 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
On seeing Mr. Barry in the Character of Hamlet.
How Grief's sad Garb the Wearer's Worth endears,
When whelming Woe with decent Pomp appears;
When Strength of Mind, superior to Redress,
Stems the big Torrent of supream Distress,
Enjoys the Soul-felt Throb, th'extatick Dart,
And all the pungent Pangs which pierce the Heart!
Brooding in secret on his Hopes o'erthrown,
There to himself makes all his manly Moan:
Scorning to whine out Grief in technic Strains,
He sobs with Dignity, with Sense complains.
Thus Hamlet mourns, and thus his Sorrow shines
In Barry's Action, and in Shakespear's Lines:
His pleasing Form gives ev'n to Anguish Grace,
And Grief sits lovely on his suff'ring Face.
When whelming Woe with decent Pomp appears;
63
Stems the big Torrent of supream Distress,
Enjoys the Soul-felt Throb, th'extatick Dart,
And all the pungent Pangs which pierce the Heart!
Brooding in secret on his Hopes o'erthrown,
There to himself makes all his manly Moan:
Scorning to whine out Grief in technic Strains,
He sobs with Dignity, with Sense complains.
Thus Hamlet mourns, and thus his Sorrow shines
In Barry's Action, and in Shakespear's Lines:
His pleasing Form gives ev'n to Anguish Grace,
And Grief sits lovely on his suff'ring Face.
But see! his Father's warlike Shade stalks near:
What quick-rais'd Passions in his Soul appear!
In Horror fix'd, as Thunder-struck, he stands
With starting Eye-balls, and with out-stretch'd Hands.
Ten thousand Tumults struggling in his Breast,
Each strong Attempt by stronger Fear supprest;
His Reason sunk, no guiding Gleams can chear;
All is wild Anarchy and Chaos there:
His lab'ring Words can yet no Passage find,
Lost in the Floods and Whirlpools of his Mind,
Till by Degrees her dawning Beam she shows,
As first bright Order from Confusion rose:
Returning Sense resumes her wonted Sway,
And Courage prompts, and Judgment points the Way.
The horrid Silence, now resolv'd, he breaks
With eager Voice, and supplicating speaks.
Revenge provok'd hath all his Mind possess'd,
And fell Resentment boils within his Breast,
His kindling Eyes with livid Lightnings roll,
And dart the Purpose of his stedfast Soul.
In Madness, ev'n in that unpractis'd Task,
The Part looks graceful, and adorns the Mask.
No sullen, dark, distemper'd Rage appears,
'Tis Fancy's Frolick, and her Caprice chears.
Through ev'ry varying Scene great Nature warms,
And finish'd Art improves her pleasing Charms.
What quick-rais'd Passions in his Soul appear!
In Horror fix'd, as Thunder-struck, he stands
With starting Eye-balls, and with out-stretch'd Hands.
Ten thousand Tumults struggling in his Breast,
Each strong Attempt by stronger Fear supprest;
His Reason sunk, no guiding Gleams can chear;
All is wild Anarchy and Chaos there:
His lab'ring Words can yet no Passage find,
Lost in the Floods and Whirlpools of his Mind,
Till by Degrees her dawning Beam she shows,
As first bright Order from Confusion rose:
Returning Sense resumes her wonted Sway,
And Courage prompts, and Judgment points the Way.
The horrid Silence, now resolv'd, he breaks
With eager Voice, and supplicating speaks.
Revenge provok'd hath all his Mind possess'd,
And fell Resentment boils within his Breast,
His kindling Eyes with livid Lightnings roll,
And dart the Purpose of his stedfast Soul.
64
The Part looks graceful, and adorns the Mask.
No sullen, dark, distemper'd Rage appears,
'Tis Fancy's Frolick, and her Caprice chears.
Through ev'ry varying Scene great Nature warms,
And finish'd Art improves her pleasing Charms.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |