University of Virginia Library

PROLOGUE,

The tragic Muse, in this our later age,
Has seldom shed her influence on the stage.
With jealous eye, with cold disdainful mien
She turns away, and seems to claim the scene
For those, to whom her loftiest lays belong—
The mighty masters of her earlier song.
For her high thoughts, for her impassion'd strain,
For her proud crown, so often sought in vain,
To-night you hear a timid votress dare
Address an humble, yet ambitious prayer.
Say, should her powers beneath her task decline,
And sink, unequal to the great design,
Yet can you from her aim your praise withhold;
Bold is that aim, but noble as 'tis bold.
As erst in Athens, mighty mother state
Of all that's lovely, as of all that's great,
The gifted bards, whose grave and simple song
Held high dominion o'er the list'ning throng,
Drew from their country's first heroic day
The wondrous subjects of their moral lay:
So, in that time, when nations, driv'n to roam,
Had sought in this fair Isle another home,
And barbarous chiefs, where each had led his band,
Now sway'd divided empires in the land;
In that rude time, which gathering ages veil,
We fix the scene of our fictitious tale;
Which seeks by natural passions to impart
A human interest to the human heart;
A tale of secret love in generous youth,
Uncompromising honour, dauntless truth;
Faith, which sore-tried nor change nor doubt can know,
And public danger mix'd with private woe.—
For, e'en amidst those dark and murderous times,
Religion's errors and ambition's crimes,
Athwart the gloom of that tempestuous day
The native spirit shot a splendid ray;
The spirit of the land—whose course appears
Mark'd by its glory down the path of years,
Unalter'd still through every varying state,
The lapse of ages and the turns of fate—
And late, when o'er us gleam'd the troubled air,
With signs of woe and portents of despair,
The soul of Britain, tranquil and the same,
Shone forth to all mankind a guiding flame:
And if those times of toil must come once more,
If blasts again must rise, and thunders roar—
The beacon, brighter 'midst the gathering night,
Lifts high to heav'n its unextinguish'd light,
And, from the sacred Isles commanding steep
Streams life and safety o'er the labouring deep!