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321
EPILOGUE.
There are, who when the Tragic scene is past,
Require a serious Epilogue at last.
“Why raise the sigh, and cause the tear to flow?
“Then, strive to banish every trace of woe?
“Why elevate with moral truth the breast?
“Then, lower it so soon, to whim and jest?
“Thus sense is injured, feeling is disgraced,
“The Tragi-comic mixture wars with taste.
“If fashion these incongruous strains supplies,
“The voice of fashion, genius should despise.
“Preserve it's former dignity of stile,
“Not close the tale of anguish, with a smile.”
Require a serious Epilogue at last.
“Why raise the sigh, and cause the tear to flow?
“Then, strive to banish every trace of woe?
“Why elevate with moral truth the breast?
“Then, lower it so soon, to whim and jest?
“Thus sense is injured, feeling is disgraced,
“The Tragi-comic mixture wars with taste.
“If fashion these incongruous strains supplies,
“The voice of fashion, genius should despise.
“Preserve it's former dignity of stile,
“Not close the tale of anguish, with a smile.”
These arguments are plausible indeed;
But say, will Reason sanctify the creed?
But say, will Reason sanctify the creed?
First prove the stage, the scene, the actors, real,
The story true, the sufferings not ideal.
If now, to cherish fancied grief be right,
Why two hours hence discard it? Why to night?
Why not indulge the luxury of sorrow
To morrow? And to morrow? And to morrow?
The passions warm'd, and the soft tribute paid—
Nature and taste have duly been obey'd.
The illusion hath prevail'd, the time is o'er,
And truth should reign, where fancy reign'd before.
The story true, the sufferings not ideal.
If now, to cherish fancied grief be right,
Why two hours hence discard it? Why to night?
Why not indulge the luxury of sorrow
To morrow? And to morrow? And to morrow?
The passions warm'd, and the soft tribute paid—
Nature and taste have duly been obey'd.
The illusion hath prevail'd, the time is o'er,
And truth should reign, where fancy reign'd before.
Enough of grief in real life we find;
Enough to prove our sympathy of mind.
But with the tale of art, dismiss the sigh,
And with the fiction, cast the sorrow by.
When gathering clouds the face of heaven deform,
And the winds rave—how awful is the storm!
But who repines, if Phœbus darts his ray?
Who thinks the mists too quickly roll'd away?
Enough to prove our sympathy of mind.
But with the tale of art, dismiss the sigh,
And with the fiction, cast the sorrow by.
When gathering clouds the face of heaven deform,
And the winds rave—how awful is the storm!
But who repines, if Phœbus darts his ray?
Who thinks the mists too quickly roll'd away?
Yet would we not obtrude on melancholy
Buffoonery's mask, or the broad grin of folly;
For fun and jokes in the low kennel seek,
Or raise a transient blush on virtue's cheek.
A decent cheerfulness, some strokes of wit
We hold that judgment should not deem unfit.
Not laughter's clamorous uproar we commend,
But would with fashion, reason likewise blend.
Buffoonery's mask, or the broad grin of folly;
For fun and jokes in the low kennel seek,
Or raise a transient blush on virtue's cheek.
322
We hold that judgment should not deem unfit.
Not laughter's clamorous uproar we commend,
But would with fashion, reason likewise blend.
Thus pro and con the arguments we've given;
You must decide; we keep the balance even.
Here liveliness—here sorrow—this a sigh,
And that a smile of your's can lift on high.
It trembles—it descends—'tis your decree;
So farewell grief—and welcome gayety.
You must decide; we keep the balance even.
Here liveliness—here sorrow—this a sigh,
And that a smile of your's can lift on high.
It trembles—it descends—'tis your decree;
So farewell grief—and welcome gayety.
FINIS.
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