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With bolder crest, the dauntless warrior strode;
With nobler tongue the ardent statesman glow'd;-
And Athens reign’d Minerva of the globe;
First, in the helmet-fairest in the robe;-
In arms she triumph'd, as in letters shone,
Of Taste the palace, and of War the throne.

But lo! where, rising in majestic flight,
The Roman Eagle sails th' expanse of light!
His wings, like heaven's vast canopy, unfurld,
Spread their broad plumage o'er the subject world,
Behold! he soars where golden Phæbus rolls,
And perching on his car, o'erlooks the poles.
Far, a revolves the chariot's radiant way,
He wafts his empire o'er the tide of day;
From where it rolls on yon bright sea of suns,
To where in light's remotest ebb it runs.

The globe half ravag'd by the storm of war,
The gates of Greece admit the victor's car;
Chain'd to his wheels is captive Science led,
And Taste, transplanted, blooms at Tiber's head
O’er the rude minds of empire's hardy race
The opening pupil beam'd of letter'd grace;
With charms so sweet, the houseless Drama smil'd,
That Rome adopted Athens' orphan child.
Fledgʻd by her hand, the Mantuan swan aspir'li
Aw'd by her power, e'en Pompey's self retir'd;
Sheath'd was the sword, by which a world had bled;
And Janus blushing to his temple ded:
The globe's proud Butcher grew humanely brare;
Earth stanch'd her wounds, and Ocean bush'd his ware

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At length, like huge Enceladus depressid,
Groaning with slavery's mountain on their breast,
The supine nations struggled from disgrace,
And Rome, like Etna, totter'd from herbase.

Thus set the sun of intellectual light,
And, wrapt in clouds, lower'd on the Gothic night.
Dark gloom'd the storm--the rushing torrent pourid,
And wide the deep Cimmerian deluge shower'd,
E'en Learning's loftiest bills were cover'd o'er,
And seas of dullness roll'd, without a shore.
Yet ere the surge Parnassus' top o'erflow'd,
The banish'd Muses Aed their blest abode

Frail was their art, the heaven-topp'd seas to breve,
The wind their compass, and their hela the wave;
No port to cheer them, and no star to guide,
From clime to clime they rov'd the billowy tide;
At length, by storms and tempests wafted oʻer,
They found an Ararat on Albion's sbore.

Yet long so sterile prov'd the rang'd age,
That scarcely seem'd to vegetate the Stages
Nature, in dotage, second childhood mouro'd,
And to her infant cradle had return'd.
But hark! her mighty rival sweeps the strings:
Sweet Avon, flow not!--'tis thy Shakepeare sings!
With Blanchard's* wing, in fancy's heav'n he soars;
With Herschell's eye, another world explores!
Taught by the tones of his melodious song,
The scenic Muses tun'd their barbarous tongue;
With subtile powers the crudest soul refin'd,
And warm'd the Zembla of the frozen mind.
The world's new queen, Augusta, own'd their charms,
And clasp'd the Grecian nymphs in British arms.

Then shone the Drama with imperial art,
And made a province of the human heart.
Wbat nerve of verse can sketch th'extatic view,
When she and Garrick sigh'd their last adieu!
Description but a shadow's shade appears,
When Siddons looks a nation into tears!

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But ah! while thus unrivall'd reigns the Muse,
Her soul o'erflows, and grief her face bede ws;
Sworn at the altar, prold Oppression's foe,
She weeps, indignant, for her Britain's wo.
Long has she cast a fondly wishful eye
On the pure climate of this western skyi
And now, while Europe bleeds at every vein,
And pinion'd forests shake the crimson'd main;
While Gallia, wall'd by foes, collected stands,
And hurls her thunders from an hundred bands:-
Lurd by a clime, where,-hostile arms afar, -
Peace rolls luxurious in her dove-drawn car;
Where Freedom first awoke the human mind,
And broke th'enchantment which enslav'd mankind;

• Blanchard, the Æronaut, was at that time in Boston, and at the heiglit of his celcbrity.

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Bebold! Apollo seeks this liberal plain,
And brings the Thespian Goddeus in hiç train..
Oh! happy realm! to whom are richly given
The noblest bounties of indulgent heaven;
For whom hus Earth her wealthiest mine bestowa,
And Commerce bridg'd old Ocean's broadest flood;
To you, a stranger quest, the Drama Nies;
An angel wanderer in a pilgrim's guine!
To charm the fancy, and to femet the heart,
She spreads the banquet of the scenic art.
By you supported, shall her infant stage
Portray, adorn, and regulate the age.
When Faction pages with intemperate sway,
And gray-hair'd vices shame the face of day:
Drawn from their covert to th' indignant pit.
Be such the game to stock the part of Wit,
That park, where Genius all his shafts may draw,
Nor dread the terror of a Forest Loc.
But not to scenes of provity contin'd,
Here polish'd life an ample field sball find
Reflected here, ius fair perspective, view,
The stage, the camera--the landscape, you.

Ye lovely fair, whose circling beauties shine
A radiant galaxy of charms divines
Whose gentle hearts those tender scenes approve,
Where Pity begs, or kneels adoring Love:-
Ye sons of sentiment, whose bosom fire
The song of pathos, and the opic lyre:

This remark, which has the rare property of being true, as well u poetical, was made seventeen years ago: and since that time the British stage bas been constantly declining, and the American rapidly rising into consequence and fame. Show seems to be the only attraction now, in England: and the romances of Blue Beard, and Forty Thieves, have lately drawn greater crowds to Covent-garden than ever were attracted by the playsof

Shakspeare, merely because drove of real horses were exhibited in the processions. This miserable perversion has been thus energetically deplored in some late verses by Mr. SHERIDAN.

How arts improve in this degenerate age!
Peers mount the box, and horses tread the stage!
While waltzing females, with unblushing face,
Disdain to dance but in a man's embrace!
How arts improve, when Modesty is dead,
And Taste and Sense are,like our bullion - hed:

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