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And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Must sue alike for pardon, or for praise, (Plays Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject; If e'er frivolity has led to fame, And made us blush that you forbore to blame; If e'er the sinking stage could condescend To soothe the sickly taste, it dare not mend, All past reproach may present scenes refute, And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause; So pride shall doubly, nerve the actor's powers, And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours !
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!
TIME! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
But drag or drive us on to die-
Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone.
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;
A debt already paid in pain.
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
Retards, but never counts the hour. In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow; Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to wo;
For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
To prove thee-not Eternity.
A blank ; a thing to count and curse
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.
The limit of thy sloth or speed
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed :
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,
Must fall upon—a nameless stone.
TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG.
An! Love was never yet without
the agony, the doubt,
Without one friend to hear my wo,
Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net,
A bird of free and careless wing
Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
My light of life! ah, tell me why
Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow:
My curdling blood, my madd’ning brain,
Pour me the poison; fear not thou !
My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,