A collection of poems on various subjects including the theatre, a didactic essay; in the course of which are pointed out, the rocks and shoals to which deluded adventurers are inevitably exposed. Ornamented with cuts and illustrated with notes, original letters and curious incidental anecdotes [by Samuel Whyte] |
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PROLOGUE, WRITTEN FOR A FIRST-APPEARANCE AT BELFAST, MDCCLXXXVI.
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
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PROLOGUE, WRITTEN FOR A FIRST-APPEARANCE AT BELFAST, MDCCLXXXVI.
THE SUMMER AFTER MRS. SIDDONS PERFORMED THERE.
Her tender pinions when the nestling tries,
And quits her native spray, to range the skies,
The feather'd kind collecting from abroad,
Unite the little stranger to applaud;
With fond officious zeal her flights attend,
And press, who foremost shall assistance lend;
'Till gathering strength she emulously roves,
Shines out herself, and animates the groves.
Thus birds a lesson reasoning mortals teach;
Nay trees and shrubs oracularly preach;
Not even a flower that blows beneath your eye,
But, read aright, instruction will supply:
The infant sapling that so frail appears,
Duly supported and matur'd by years,
Secure of wound and shelter'd from the blast,
Returns, a thousand fold, your care at last;
Braves seas and storms its gratitude to show,
Extends your trade, and thunders on the foe.
The very staple of this favour'd soil,
Till train'd by culture, and enhanc'd by toil,
What is it but a weed?—yet from that weed
Your health, wealth, strength and consequence proceed.
What prodigies from small beginnings flow,
Encourag'd thrive, and to perfection grow!
Even she, the mistress of the human heart,
Was once a child and novice in her art:
O! never then with supercilious pride,
Rashly condemn or hastily decide.
And quits her native spray, to range the skies,
The feather'd kind collecting from abroad,
Unite the little stranger to applaud;
With fond officious zeal her flights attend,
And press, who foremost shall assistance lend;
'Till gathering strength she emulously roves,
Shines out herself, and animates the groves.
Thus birds a lesson reasoning mortals teach;
Nay trees and shrubs oracularly preach;
Not even a flower that blows beneath your eye,
But, read aright, instruction will supply:
The infant sapling that so frail appears,
Duly supported and matur'd by years,
Secure of wound and shelter'd from the blast,
Returns, a thousand fold, your care at last;
Braves seas and storms its gratitude to show,
Extends your trade, and thunders on the foe.
89
Till train'd by culture, and enhanc'd by toil,
What is it but a weed?—yet from that weed
Your health, wealth, strength and consequence proceed.
What prodigies from small beginnings flow,
Encourag'd thrive, and to perfection grow!
Even she, the mistress of the human heart,
Was once a child and novice in her art:
O! never then with supercilious pride,
Rashly condemn or hastily decide.
We now, Milesian born, produce to view
A child of nature to be nurs'd by you;
Will you with candour graciously receive her,
Or, at your mercy, to her fortune leave her?
Young and unharden'd to our northern gales,
Beset with anxious doubts, her spirit quails;
Tho' something known to fame, but that's not much,
Quite sensitive, she shrinks at every touch.
I told her, as with confidence I might,
Futile and groundless were her fears to night;
Here all the sons and daughters of the north,
Worthy themselves, were ever friends to worth;
Foes to oppression; steadfast to their trust;
To failings gentle and to merit just:
And tho' less genial beams our climes impart,
Here freedom reigns, the sunshine of the heart,
But what might more her drooping courage cheer,
Her passport sign'd, she came—a Volunteer;
That name, which could the sinking state protect,
To distant ages will ensure respect:
She bow'd unfeign'd assent—it rests with you,
To prove the portrait by your conduct true.
A child of nature to be nurs'd by you;
Will you with candour graciously receive her,
Or, at your mercy, to her fortune leave her?
Young and unharden'd to our northern gales,
Beset with anxious doubts, her spirit quails;
Tho' something known to fame, but that's not much,
Quite sensitive, she shrinks at every touch.
I told her, as with confidence I might,
Futile and groundless were her fears to night;
Here all the sons and daughters of the north,
Worthy themselves, were ever friends to worth;
Foes to oppression; steadfast to their trust;
To failings gentle and to merit just:
And tho' less genial beams our climes impart,
Here freedom reigns, the sunshine of the heart,
90
Her passport sign'd, she came—a Volunteer;
That name, which could the sinking state protect,
To distant ages will ensure respect:
She bow'd unfeign'd assent—it rests with you,
To prove the portrait by your conduct true.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |