University of Virginia Library

With trembling steps, as if suspicious grown,
Why doth the tragic muse approach her throne?
Her golden throne, where once with grace divine,
The goddess sat, “supreme of all the nine.”
Turns her fair palace to the festive bower,
Where jest and sport usurp her nobler power?
Lost is each lovelier feeling that imparts
To her the sovereign rule o'er British hearts?
Sunk the pure taste which once secur'd her sway,
Or wanes that virtue which admir'd her lay?
Vain fears! A generous race assembled here,
Still pay to grief compassion's softest tear;
Still pay the heart-felt sigh which Britons owe
To nature's feelings, and to nature's woe.
When jealous fiends Othello's heart-strings tear,
When guilty Richard groans with dire despair;
When injur'd Lear, with tort'ring anguish wild,
Pours the deep curse on each ungrateful child;
When plaintiff notes speak poor Ophelia's woes,
Or love in Juliet's tender bosom glows;
The glistening eye, the trembling lip proclaim
Nature and virtue here are still the same.
In scepter'd state affliction's soothing strain
Still in YOUR bosoms fix their stedfast reign—
Blest seat of empire! Where th' affections wait,
To shield the mourner from the shocks of fate—
Where the best passions with allegiance fair,
For suff'ring worth the healing balms prepare;
Nor ever shall your hearts such rights forego;
What social sorrow asks, these hearts shall still bestow!
No longer then oppress'd with anxious fear,
The muse shall REASUME her station here—
Shall court each virtue that's a nation's pride,
And gain the nobler passions to her side.—

If, in the tenour of her pensive lay,
In nature's path, TO NIGHT she holds her way;
If she excites the sympathising mind,
To generous acts, the glory of our kind!
This dread tribunal, shall suspend its zeal,
Spurn its proud office, and grow proud to feel:
This radiant circle too her hopes approve,
And grace the triumph of the muse they love!