University of Virginia Library

MELPOMENE.

The Tragic Muse, in sable mantle dress'd,
Majestically great above the rest,
With thoughtful look, and tears, and pallid cheek,
A comic line is scarcely heard to speak;

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For higher themes her feeling breast inspire
Than lyric measures or the keen satire.
The widow's woes,—the virgin's love, she sings,
The fate of heroes and the fall of kings;
Or palaces in ruins, where the throne
Which now is broke, with regal grandeur shone,
Where once the beauteous chequer'd marble floor
With blood of kings was deeply crimson'd o'er;
There like a widow on her husband's tomb,
She sits enshrin'd amid the tragic gloom,—
Paints ev'ry scene of ancient tyrants' deeds,
Then gazes on the ruins wrapp'd in weeds,
Till her rich mind replaces ev'ry stone,
And seats the murder'd monarch on the throne,
Musters his guards—which long in dust have been,
Beholds his knights, his heroes, and his queen;
Sees the vile traitor, with his murd'ring train,
Act all his deeds of darkness o'er again;
The courtiers lov'd to-day, and rais'd on high,
Frown'd on to-morrow, and their glories die;
The dauntless heroes, mark'd with many a scar,
Rush on in search of glory to the war,
And on their arms the dread suspended fates
Of empires, kingdoms, or contending states;—
Shrouded in terrors, while around her plays,
In ev'ry form, the lightning's vivid blaze.
Wading in blood, she marks the hero's fall,
While with her crimson pen she minutes all.

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When to the charge the furious steeds advance,
And red with noble blood the glitt'ring lance—
The drums, the trumpets, and the clang of arms,
The rattling mail, and war's most dread alarms;
The banners waving over either host,
The day hung doubtful—neither won nor lost;
The smoking tow'rs, the city wrapp'd in fire—
With loftier themes the Tragic Muse inspire—
The noise of battle plumes her tow'ring wings,
And gives terrific grandeur while she sings!