Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend Printed but not published |
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 | Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend |  |
11
TRIBUTARY LINES.
TO JAMES FENNELL.
Where is the one, whose soul of amplest plan
In Nature's mint received the stamp of man?
When erst the goddess, fired with noblest rage
At the vile cheatings of a bankrupt age;
Intent her treasury, the stage, to clear
From dazzling counterfeits, late current here;
Bade from her mines their purest ore be brought,
Mines, pervious only to the track of thought;
And taught the braggart witlings to behold,
And learn the diff'rence 'twixt their dross and gold.
While just discernments give to worth its due,
Detect base metal, and admire the true.
In Nature's mint received the stamp of man?
When erst the goddess, fired with noblest rage
At the vile cheatings of a bankrupt age;
Intent her treasury, the stage, to clear
From dazzling counterfeits, late current here;
Bade from her mines their purest ore be brought,
Mines, pervious only to the track of thought;
And taught the braggart witlings to behold,
And learn the diff'rence 'twixt their dross and gold.
While just discernments give to worth its due,
Detect base metal, and admire the true.
Say where the one, thus singled from an host,
Nature's exemplar, votary, and boast?
Tell me, ye crowds, who owns that eye-ball's glare,
That form majestic, and that martial air?
Who, grateful for the impress which he bore,
Has much received, but still has rendered more.
Language to him unlocks her countless stores;
And deep and wide the critic's glance explores,
Illumes the archives, gives the poets' lore
To speak a latent sense, unknown before;
While Taste's keen orbs their covert charms discern,
And teach their “thoughts to breathe, their words to burn;”
Judgment's strong lamp emits a steadier ray,
And Fancy's sunbeams blaze a brighter day.
Supremely skilled to point the forceful phrase
Of secret rancor or ingenuous praise;
Minutest meaning, studious to explain,
Nor let a particle be given in vain!
A thousand voices swell the loud acclaim;
A thousand voices echo Fennell's name.
Nature's exemplar, votary, and boast?
Tell me, ye crowds, who owns that eye-ball's glare,
That form majestic, and that martial air?
Who, grateful for the impress which he bore,
Has much received, but still has rendered more.
12
And deep and wide the critic's glance explores,
Illumes the archives, gives the poets' lore
To speak a latent sense, unknown before;
While Taste's keen orbs their covert charms discern,
And teach their “thoughts to breathe, their words to burn;”
Judgment's strong lamp emits a steadier ray,
And Fancy's sunbeams blaze a brighter day.
Supremely skilled to point the forceful phrase
Of secret rancor or ingenuous praise;
Minutest meaning, studious to explain,
Nor let a particle be given in vain!
A thousand voices swell the loud acclaim;
A thousand voices echo Fennell's name.
All hail, thou master of the drama's art!
Thou necromancer of the human heart!
Thou speak'st the word;—it glows with tenfold heat,
Thou speak'st again;—its pulses cease to beat.
With wily potency, thy skill entwines
The charm that trances, and the spell that binds.
Like the weird sisters at thy Macbeth's word,
The subject Passions throng around their lord.
While strong Enchantment's various force he tries,
These sink to softness, those to frenzy rise;
Empowered Despair's dark breast with Hope to cheer,
And wring from Cruelty Compassion's tear.
To thrill with joy, transfix in awe profound,
Melt with a look, and madden with a sound.
Thou necromancer of the human heart!
Thou speak'st the word;—it glows with tenfold heat,
Thou speak'st again;—its pulses cease to beat.
With wily potency, thy skill entwines
The charm that trances, and the spell that binds.
Like the weird sisters at thy Macbeth's word,
The subject Passions throng around their lord.
While strong Enchantment's various force he tries,
These sink to softness, those to frenzy rise;
Empowered Despair's dark breast with Hope to cheer,
And wring from Cruelty Compassion's tear.
13
Melt with a look, and madden with a sound.
But bolder yet; thou dar'dst thy way to wind
Throughout the devious mazes of the mind!
Nature, here too, allowed th' advent'rous claim,
Herself an Ariadne to its aim.
Led by her clue, and with her ensigns graced,
The human labyrinth her champion traced;
Where each crooked purpose, with alternate power,
Becomes the Monster of the darkened hour.
Where embryo mischiefs nameless ill presage,
Or plagues embodied taint a present age;
Where the brain quivers with its own intent,
And guilt's design becomes guilt's punishment;
Where crazed Reflection to a fiend dilates,
And starts from furies which itself creates!
Throughout the devious mazes of the mind!
Nature, here too, allowed th' advent'rous claim,
Herself an Ariadne to its aim.
Led by her clue, and with her ensigns graced,
The human labyrinth her champion traced;
Where each crooked purpose, with alternate power,
Becomes the Monster of the darkened hour.
