Types not this," I said, "fair spirit! "No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect, Thine unspoken thoughts as clear The close-brought tickings of a watch- 'Tis to live again, remeasuring Youth's years, like a scene rehearsed, Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver ! As to wish its fitful fever New begun again? Could experience, ten times thine, Threads by Fate together spun? Could thy flight Heaven's lightning shun? No, nor could thy foresight's glance 'Scape the myriad shafts of Chance. Wouldst thou bear again Love's troubleFriendship's death-dissevered ties; Toil to grasp or miss the bubble Of Ambition's prize? Say thy life's new guided action Flowed from Virtue's fairest springsStill would Envy and Detraction Double not their stings? Worth itself is but a charter To be mankind's distinguished martyr." Envying, fearing, hating none- VALEDICTORY STANZAS ΤΟ J. P. KEMBLE, Esq. COMPOSED FOR A PUBLIC MEETING. HELD JUNE 1817. PRIDE of the British stage, A long and last adieu! Whose image brought th' heroic age Revived to Fancy's view. Like fields refreshed with dewy light When the sun smiles his last, Thy parting presence makes more bright Our memory of the past; And memory conjures feelings up That wine or music need not swell, As high we lift the festal cup To Kemble-fare thee well! His was the spell o'er hearts Full many a tone of thought sublime, Time may again revive, But ne'er eclipse the charm, To the deep sorrows of the Moor,- His transport's most impetuous tone, And to each passion of the breast High were the task-too high, Ye conscious bosoms here! Of Kemble and of Lear; But who forgets that white discrowned head, Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguished glare Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed, Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been, And triumphed to have seen! And there was many an hour The tragic paragons had grown— And undivided favour ran From heart to heart in their applause, Save for the gallantry of man, In lovelier woman's cause. Fair as some classic dome, Your KEMBLE's spirit was the home Taste like the silent dial's power, That when supernal light is given, His mind surveyed the tragic page, The scholar could presage. These were his traits of worth : And must we lose them now! And shall the scene no more show forth 'Tis all a transient hour below; And we that would detain thee here, Ourselves as fleetly go! Yet shall our latest age This parting scene review :— Pride of the British stage, A long and last adieu ! |