University of Virginia Library

PROEM.

Grave Prospero, who charm'd in days of yore,
Was deeply read in magick's wond'rous lore;
Could call forth spirits from the vasty deep,
And their dread power in strong subjection keep;
Marshal the dapper elves, and fairies trim,
By moonlight sporting near the fountain-brim;
In spell-bound service airy forms enroll,
Who ride the rainbow, glance from pole to pole;
And fiends of fire, more fervid than the sun,
Through realms of thrilling ice compel to run:
Wielded Jove's bolt, bade cloud-capt mountains quake,
And the great globe unto its center shake;
Commanding the rude surge to dash the skies,
From their dark beds of clay the dead arise!
What could he not, whom such a Master drew?
To Nature, in his boldest fictions, true!
Whose Ariel, Caliban, ghosts, witches, elves,
Seem Nature's children nearly as ourselves!
But what can the weak Prospero of these scenes,
Divested of all wonder-working means?
Pity, kind Reader! the rude lack of skill
Which traced the potent Sage with feeble quill!
Nor grieve, benignant Spirit! in thy sphere,
Sweet Shakspeare! to my heart of heart most dear!
That e'en the humblest of the scenick train
Should dare to ape thy mighty magick-strain;
But rather, with thy wonted goodness mild,
Forgive, and oh! inspire him, Fancy's Child!