EDWIN FORREST AS “DAMON.” Great master of the tragic art, Whose genius moves the passions’ spring, To melt the eye and warm the heart With love of virtue, hate of sin, Is it our nation’s bleeding fate That gives thee such heroic fire Singly to brave the Senate’s hate And faith for country’s good inspire? Yes; ’tis not all the mimic scene We view when now beholding thee; The heart-strung voice and earnest mien Of “Damon” breathe pure liberty. The test of friendship true is there; But hope for freedom more than life Starts the usurping tyrant near— Pleads for the boy—weeps for the wife. O art divine! when Forrest brings His matchless eloquence to bear, Denouncing treason’s poisonous stings, While for his loved land falls the tear, The temple of the Muses, filled With beauty, fashion, youth, and age, Proves admiration for the skilled And perfect artist of the stage. G. C. HOWARD. And a year later the following eloquent verses were published by their author in the Philadelphia “Press:” FORREST. Pride of the Grecian art, King of the glorious act, Whose sceptre-touch can start From airiest fancy fact! Sole monarch of the stage! Thy crowning is the truth That garners unto age The laurel-wreaths of youth. Were massive mien or mould Of Thespian gods divine E’er richer in the gold Of Thespian grace than _thine_? A voice that thrills the soul Through all her trembling keys, From deepening organ-roll To flute-born symphonies; An eye that gleams the light Of Tragedy’s quick fire, And soul that sweeps aright Each grandest poet-lyre,— These into living thought, FORREST! in thee sublime The Thespian gods have wrought, A masterpiece for Time!