ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF GARRICK.
Dear Shade of Him who grac'd the mimic scene,
And charm'd attention with resistless pow'r!
Whose wondrous art, whose fascinating mien,
Gave glowing rapture to the short-liv'd hour!
Accept the mournful verse, the ling'ring sigh,
The tear that faithful Mem'ry stays to shed;
The sacred Tear, that from Reflection's eye
Drops on the ashes of the sainted dead.
Lov'd by the grave and courted by the young,
In social comforts eminently blest;
All hearts rever'd the precepts of thy tongue,
And Envy's self thy eloquence confess'd.
Who could like thee the soul's wild tumults paint,
Or wake the torpid ear with lenient art?
Touch the nice sense with pity's dulcet plaint,
Or soothe the sorrows of the breaking heart?
Who can forget thy penetrating eye,
The sweet bewitching smile, th' empassion'd look?
The clear deep whisper, the persuasive sigh,
The feeling tear that Nature's language spoke?
Rich in each treasure bounteous Heaven could lend,
For private worth distinguish'd and approv'd—
The pride of Wisdom—Virtue's darling friend—
By Mansfield honour'd, and by Camden lov'd.
The courtier's cringe, the flatt'rer's abject smile,
The subtle arts of well-dissembled praise,
Thy soul abhorr'd;—above the gloss of guile,
Truth led thy steps, and Friendship crown'd thy days.
Oft in thy Hampton's dark embow'ring shade
The Poet's hand shall sweep the trembling string;
While the proud tribute to thy mem'ry paid
The voice of Genius on the gale shall fling.
Yes, Sheridan! thy soft melodious verse
Still vibrates on a nation's polish'd ear;
Fondly it hover'd o'er the sable hearse,
Hush'd the loud plaint, and triumph'd in a tear.
In life united by congenial minds,
Dear to the Muse, to sacred friendship true;
Around her darling's urn a wreath she binds,
A deathless wreath—immortaliz'd by you!
Dear to a nation, grateful to thy muse,
That nation's tears upon thy grave shall flow,
For who the gentle tribute can refuse
Which thy fine feeling gave to fancied woe?
Thou who, by many an anxious toilsome hour,
Reap'd the bright harvest of luxuriant Fame,
Who snatch'd from dark oblivion's barb'rous pow'r
The radiant glories of a Shakspeare's name!
Remembrance oft shall paint the mournful scene
Where the slow fun'ral spread its length'ning gloom,
Where the deep murmur and dejected mien
In artless sorrow linger'd round thy tomb.
And tho' no laurel'd bust or labour'd line
Shall bid the passing stranger stay to weep,
Thy Shakspeare's hand shall point the hallow'd shrine,
And Britain's genius with thy ashes sleep.
Then rest in peace, O ever sacred shade!
Your kindred souls exulting Fame shall join;
And the same wreath thy hand for Shakspeare made,
Gemm'd with her tears, about thy grave shall twine.
