TO TWO SISTERS.1 1795. ELL may you sit within, and, fond of grief, Look in each other's face, and melt in Well may you shun all counsel, all relief. As o'er her frame each warm emotion spread, Those lips so pure, that moved but to persuade, Yet has she fled the life of bliss below, 1 On the death of a younger sister. TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. 1798. N thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers; Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame! At each response the sacred rite requires, Ah soon, thine own confess'd, ecstatic thought! That hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers; And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught Gild the calm current of domestic hours! WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.1 ES, 't is the pulse of life; my fears were vain; I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. Still in this nether world; no seraph yet! Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set, With troubled step to haunt the fatal board, Where I died last-by poison or the sword; Blanching each honest cheek with deeds of night, Done here so oft by dim and doubtful light. -To drop all metaphor, that little bell Called back reality, and broke the spell. No heroine claims your tears with tragic tone; very woman-scarce restrains her own! A Can she, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, Is here no other actress, let me ask. Believe First, how her little breast with triumph swells After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, April 27, 1795. Along the carpet's many-coloured stage; A school-girl next, she curls her hair in papers, Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies! Frowns when pursued, and, when entreated, sighs! Plays with unhappy men as cats with mice; Till fading beauty hints the late advice. Her prudence dictates what her pride disdained, And now she sues to slaves herself had chained! Then comes that good old character, a Wife, With all the dear, distracting cares of life; A thousand cards a day at doors to leave, And, in return, a thousand cards receive; Rouge high, play deep, to lead the ton aspire, With nightly blaze set PORTLAND-PLACE on fire; Snatch half a glimpse at Concert, Opera, Ball, A meteor, traced by none, tho' seen by all; And, when her shattered nerves forbid to roam, In very spleen-rehearse the girls at home. Last the grey Dowager, in ancient flounces, With snuff and spectacles the age denounces ; Boasts how the Sires of this degenerate Isle Knelt for a look, and duelled for a smile. The scourge and ridicule of Goth and Vandal, Her tea she sweetens, as she sips, with scandal; With modern Belles eternal warfare wages, Thus WOMAN makes her entrance and her exit; And to full day the latent passions start! -And she, whose first, best wish is your applause, Herself exemplifies the truth she draws. Born on the stage-thro' every shifting scene, Still has your smile, her trembling spirit fired! And can she act, with thoughts like these inspired? No! from her mind all artifice she flings, All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things! To you, unchecked, each genuine feeling flows; For all that life endears-to you she owes. A long, a long adieu !1 I must be gone while yet I may. [Once more, enchanting maid, adieu !— Ed. 1839. |