 | Poems |  |
Mr. MACKLIN.
Revere sturdy Macklin, the dramatic sire,
For nor age nor disease can extinguish his fire;
Like an evergreen sent, as a rare vernal treasure,
Tho' he blooms all the year, all the year gives us pleasure;
Innately convinc'd of his strength and capacity,
Like a giant mid pigmies, he crushes Audacity;
For pigmies in knowledge this Nestor will deem us,
And roars and corrects like a stage Polyphemus;
Tells the younglings how Roscius excell'd but by rule,
Chalks the outlines of Truth, and defends the old School.
For nor age nor disease can extinguish his fire;
Like an evergreen sent, as a rare vernal treasure,
Tho' he blooms all the year, all the year gives us pleasure;
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Like a giant mid pigmies, he crushes Audacity;
For pigmies in knowledge this Nestor will deem us,
And roars and corrects like a stage Polyphemus;
Tells the younglings how Roscius excell'd but by rule,
Chalks the outlines of Truth, and defends the old School.
When Macklin was form'd, the Almighty intended,
Human clay with empyreal air should be blended;
Disportive he laughs at the toils of the day,
And doubts if our senses were made to decay:
See rejuvenated and blythsome he stands,
With the drama, as God held the seas in his hands;
If Envy could wield th' artillery of Fate,
He'd still be triumphant, and dare to be great.
Surrounded by shrubs on the theatric bed,
The veteran raises his laurel-bound head;
Like the oak of the forest, he lifts his stern form,
With the brow of a monarch, and smiles at the storm;
Unriv'd by the thunder of Malice or Meanness,
He still is majestic, tho' robb'd of his greenness;
And wounded by many a critical scar,
Like the tempest-torn hulk of an old Man of War.
Human clay with empyreal air should be blended;
Disportive he laughs at the toils of the day,
And doubts if our senses were made to decay:
See rejuvenated and blythsome he stands,
With the drama, as God held the seas in his hands;
If Envy could wield th' artillery of Fate,
He'd still be triumphant, and dare to be great.
Surrounded by shrubs on the theatric bed,
The veteran raises his laurel-bound head;
Like the oak of the forest, he lifts his stern form,
With the brow of a monarch, and smiles at the storm;
Unriv'd by the thunder of Malice or Meanness,
He still is majestic, tho' robb'd of his greenness;
And wounded by many a critical scar,
Like the tempest-torn hulk of an old Man of War.
With singular faculties blest and endued,
The interests of Honor he mark'd and pursued;
For Fate to his wishes indulgently kind,
Infus'd an additional beam in his mind;
Made his ideas vast, comprehensive and clear,
His manners august, and his language sincere;
He foster'd his aims with particular pride,
As ductile Philosophy walk'd by his side;
The elegant Sciences marshall'd his rage,
And Wit and Vivacity brighten'd his page.
Like brilliant Saint Evremond, lively and gay,
He laughs as the streams of his life flow away;
Illustrates our worth in a being well spent,
And, searching for Truth, gathers bliss and content;
In the niches of second Adolescence plac'd,
By the finger of Heaven his system's new brac'd;
And well he's fulfill'd the intent of the plan,
Who was meant by his God as—the type of a man.
In blood-thirsty Shylock, sublimely infernal,
He bares ghastly Vice, and exposes the kernel;
And so well clears the texts of the moralist's pen,
That the head asks the heart if such villains are men:
So perfect the Actor can damn and dissemble,
Could Shakespeare behold him, e'en Shakespeare would tremble.
Like the Eddystone pillar, his excellence braves
The rude dashing foam of the critical waves;
Uprais'd on a rock for the general good,
To guide the weak bark thro' the dangerous flood;
As his head firm and giddiless keeps its high station,
Emitting new lights on the stage navigation.
The interests of Honor he mark'd and pursued;
For Fate to his wishes indulgently kind,
Infus'd an additional beam in his mind;
Made his ideas vast, comprehensive and clear,
His manners august, and his language sincere;
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As ductile Philosophy walk'd by his side;
The elegant Sciences marshall'd his rage,
And Wit and Vivacity brighten'd his page.
Like brilliant Saint Evremond, lively and gay,
He laughs as the streams of his life flow away;
Illustrates our worth in a being well spent,
And, searching for Truth, gathers bliss and content;
In the niches of second Adolescence plac'd,
By the finger of Heaven his system's new brac'd;
And well he's fulfill'd the intent of the plan,
Who was meant by his God as—the type of a man.
In blood-thirsty Shylock, sublimely infernal,
He bares ghastly Vice, and exposes the kernel;
And so well clears the texts of the moralist's pen,
That the head asks the heart if such villains are men:
So perfect the Actor can damn and dissemble,
Could Shakespeare behold him, e'en Shakespeare would tremble.
Like the Eddystone pillar, his excellence braves
The rude dashing foam of the critical waves;
Uprais'd on a rock for the general good,
To guide the weak bark thro' the dangerous flood;
As his head firm and giddiless keeps its high station,
Emitting new lights on the stage navigation.
Ere he means to resign him to Death's awful sleep,
In the year eighteen hundred he'll first take a peep;
To prune each excrescence of Vice from the nation,
And fix the pursuits of a young generation;
Introduce them to Fame, shew the false from the true,
And then to the World and its jars bid adieu.
In the year eighteen hundred he'll first take a peep;
To prune each excrescence of Vice from the nation,
And fix the pursuits of a young generation;
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And then to the World and its jars bid adieu.
Superior to censure the veteran wrote;
But Censors are things that but cavil and quote;
They torture the truth like the essays of Beattie,
Or Statesmen defining the Methuen treaty;
Hence Shakespeare is mangled by weak commentators,
Who gore his fine form like absurd nomenclators;
And many a blockhead, who breathes but to steal,
Adheres to his name like the fly on the wheel.
They affix to each page a dull marginal note,
And expound on a text which the bard—never wrote.
But Pride governs all; in their various ways,
'Tis the prejudice speaks, and the prejudice sways:
Men argue and write, as French cooks make their dishes;
And blend fact with falshood, to compass their wishes.
But Censors are things that but cavil and quote;
They torture the truth like the essays of Beattie,
Or Statesmen defining the Methuen treaty;
Hence Shakespeare is mangled by weak commentators,
Who gore his fine form like absurd nomenclators;
And many a blockhead, who breathes but to steal,
Adheres to his name like the fly on the wheel.
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And expound on a text which the bard—never wrote.
But Pride governs all; in their various ways,
'Tis the prejudice speaks, and the prejudice sways:
Men argue and write, as French cooks make their dishes;
And blend fact with falshood, to compass their wishes.
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