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AFTER HEARING MRS. KEMBLE READ “THE TEMPEST.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


71

AFTER HEARING MRS. KEMBLE READ “THE TEMPEST.”

Thou great Enchantress, walking hand in hand
With him of Avon, nursed in Albion's isle,—
Whether we meet thee on the sea-beat sand,
Or gilding old Verona with thy smile,—
Welcome! thou fit attendant on his fame,
Whose glorious thoughts reëcho still his name!
Illumed by thee, those deathless pages glow
With added lustre naught but Genius gives:
Thou speak'st! thy melting tones their music throw
Along the lines, and lo! swift Ariel lives,
And sings, and, darting, drinks the silent air,
Then, fading, floats away,—we wist not where!
Thou bidd'st us forth where'er his fancy reigns:
Through verdurous Arden now we watch thee roam,—
Anon, thou call'st us to the Roman plains,
As if those dusky haunts had been thy home.

72

Where'er thou wilt, thou lead'st us, wondering, on,
Bound to the magic of thy beckoning tone.
Thou great restorer of departed breath!
Oh, front to front with him couldst thou but stand,
His spirit, wafted from the halls of Death
Back to its old domain, thy native land,—
How would our hearts with warmest rapture stir,
To hear that voice applaud his sweet Interpreter.