The Works of Lord Byron - LightNovelsOnl.com
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When thou wert changed, they altered too; The chain is broke, the music mute, 'Tis past--to them and thee adieu-- False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
[MS. M. First published, _Corsair_, 1814 (Second Edition).]
LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF _THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY_.[bm]
1.
Absent or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me, In turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.
2.
But when the dreaded hour shall come By Friends.h.i.+p ever deemed too nigh, And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,
3.
How fondly will she then repay Thy homage offered at her shrine, And blend, while ages roll away, _Her_ name immortally with _thine_!
April 19, 1812.
[First published, _Poems_, 1816.]
ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SAt.u.r.dAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.[39]
In one dread night our city saw, and sighed, Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride; In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned, Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned!) Through clouds of fire the ma.s.sy fragments riven, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10 While thousands, thronged around the burning dome, Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home, As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own, Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall; Say--shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle, Know the same favour which the former knew, A shrine for Shakespeare--worthy him and _you_? 20
Yes--it shall be--the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama _be_ where she hath _been_: This fabric's birth attests the potent spell---- Indulge our honest pride, and say, _How well_!
As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. 30 On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart.
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew; Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, Sighed his last thanks, and wept his last adieu: But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom, That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
Such Drury claimed and claims--nor you refuse One tribute to revive his slumbering muse; With garlands deck your own Menander's head, 40 Nor h.o.a.rd your honours idly for the dead![bq]
Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley[41] ceased to write[br]
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Vain of _our_ ancestry as they of _theirs_; While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's gla.s.s To claim the sceptred shadows as they pa.s.s, And we the mirror hold, where imaged s.h.i.+ne Immortal names, emblazoned on our line, Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 50 Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays Must sue alike for pardon or for praise, Whose judging voice and eye alone direct The boundless power to cherish or reject; If e'er frivolity has led to fame, And made us blush that you forbore to blame-- If e'er the sinking stage could condescend To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend-- All past reproach may present scenes refute, 60 And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute![42]
Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause; So Pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers, And Reason's voice be echoed back by ours!
This greeting o'er--the ancient rule obeyed,[43]
The Drama's homage by her herald paid-- Receive _our welcome_ too--whose every tone Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
The curtain rises--may our stage unfold 70 Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide, Still may _we_ please--long, long may _you_ preside.
[First published, _Morning Chronicle_, Oct. 12, 1812.]
PARENTHETICAL ADDRESS.[44]
BY DR. PLAGIARY.
_Half stolen_, with acknowledgments, to be spoken in an inarticulate voice by Master ---- at the opening of the next new theatre. [Stolen parts marked with the inverted commas of quotation--thus "----".]
"When energising objects men pursue,"
Then Lord knows what is writ by Lord knows who.
A modest Monologue you here survey, Hissed from the theatre the "other day,"
As if Sir Fretful wrote "the slumberous" verse, And gave his son "the rubbish" to rehea.r.s.e.
"Yet at the thing you'd never be amazed,"
Knew you the rumpus which the Author raised; "Nor even here your smiles would be represt,"
Knew you these lines--the badness of the best, 10 "Flame! fire! and flame!" (words borrowed from Lucretius.[45]) "Dread metaphors" which open wounds like issues!
"And sleeping pangs awake--and----But away"-- (Confound me if I know what next to say).
Lo "Hope reviving re-expands her wings,"
And Master G---- recites what Dr. Busby sings!-- "If mighty things with small we may compare,"
(Translated from the Grammar for the fair!) Dramatic "spirit drives a conquering car,"
And burn'd poor Moscow like a tub of "tar." 20 "This spirit" "Wellington has shown in Spain,"
To furnish Melodrames for Drury Lane.
"Another Marlborough points to Blenheim's story,"
And George and I will dramatise it for ye.
"In Arts and Sciences our Isle hath shone"
(This deep discovery is mine alone).
Oh "British poesy, whose powers inspire"
My verse--or I'm a fool--and Fame's a liar, "Thee we invoke, your Sister Arts implore"
With "smiles," and "lyres," and "pencils," and much more. 30 These, if we win the Graces, too, we gain _Disgraces_, too! "inseparable train!"
"Three who have stolen their witching airs from Cupid"
(You all know what I mean, unless you're stupid): "Harmonious throng" that I have kept _in petto_ Now to produce in a "divine _sestetto_"!!
"While Poesy," with these delightful doxies, "Sustains her part" in all the "upper" boxes!
"Thus lifted gloriously, you'll sweep along,"
Borne in the vast balloon of Busby's song; 40 "s.h.i.+ne in your farce, masque, scenery, and play"
(For this last line George had a holiday).
"Old Drury never, never soar'd so high,"
So says the Manager, and so say I.
"But hold," you say, "this self-complacent boast;"
Is this the Poem which the public lost?
"True--true--that lowers at once our mounting pride;"
But lo;--the Papers print what you deride.
"'Tis ours to look on _you_--_you_ hold the prize,"
'Tis _twenty guineas_, as they advertise! 50 "A _double_ blessing your rewards impart"-- I wish I had them, then, with all my heart.
"Our _twofold_ feeling _owns_ its twofold cause,"
Why son and I both beg for your applause.
