Panama and Other Poems Narrative and Occasional :: :: University of Virginia Library

This night re-rose, a hundred years ago,
Old Drury from her ashes with new glow.
That night was she baptised with Byron's fire,
And leapt to resurrection at his lyre.
To-night what ghosts revisit Drury Lane?
What shades re-people this familiar fane?
To-night what memories do these walls inspire,
Which thrice re-issued, phœnix-like, from fire?
For Shakespeare's myriad fancies 'neath this dome
Found local habitation and a home.
Here David Garrick was at loss to choose
Between the Tragic and a Comic Muse.
The alternate Lord of laughter and of tear
Could roll with Falstaff and could rave with Lear.
Here Brinsley Sheridan how brightly shone!

Glittered upon life's midnight, and was gone.
With sparkling craft the passing age he hit,
But perished of a plethora of wit.
Here Siddons down the castle stairway stole,
Cleansing her hands of blood, but not her soul.
Or, as one drunk with triumph did she sway,
Reeling in glory down the Roman way.
Here solemn Kemble trod, behold him stand
And moralise on death, with skull in hand!
Here Edmund Kean first flashed, upon the town,
And conquered London in a Jewish gown.
His face was lightning and his accent thunder,
The while he tore the human heart asunder.
And here Grimaldi mouthed at pomp and state
And in grimace presented human fate.
Dan Leno, as “poor Yorick” did of yore,
Here set the surging playhouse in a roar.
Here Lamb and Hazlitt sparkled in the pit,
For criticism then was winged with wit,
And on these boards austere Macready gave
To Moor or Thane demeanour grand and grave.
Who last of all appears? What holier shade

Familiar portals doth again invade?
See, on his brow he weareth Dante's bays,
But Henry Irving 'tis not mine to praise.
Here, where men saw those famous players tread,
Let others rise to emulate the dead.
A second Siddons and a second Kean
Re-animate this memorable scene.

[_]

Spoken by H. B. Irving Oct. 10th, 1912.