When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; 'Tis past to them and thee adieu False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF THE "PLEASURES OF MEMORY." ABSENT or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belong! As all can tell, who share, like me, In turn thy converse (1), and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall come How fondly will she then repay April 19. 1812. (1) ["When Rogers does talk, he talks well; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his househis drawing-room- his library-you of yourself say, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor." B. Diary, 1813.-E.] (2) [The reader will recall Collins's exquisite lines on the tomb of Thomson: "In yonder grave a Druid lies," &c. — ] -E.] ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10. 1812. (1) In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride; 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 night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, (2) While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome, Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home, (1) [The theatre in Drury Lane, which was opened, in 1747, with Dr. Johnson's masterly address, beginning, — "When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the Stage, immortal Shakspeare rose," and witnessed the last glories of Garrick, having fallen into decay, [was rebuilt in 1794. The new building perished by fire in 1811; and the Managers, in their anxiety that the opening of the present edifice should be distinguished by some composition of at least equal merit, advertised in the newspapers for a general competition. Scores of addresses, not one tolerable, showered on their desk, and they were in sad despair, when Lord Holland interfered, and, not without difficulty, prevailed on Lord Byron to write these verses" at the risk," as he said, "of offending a hundred scribblers and a discerning public." The admirable jeu d'esprit of the Messrs. Smith will long preserve the memory of the " Rejected Addresses."- E.] (2) ["By the bye, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a house-top in Covent Garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection of the Thames." B. to Lord H. — E.] As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone - Yes it shall be - the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she hath been: This fabric's birth attests the potent spell— Indulge 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. On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart. On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels 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 One tribute to revive his slumbering muse; With garlands deck your own Menander's head! Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead! Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley (2) ceased to write. Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs; While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, Pause-ere their feebler offspring you condemn, Reflect how hard the task to rival them! 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; (1) [Originally, "Ere Garrick died," &c.—" By the bye, one of my cor. rections in the copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom 'When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write.' Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first. Second thoughts in every thing are best; but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come amiss. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as fast as I can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning. When I began 'Childe Harold,' I had never tried Spenser's measure, and now I cannot scribble in any other." B. to Lord H.- — E.] (2) [The following lines were omitted by the Committee Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, 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 ! (1) "Nay, lower still, the Drama yet deplores Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute." "Is Whitbread," said Lord Byron, "determined to castrate all m cavalry lines? I do implore, for my own gratification, one lash on thos accursed quadrupeds — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me.""-E] (1) ["Soon after the Rejected Addresses' scene in 1812, I met Sherida In the course of dinner, he said, ' Lord Byron, did you know that among the writers of addresses was Whitbread himself?' I answered by an er quiry of what sort of an address he had made. 'Of that,' replied Sherida 'I remember little, except that there was a phœnix in it.'—' A phoenix Well, how did he describe it?'' Like a poulterer,' answered Sheridan 'it was green, and yellow, and red, and blue: he did not let us off for single feather.'" B. Letters, 1821. - -El |