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
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 echoed back by ours!

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,
Man was not formed to live alone:
I'll be that light unmeaning thing

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
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,

The heart-the heart is lonely still!

On many a lone and lovely night
It soothed to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deemed the heavenly light
Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
When sailing o'er the Egean wave,
"Now Thyrza gazes on that moon"
Alas, it gleamed upon her grave!

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!
How different now thou meet'st my gaze!
How tinged by time with sorrow's hue!

The heart that gave itself with thee
Is silent — ah, where mine is still!
Though cold as e'en the dead can be,
It feels, it sickens with the chill.

Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!
Though painful, welcome to my breast!
Still, still, preserve that love unbroken,

Or break the heart to which thou 'rt prest!

Time tempers love, but not removes,
More hallowed when its hope is fled:
Oh! what are thousand living loves
To that which cannot quit the dead?

TO TIME.

TIME! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly,
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,
But drag or drive us on to die -

Hail thou! who on my mirth bestowed
Those boons to all that know thee known;

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;
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
The active agony of grief

Retards, but never counts the hour.

In joy I've sighed to think thy flight
Would soon subside from swift to slow:

Thy cloud could overcast the light,
But could not add a night to woe.

For then, however drear and dark,
My soul was suited to thy sky;
One star alone shot forth a spark
To prove thee not Eternity.

That beam hath sunk, and now thou art
A blank; a thing to count and curse
Through each dull tedious trifling part,
Which all regret, yet all rehearse.

One scene even thou canst not deform;
The limit of thy sloth or speed,
When future wanderers bear the storm
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed.

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.