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But let them pass-Oh! how my heart
Would hate him, if he loved thee not!
3, When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when th’ unconscious infant smiled,
I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake.
Its father in its face to see;
And they were all to love and me.
5. Mary, adieu! I must away;
While thou art blest I'll pot repine; But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
6. I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all, save hope, the same.
7. Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
8, I saw thee gaze upon my face, Yet meet with no confusion there;
One only feeling could'st thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Ob! where is Lethe's fabled stream?
My foolish beart, be still, or break.
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS
1. ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be
That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain Have years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employ'd in vain?
2. Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,
And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee, feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
In moments to delight devoted,
My life!" with tend’rest tone, you cry;
If youth could neither fade nor die.
Ah! then repeat those accepts never;
Which, like my love, exists for ever.
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My thougbts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers sbripk,
And droop within their silent cell.
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE ORIGIN
THE“ Origin of Love!"-Ah why
That cruel question ask of me,
He starts to life on seeing thee?
My heart forbodes, my fears foresee,
But live-until I cease to be.
SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE,
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn’d!) Through clouds of fire, the massy fragments riven, Like Israel’s pillar, chase the nigbt from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome, Shrank back appallid, and trembled for their home, As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone The skies, with lightnings awful as their own, Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall; Say--shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle, Know the same favour which the former knew, A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you?
Yes it shall be- The magic of that name Defies the scithe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she bath been: This fabric's birth attests the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well!
As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. Oo Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O’erwbelm’d the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart. On Drury, Garrick's latest laurel grew; Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, Sigh’d his last thanks, and wept his last adieu; But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom That only waste their odours o'er the tomb,
Such Drury claim'd and claims_nor you refuse
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd,