The Poetical Works of Anna Seward With Extracts from her Literary Correspondence. Edited by Walter Scott ... In Three Volumes |
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MONODY
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 | The Poetical Works of Anna Seward |  |
15
MONODY
ON THE DEATH OF DAVID GARRICK, ESQ.
Dim sweeps the shower along the misty vale,
And Grief's low accents murmur in the gale.
O'er the damp vase, Horatio, sighing, leans,
And gazes absent on the faded scenes.
Soft melancholy shades each sprightly grace,
That wont to revel o'er his Laura's face,
When, with sweet smiles, the garlands gayshe twin'd,
And each light spray her roseate ribbons bind.
And Grief's low accents murmur in the gale.
O'er the damp vase, Horatio, sighing, leans,
And gazes absent on the faded scenes.
Soft melancholy shades each sprightly grace,
That wont to revel o'er his Laura's face,
When, with sweet smiles, the garlands gayshe twin'd,
And each light spray her roseate ribbons bind.
Dropt from her hand the scattered myrtles lie;
And lo! dark cypress meets the earnest eye!
For lifeless Garrick sighs from Genius breathe,
And weeping Beauty culls the funeral wreath.
And lo! dark cypress meets the earnest eye!
For lifeless Garrick sighs from Genius breathe,
And weeping Beauty culls the funeral wreath.
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Great Shakespear's spirit, with its solar rays,
Led him through all the wide, theatric maze;
Through the deep pathos of its mournful themes,
Through the light magic of its playful dreams.
He caught the genuine humour, glowing there,
Wit's vivid flash, and Cunning's sober leer.
The strange distress, that fires the kindling brain,
When roams the heart-rent Sire the stormy plain;
When dire Ambition, from the regal room
In silence, night, and horror's breathless gloom,
Conscience-appal'd, his crimson hands surveys,
And turns to fancied sounds the wide reverted gaze;
Or when the pale Youth, in the midnight shade,
Pursues the steel-clad phantom through the glade;
Or, starting from his couch, with wild affright
When the crown'd Murderer glares upon our sight,
And all his senses fly the dire controul
Of guilt-struck terror, rushing on his soul,—
Our subject passions own'd the sway compleat,
And hail'd their Garrick, as their Shakespear, great.
Led him through all the wide, theatric maze;
Through the deep pathos of its mournful themes,
Through the light magic of its playful dreams.
He caught the genuine humour, glowing there,
Wit's vivid flash, and Cunning's sober leer.
The strange distress, that fires the kindling brain,
When roams the heart-rent Sire the stormy plain;
When dire Ambition, from the regal room
In silence, night, and horror's breathless gloom,
Conscience-appal'd, his crimson hands surveys,
And turns to fancied sounds the wide reverted gaze;
Or when the pale Youth, in the midnight shade,
Pursues the steel-clad phantom through the glade;
Or, starting from his couch, with wild affright
When the crown'd Murderer glares upon our sight,
And all his senses fly the dire controul
Of guilt-struck terror, rushing on his soul,—
Our subject passions own'd the sway compleat,
And hail'd their Garrick, as their Shakespear, great.
That voice, which pour'd its music on the ear,
Sweet as the songsters of the vernal year;
Those graceful gestures, and that eye of fire,
With rage that flam'd, or languish'd with desire;
Awak'd the jocund mirth in dimples sleek,
Or made the chilling blood forsake the cheek,
Where are they now?—Dark, in the narrow cell,
Insensate,—shrunk,—and wan,—and cold, they dwell;
A silence, solemn, and eternal keep,
Where neither love shall smile, nor anguish weep.
Sweet as the songsters of the vernal year;
Those graceful gestures, and that eye of fire,
With rage that flam'd, or languish'd with desire;
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Or made the chilling blood forsake the cheek,
Where are they now?—Dark, in the narrow cell,
Insensate,—shrunk,—and wan,—and cold, they dwell;
A silence, solemn, and eternal keep,
Where neither love shall smile, nor anguish weep.
Breathe, Genius, still the tributary sigh!
Still gush, ye liquid pearls, from Beauty's eye!
With slackened strings suspend your harps, ye Nine,
While round his urn yon cypress wreath ye twine;
Then give his talents to your loudest fame,
And grave on your high shrines, Garrick's unrivall'd name.
Still gush, ye liquid pearls, from Beauty's eye!
With slackened strings suspend your harps, ye Nine,
While round his urn yon cypress wreath ye twine;
Then give his talents to your loudest fame,
And grave on your high shrines, Garrick's unrivall'd name.
| The Poetical Works of Anna Seward | |