Felt without bitterness-but full and clear, Even as the tenderness that hour instils A mighty Spirit is eclipsed—a Power Hath pass'd from day to darkness-to whose hour Focus at once of all the rays of Fame! The beam of Song--the blaze of Eloquence, 330 20 In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, The praised-the proud-who made his praise their pride. 40 *When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man, The wrath-the delegated voice of God! Which shook the nations through his lips-and blazed Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised. And here, oh! here, where yet all young and warm The matchless dialogue-the deathless wit, Which knew not what it was to intermit; The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring; These wondrous beings of his Fancy, wrought To fulness by the fiat of his thought, Here in their first abode you still may meet, Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat; A halo of the light of other days, Which still the splendour of its orb betrays. But should there be to whom the fatal blight 50 60 * See Fox, Burke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr. Sheridan's speech on the charges exhibited against Mr. Hastings in the House of Commons. Mr. Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give time for a calmer consideration of the question than could then occur after the immediate effect of that oration. 470720 Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone Jar in the music which was born their own, Still let them pause-Ah! little do they know That what to them seemed Vice might be but Woe. Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, And pile the Pyramid of Calumny! These are his portion-but if joined to these Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease, If the high Spirit must forget to soar, And stoop to strive with Misery at the door, To soothe Indignity-and face to face Meet sordid Rage-and wrestle with Disgrace, 70 80 To find in Hope but the renewed caress, Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from Heaven, 90 Black with the rude collision, inly torn, By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Driven o'er the lowering Atmosphere that nurst Thoughts which have turned to thunder-scorch-and burst. But far from us and from our mimic scene Such things should be—if such have ever been; Our's be the gentler wish, the kinder task, To give the tribute Glory need not ask, To mourn the vanished beam-and add our mite Of praise in payment of a long delight. Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield, The worthy rival of the wondrous Three !* Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, Ye men of wit and social eloquence! He was your Brother-bear his ashes hence! 100 * Fox-Pitt-Burke. While Powers of mind almost of boundless range, 110 118 مرخ |