Poems by George Pope Morris - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Bless me, what friends at every glance I see!
Artists and authors--men of high degree; Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, The next election, and the war with France; Doctors, just come from curing half a score-- And belles, from killing twice as many more; Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs!
All wear a glow of suns.h.i.+ne in their faces Might well become Apollo and the graces, Except one yonder, with a look infernal, Like a blurred page from f.a.n.n.y Kemble's Journal!
But to my task. The muse, when I began, Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man.
Genius, at best, acts but an humble part, Unless obedient to an honest heart.
And such a one is his, for whom, to-night, These walls are crowded with this cheering sight Ye love the poet--oft have conned him o'er, Knew ye the man, ye'd love him ten times more.
Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill, Ye G.o.ds, applaud him; and ye fops--be still!
Address
For the Benefit of Henry Placide.
(Spoken by Mrs. Hilson.)
The music's done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie!
Your bell and whistle put me in a fury!
Don't ring up yet, sir--I've a word to say Before the curtain rises for the play!
Your pardon, gentlefolks, nor think me bold, Because I thus our worthy promoter scold: 'Twas all feigned anger. This enlightened age Requires a RUSE to bring one on the stage!
Well, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight Presented on this brilliant festal night!
Where'er I turn, whole rows of patrons sit-- The house is full--box, gallery, and pit!
Who says the New-York public are unkind?
I know them well, and plainly speak my mind-- "It is our right," the ancient poet sung-- He knew the value of a woman's tongue!
With this I will defend ye--and rehea.r.s.e FIVE glorious ACTS of yours--in modern verse; Each one concluding with a generous deed For Dunlap, Cooper, Woodworth, Knowles, Placide!
'Twas n.o.bly done, ye patriots and scholars!
Besides--they netted twenty thousand dollars!
"A good round sum," in these degenerate times-- "This bank-note world," so called in Halleck's rhymes; And proof conclusive, you will frankly own, In liberal actions New-York stands alone.
Though roams he oft 'mong green poetic bowers, The actor's path is seldom strewn with flowers.
His is a silent, secret, patient toil-- While others sleep, he burns the midnight oil-- Pores o'er his books--thence inspiration draws, And waste's his life to merit your applause!
O ye, who come the laggard hours to while, And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile, Remember this: the mirth that cheers you so, Shows but the surface--not the depths below!
Then judge not lightly of the actor's art, Who smiles to please you, with a breaking heart!
Neglect him not in his hill-climbing course, Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse: Up hill, indulge him--down the steep descent, Spare--and don't urge him when his strength is spent; Impel him briskly o'er the level earth, But in the stable don't forget his worth!
So with the actor--while you work him hard, Be mindful of his claims to your regard.
But hold!--methinks some carping cynic here Will greet my homely image with a sneer.
Well--let us see--I would the monster view: Man with umbrageous whiskers, is it you?
Ah, no--I was mistaken: every brow Beams with benevolence and kindness now; Beauty and fas.h.i.+on all the circles grace-- And scowling Envy here were out of place!
On every side the wise and good appear-- The very pillars of the State are here!
There sit the doctors of the legal clan; There all the city's rulers, to a man; Critics and editors, and learned M.D.'s, Buzzing and busy, like a hive of bees; And there, as if to keep us all in order, Our worthy friends the Mayor and the Recorder!
Well, peace be with you! Friends of native worth, Yours is the power to call it into birth; Yours is the genial influence that smiles upon The budding flowerets opening to the sun.
they all around us court your fostering hand-- Rear them with care, in beauty they'll expand-- With grateful odors well repay your toil, Equal to those sprung from a foreign soil; and more Placides bask in your suns.h.i.+ne then, The first of actors and the best of men.
The Maid of Saxony; or, Who's the Traitor?
An Opera in Three Acts.
Founded upon historical events in the life of Frederick the Second of Prussia, related by Miss Edgeworth, Zimmermann, Latrobe, and other writers.
The Music With the exception of three German Melodies, and the characteristic Introduction Composed by Charles E. Horn.
The Libretto by George P. Morris.
The Scenery by..........Messrs. Hillyard, Wheatley, and a.s.sistants.
The Costumes by...........................................M. Louis.
The Properties and Decorations by.......................M. Dejonge.
The Machinery by........................................M. Speyers.
The Orchestra increased, and the Choruses full and effective.
Leader of the Orchestra and Chorus-Master.................M. Chubb.
The Music produced under the direction of...........Mr. C. E. Horn.
Stage Manager............................................Mr. Barry.
Dramatis Personae.
Frederick II. (King of Prussia)....................Mr. Chippendale.
Count Laniska (his Aid-de-Camp, a Pole)................Mr. Manvers.
Albert ( a young Saxon student-at-law)..............Mr. Fredericks.
Karl (a Hungarian, Packer to the Royal Factory).....Mr. C. E. Horn.
Wedgewood (an English Merchant)........................Mr. Placide.
Baron Altenburg (Attorney-General).......................Mr. Barry.
Judge of the Court.......................................Mr. Clark.
Hans (an Innkeeper)....................................Mr. Andrews.