Where embryo mischiefs nameless ill presage,
Or plagues embodied taint a present age;
Where the brain quivers with its own intent,
And guilt's design becomes guilt's punishment;
Where crazed Reflection to a fiend dilates,
And starts from furies which itself creates!
Conversant thus with moral, mental power,
'Tis these have taught thy genius thus to tower;
More than thy voice's strength, thy awful mien,
Thy frown tremendous, or thy smile serene!
Contemned the churlish contrast that essays
To sink the player's worth, the poet's raise.
Restored an art half lost by false pretence,
And proved the drama's proud pre-eminence!
So rare in one the varying gifts unite,
Our country thought to “die without the sight.”
Myriads indeed, with high, theatric rage,
Or mere mechanic art, can stalk the stage;
Can leave their writer's meaning on the shelf,
And find a substitute in sapient self;
Till broad Burlesque too plainly shows his face,
And struggling Laughter bids Grief give him place;
While poor Melpomene, o'ercome with shame,
Disowns the changeling that assumed her name.
'Tis these have taught thy genius thus to tower;
More than thy voice's strength, thy awful mien,
Thy frown tremendous, or thy smile serene!
Contemned the churlish contrast that essays
To sink the player's worth, the poet's raise.
Restored an art half lost by false pretence,
And proved the drama's proud pre-eminence!
So rare in one the varying gifts unite,
Our country thought to “die without the sight.”
14
Or mere mechanic art, can stalk the stage;
Can leave their writer's meaning on the shelf,
And find a substitute in sapient self;
Till broad Burlesque too plainly shows his face,
And struggling Laughter bids Grief give him place;
While poor Melpomene, o'ercome with shame,
Disowns the changeling that assumed her name.
But he who wears his author deep enshrined,
Joins heart to heart, and mixes mind with mind;
Feels as he wrote, enforces all he taught,
Quickens perception, and embodies thought;
Bear witness, Truth! Scarce such an one appears
Within the circuit of an hundred years.
Though scores of poets graced Eliza's throne,
The perfect player was a prize unknown.
'Twas this conviction Avon's bard impressed,
To task with foreign aim his restless breast,
Made buskined Jonson seem the wretch he knew,
And Shakespeare act the character he drew.
Most rash and vain! Was genius e'er assigned
Without some limit its excess to bind?
Enough; his mind's creative daring placed
A second Eden in the world of taste;
And flowers and fruits the grateful garden crowned,
And human nature dignified the ground.
Here sunk his strength; to animate the whole
Another's power must breathe THE LIVING SOUL.
Fennell! for him thy efforts have prevailed,
And gained for Shakespeare where HIMSELF had failed!
Macbeth had still, within his page, 'tis true,
Instructed some, perhaps—th' attentive few;
But like the fated writing on the wall,
That told Chaldea's monarch of his fall,
By most unheeded, had enticed in vain
From the rich banquet, and the mirth profane;
Had not a moving hand—that all might see,
Beckoned to all—itself a prodigy!
Pointing alike the menace and the sign,
The acting muscles lived along the line,
Traced each strong character in deepest dye,
And forced the warning on the startled eye!
Joins heart to heart, and mixes mind with mind;
Feels as he wrote, enforces all he taught,
Quickens perception, and embodies thought;
Bear witness, Truth! Scarce such an one appears
Within the circuit of an hundred years.
Though scores of poets graced Eliza's throne,
The perfect player was a prize unknown.
'Twas this conviction Avon's bard impressed,
To task with foreign aim his restless breast,
Made buskined Jonson seem the wretch he knew,
And Shakespeare act the character he drew.
Most rash and vain! Was genius e'er assigned
Without some limit its excess to bind?
Enough; his mind's creative daring placed
A second Eden in the world of taste;
And flowers and fruits the grateful garden crowned,
And human nature dignified the ground.
15
Another's power must breathe THE LIVING SOUL.
Fennell! for him thy efforts have prevailed,
And gained for Shakespeare where HIMSELF had failed!
Macbeth had still, within his page, 'tis true,
Instructed some, perhaps—th' attentive few;
But like the fated writing on the wall,
That told Chaldea's monarch of his fall,
By most unheeded, had enticed in vain
From the rich banquet, and the mirth profane;
Had not a moving hand—that all might see,
Beckoned to all—itself a prodigy!
Pointing alike the menace and the sign,
The acting muscles lived along the line,
Traced each strong character in deepest dye,
And forced the warning on the startled eye!
'Tis hence that Wolsey proves, by thee applied,
A living lesson on th' effects of pride.
Hence Hamlet's anguish answering anguish found;
And hence the night by high deserving crowned,
When public plaudit told the ear of Fame,
That Romeo was—perfection's other name!
