On A Cornelian Heart Which Was Broken.[36]

1.

Ill-fated Heart! and can it be, That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain? Have years of care for thine and thee Alike been all employed in vain?

2.

Yet precious seems each shattered part, And every fragment dearer grown, Since he who wears thee feels thou art A fitter emblem of his own.

March 16, 1812. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (Second Edition).]

THE CHAIN I GAVE. FROM THE TURKISH.

1.

The chain I gave was fair to view, The lute I added sweet in sound; The heart that offered both was true, And ill deserved the fate it found.

2.

These gifts were charmed by secret spell, Thy truth in absence to divine; And they have done their duty well,-- Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

3.

That chain was firm in every link, But not to bear a stranger's touch; That lute was sweet--till thou couldst think In other hands its notes were such.

4.

Let him who from thy neck unbound The chain which shivered in his grasp, Who saw that lute refuse to sound, Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

5.

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, and thy song.

2.

But when the dreaded hour shall come By Friendship ever deemed too nigh, And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb 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, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.

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 massy 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, 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?

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. 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, Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead![bq] Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley 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 glass To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine Immortal names, emblazoned on our line, Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn, 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, And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute! 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, 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 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.]