 'rt nothing, all are nothing now. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe! The smile that sorrow fain would wear The heart-the heart is lonely still! On many a lone and lovely night When stretched on fever's sleepless bed, And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, 66 ""Tis comfort still," I faintly said, "That Thyrza cannot know my pains:" Like freedom to the time-worn slave, A boon 'tis idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave My life, when Thyrza ceased to live! My Thyrza's pledge in better days, When love and life alike were new! The heart that gave itself with thee Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token! Or break the heart to which thou 'rt prest! Time tempers love, but not removes, TO TIME. TIME! on whose arbitrary wing Hail thou! who on my mirth bestowed Yet better I sustain thy load, For now I bear the weight alone. I would not one fond heart should share The bitter moments thou hast given; And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare All that I loved to peace or heaven. To them be joy or rest, on me Thy future ills shall press in vain ; I nothing owe but years to thee, A debt already paid in pain. Yet even that pain was some relief; Retards, but never counts the hour. In joy I've sighed to think thy flight Thy cloud could overcast the light, For then, however drear and dark, That beam hath sunk, and now thou art One scene even thou canst not deform; And I can smile to think how weak Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, When all the vengeance thou canst wreak Must fall upon - a nameless stone. |