A living lesson on th' effects of pride.
Hence Hamlet's anguish answering anguish found;
And hence the night by high deserving crowned,
When public plaudit told the ear of Fame,
That Romeo was—perfection's other name!
Ere thy example gave our actors law,—
Remembrance, aid their portraitures to draw!
Our lovers paid their vows at beauty's shrine,
With smirking simper, or with whimpering whine.
Our heroes, quick to desperation driven,
With ceaseless storm besieged both earth and heaven.
Our villains, never such a dangerous clan!
Looked dark, talked sentiment, and—killed their man.
Remembrance, aid their portraitures to draw!
Our lovers paid their vows at beauty's shrine,
With smirking simper, or with whimpering whine.
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With ceaseless storm besieged both earth and heaven.
Our villains, never such a dangerous clan!
Looked dark, talked sentiment, and—killed their man.
Love, shown by thee, is tenderness sublimed,
The condescension of the loftiest mind.
'Tis Jove, who bending o'er his Juno's charms,
Smooths his dark brow, and spreads his mighty arms;
With fondness wins whom majesty had awed,
And is at once, the lover and the god!
The condescension of the loftiest mind.
'Tis Jove, who bending o'er his Juno's charms,
Smooths his dark brow, and spreads his mighty arms;
With fondness wins whom majesty had awed,
And is at once, the lover and the god!
If memory e'er disturb the spirit's rest,
Or earthly honors please th' immortal's breast;
Should Percy's soul recall that tort'ring hour,
When from its frame 'twas forced by Monmouth's power,
Some balmy solace for the wound renewed,
Had soothed its pangs, could he thy powers have viewed;
When beams of glory round thy Hotspur shone,
That Scotia's chieftain had not scorned to own.
Or earthly honors please th' immortal's breast;
Should Percy's soul recall that tort'ring hour,
When from its frame 'twas forced by Monmouth's power,
Some balmy solace for the wound renewed,
Had soothed its pangs, could he thy powers have viewed;
When beams of glory round thy Hotspur shone,
That Scotia's chieftain had not scorned to own.
Thy villain—hold! No villain can we see;
E'en Zanga wins us, when performed by thee!
Moved by thy plaints of his disastrous fate,
We melt in pity o'er the wretch we hate;
The rising curse is smothered on his tomb,
And hell implored to mitigate his doom.
And shall the minstrel cease these feeble lays,
Nor touch one chord, that yields thee sweeter praise?
That says,—whene'er confessed to public sight,
Thou play'st some motley hero of the night,—
Where lights and shades of good and ill combine—
Native the virtue; foreign is the crime.
Not in thy acts the critic-eye can trace
The private failings of the Thespian race;
Nor cynic-voice the contrast rude proclaim
Of mimic honor, and of real shame.
Whate'er of greatness marks thy scenic strife,
'Tis thy best praise—to copy from the life.
Still well-sustained thy arduous part hath been
Through all the shiftings of its various scene.
When dark Misfortune's gathered clouds were spread,
And winds and thunders roared around thy head,
Like thine own Lear, erect th' unshrinking form
Met the sharp lightning, and sustained the storm.
E'en Zanga wins us, when performed by thee!
Moved by thy plaints of his disastrous fate,
We melt in pity o'er the wretch we hate;
The rising curse is smothered on his tomb,
And hell implored to mitigate his doom.
17
Nor touch one chord, that yields thee sweeter praise?
That says,—whene'er confessed to public sight,
Thou play'st some motley hero of the night,—
Where lights and shades of good and ill combine—
Native the virtue; foreign is the crime.
Not in thy acts the critic-eye can trace
The private failings of the Thespian race;
Nor cynic-voice the contrast rude proclaim
Of mimic honor, and of real shame.
Whate'er of greatness marks thy scenic strife,
'Tis thy best praise—to copy from the life.
Still well-sustained thy arduous part hath been
Through all the shiftings of its various scene.
When dark Misfortune's gathered clouds were spread,
And winds and thunders roared around thy head,
Like thine own Lear, erect th' unshrinking form
Met the sharp lightning, and sustained the storm.
Still strict to virtue's as the drama's laws,
O be thy meed, thine own and Heaven's applause!
So while the actor “bids the reign commence,
Of rescued nature and reviving sense,”
The man shall aid the efforts of the sage
To mend the morals of a miscreant age!
O be thy meed, thine own and Heaven's applause!
So while the actor “bids the reign commence,
Of rescued nature and reviving sense,”
The man shall aid the efforts of the sage
To mend the morals of a miscreant age!
VENONI.
| Poems and miscellanies selected from the writings of Miss Eliza Townsend | |