The Fair Circassian A Tragedy |
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 | The Fair Circassian |  |
The following prologue, from an honour-giving muse, of
which it is truly worthy, did not arrive till after Mr.
Bannister was put in possession of the excellent poetry which
precedes it; and which another ingenious friend had been
sollicited to supply. The author of the tragedy, however,
thinks Miss Seward's composition too valuable to circulate
only in manuscript. Indeed, to keep such verses out of print,
would not only be a private injury to the piece (which they
will adorn) but an unpardonable injustice to the public.
PROLOGUE
BY MISS SEWARD.
Slow from an ebon throne's majestic height,
A lovely form descends upon my sight!
The floating purple, and the lofty mien
Proclaim the empress of the tragic scene,
Divine Melpomene!—Aggriev'd she stands,
Her tears fast falling on her folded hands.
The show'ry cloud thus dims the azure skies,
Thus round the moon the misty halos rise.
A lovely form descends upon my sight!
The floating purple, and the lofty mien
Proclaim the empress of the tragic scene,
Divine Melpomene!—Aggriev'd she stands,
Her tears fast falling on her folded hands.
The show'ry cloud thus dims the azure skies,
Thus round the moon the misty halos rise.
Why, beauteous mourner, ere the hour of woe,
Throb those quick sighs, those crystal sorrows flow?
Thy Fair Circassian yet no griefs molest,
Nor love, nor fear assail her virgin breast!
Throb those quick sighs, those crystal sorrows flow?
Thy Fair Circassian yet no griefs molest,
Nor love, nor fear assail her virgin breast!
But soft!—the muse of anguish sadly speaks!
Faint on my ear the murm'ring accent breaks;
Low hollow gales its mournful sounds convey,
And thus the goddess says—or seems to say:
Faint on my ear the murm'ring accent breaks;
And thus the goddess says—or seems to say:
“Can then the tender female bosom prove
“A keener pang than disappointed love?
“Ah me!—For light Thalia more than shares
“My darling Sheridan's too partial cares:
“On her vain brows his lavish wreaths are thrown,
“His thousand radiant gems emblaze her zone!
“A keener pang than disappointed love?
“Ah me!—For light Thalia more than shares
“My darling Sheridan's too partial cares:
“On her vain brows his lavish wreaths are thrown,
“His thousand radiant gems emblaze her zone!
“What tho' she gave to his supreme command
“Each laughing grace that waits her potent wand,
“Yet with sublimer force my chemic-fire
“‘With proud distinction deck'd his sacred lyre;’
“To purest gold its warbling wires I turn'd,
“When their sweet lays o'er lifeless Garrick mourn'd.
“Each laughing grace that waits her potent wand,
“Yet with sublimer force my chemic-fire
“‘With proud distinction deck'd his sacred lyre;’
“To purest gold its warbling wires I turn'd,
“When their sweet lays o'er lifeless Garrick mourn'd.
“And once he sung in
elevated strain
“My charms superior, and my right to reign;
“Then, with the majesty my impulse throws
“In chasten'd splendor round the poet's brows,
“He bade the tears that stream'd o'er Asia's queen,
“Flow soft in real sorrow's lonely scene.—
“But soon he smil'd those graceful tears away,
“And faithless own'd my frolic rival's sway.
“My charms superior, and my right to reign;
“Then, with the majesty my impulse throws
“In chasten'd splendor round the poet's brows,
“He bade the tears that stream'd o'er Asia's queen,
“Flow soft in real sorrow's lonely scene.—
“But soon he smil'd those graceful tears away,
“And faithless own'd my frolic rival's sway.
“Perchance, howe'er, the jocund pride of youth
“Alone has warp'd from me his love and truth;
“Ere long the rover may again be mine,
“And with his blooming laurels deck my shrine!
“Alone has warp'd from me his love and truth;
“Ere long the rover may again be mine,
“And with his blooming laurels deck my shrine!
“This night no vulgar hand the meed bestows,
“That now for me in pristine beauty glows.—
“Oh! may the fost'ring breath of public praise
“Preserve from cruel blight the votive bays!”
“That now for me in pristine beauty glows.—
“Oh! may the fost'ring breath of public praise
“Preserve from cruel blight the votive bays!”
I hear no more—For, with a pensive smile,
Slow glides the muse down yonder winding isle!
Slow glides the muse down yonder winding isle!
May you, ye brave and wife, ye good and fair,
Fulfil with suffrage kind her fervent pray'r!
And since no force of wit and comic art
Can shut to pity's plaint the British heart,
We hope your just applause may bless our bard,
His first ambition, and his bright reward.
Fulfil with suffrage kind her fervent pray'r!
And since no force of wit and comic art
Can shut to pity's plaint the British heart,
We hope your just applause may bless our bard,
His first ambition, and his bright reward.
| The Fair Circassian | |