"When energising objects men pursue, What are the prodigies they cannot do? A magic edifice you here survey, Shot from the ruins of the other day! As Harlequin had smote the slumberous heap, And bade the rubbish to a fabric leap. Yet at that speed you'd never be amazed, Knew you the _zeal_ with which the pile was raised; Nor even here your smiles would be represt, Knew you the rival flame that fires our breast, 10 Flame! fire and flame! sad heart-appalling sounds, Dread metaphors that ope our healing wounds-- A sleeping pang awakes--and----But away With all reflections that would cloud the day That this triumphant, brilliant prospect brings, Where Hope reviving re-expands her wings; Where generous joy exults, where duteous ardour springs. * * * * * If mighty things with small we may compare, This spirit drives Britannia's conquering car, Burns in her ranks and kindles every tar. Nelson displayed its power upon the main, And Wellington exhibits it in Spain; Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story, And with its lustre, blends his kindred glory. 40 In Arms and Science long our Isle hath shone, And Shakespeare--wondrous Shakespeare--reared a throne For British Poesy--whose powers inspire The British pencil, and the British lyre-- Her we invoke--her Sister Arts implore: Their smiles beseech whose charms yourselves adore, These if we win, the Graces too we gain-- Their dear, beloved, inseparable train; Three who their witching arts from Cupid stole And three acknowledged sovereigns of the soul: 50 Harmonious throng! with nature blending art! Divine Sestetto! warbling to the heart For Poesy shall here sustain the upper part. Thus lifted gloriously we'll sweep along, Shine in our music, scenery and song; Shine in our farce, masque, opera and play, And prove old Drury has not had her day, Nay more--so stretch the wing the world shall cry, Old Drury never, never soared so high. 'But hold,' you'll say, 'this self-complacent boast; 60 Easy to reckon thus without your host.' True, true--that lowers at once our mounting pride; 'Tis yours alone our merit to decide; 'Tis ours to look to you, you hold the prize That bids our great, our best ambitions rise. A _double_ blessing _your_ rewards impart, Each good provide and elevate the heart. Our twofold feeling owns its twofold cause, Your bounty's _comfort_--_rapture_ your applause; When in your fostering beam you bid us live, 70 You give the means of life, and gild the means you give." _Morning Chronicle_, October 17, 1812.]