Semiramis A Tragedy |
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EPILOGUE.
|
 | Semiramis |  |
75
EPILOGUE.
Written by R. B. SHERIDAN. Esq;Spoken by Mrs. YATES.
Dishevell'd
still, like Asia's bleeding Queen,
Shall I with jests deride the tragic scene?
No, beauteous mourners!—from whose downcast eyes—
The Muse has drawn her noblest sacrifice!
Whose gentle bosoms, Pity's altars—bear
The chrystal incense of each falling tear!—
—There lives the Poet's praise!—no critic art
Can match the comment of a feeling heart!
Shall I with jests deride the tragic scene?
No, beauteous mourners!—from whose downcast eyes—
The Muse has drawn her noblest sacrifice!
Whose gentle bosoms, Pity's altars—bear
The chrystal incense of each falling tear!—
—There lives the Poet's praise!—no critic art
Can match the comment of a feeling heart!
When gen'ral plaudits speak the Fable o'er—
Which mute attention had approv'd before,
Tho' ruder spirits love th'accustom'd jest
Which chases sorrow from the vulgar breast,
Still hearts refin'd their sadden'd tint retain—
—The sigh is pleasure! and the jest is pain!—
—Scarce have they smiles to honour Grace or Wit,
—Tho' Roscius spoke the verse himself had writ!
Thus thro' the time when vernal fruits receive
The grateful show'rs that hang on April's eve;
Tho' ev'ry coarser stem of forest birth
Throws with the morning-beam its dews to earth,
—Ne'er does the gentle Rose revive so soon—
But bath'd in Nature's tears, it droops till noon.
Which mute attention had approv'd before,
Tho' ruder spirits love th'accustom'd jest
Which chases sorrow from the vulgar breast,
Still hearts refin'd their sadden'd tint retain—
—The sigh is pleasure! and the jest is pain!—
—Scarce have they smiles to honour Grace or Wit,
—Tho' Roscius spoke the verse himself had writ!
Thus thro' the time when vernal fruits receive
The grateful show'rs that hang on April's eve;
Tho' ev'ry coarser stem of forest birth
Throws with the morning-beam its dews to earth,
—Ne'er does the gentle Rose revive so soon—
But bath'd in Nature's tears, it droops till noon.
76
O could the Muse one simple moral teach,
From scenes like these, which all who heard might reach!
—Thou child of Sympathy—whoe'er thou art,
Who with Assyria's Queen hast wept thy part—
Go search, where keener woes demand relief,
Go—while thy heart yet beats with fancy'd grief;
Thy lip still conscious of the recent sigh,
The graceful tear still ling'ring in thy eye—
Go—and on real misery bestow
The blest effusion of fictitious woe!—
From scenes like these, which all who heard might reach!
—Thou child of Sympathy—whoe'er thou art,
Who with Assyria's Queen hast wept thy part—
Go search, where keener woes demand relief,
Go—while thy heart yet beats with fancy'd grief;
Thy lip still conscious of the recent sigh,
The graceful tear still ling'ring in thy eye—
Go—and on real misery bestow
The blest effusion of fictitious woe!—
So shall our Muse, supreme of all the Nine,
Deserve, indeed; the title of—Divine!—
Virtue shall own her favour'd from above,
And Pity—greet her—with a sister's love!
Deserve, indeed; the title of—Divine!—
Virtue shall own her favour'd from above,
And Pity—greet her—with a sister's love!
| Semiramis | |