University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE.

Written by J. H--- H---, Esq.
While Irish genius soars through every clime,
And gains new laurels from the hand of time,
Why should her sons to foreign nations roam,
Nor trust the native patronage of home?
Is it that Irish taste, and Irish sense
Are words of idlesse all, and vain pretence?
Or fears our country to enroll her name
Amid the candidates for critic fame;
And, uncontested, yields to British brows
The laurel wreath that classic taste bestows?
Forbid it heaven! in this enlightened age
Such treason should disgrace our history's page.
Long time indeed our stage has been supplied
With stale productions, first in Britain tried,
As if no play this chilling clime could try,
Unless matured beneath a British sky.
Our author scorns this hateful path to trace,
Which only brands his country with disgrace.
No emigrating spirit leads him forth,
To seek in other lands the meed of worth:
But, fired with patriot ardor, dares to claim
From his own land the just award of fame.
Ye belles of Erin, whose approving smile
Lulls every fear, and gives a zest to toil,
On you he rests the triumph of his cause,
Sure of success, if sure of your applause.
What tribute of applause to him so dear,
As the soft sigh and sympathizing tear?
Oh! could he hear the half-extinguished sigh,
Or view one tear-drop fall from beauty's eye,
How every pulse of feeling would unite
To fill the measure of his just delight!