  On his becoming the lessee of Old Drury. I. Macready, master of the Art supreme. That shows to dazzled and else guideless eyes (As doth Astronomy the starry skies) The airy wonders of our Shakspeare's dream; Com'st thou again to shed a wakening gleam Of morals, taste, and learning, where the gloom Most darkens, as around the Drama's tomb! Oh, come, and show us yet the true Extreme; Transcendent art, for coarse and low desire; The generous purpose, for the sordid aim; For noise and smoke, the music and the fire Of time-crown'd poets; for librettos tame, The emulous flashings of the modern lyre— Come, and put scowling Calumny to shame! II. What though with thee come Lear, himself a storm Of wilder'd passion, and the musing Dane, The gallant Harry and his warrior-train, Brutus, Macbeth, and truth in many a form Towering! not therefore only that we warm With hope and praise; but that thy glorious part Is now to raise the Actor's trampled Art, And drive from out its temple a loose swarm Of things vice-nurtured—from the Porch and Shrine! And know, Macready, midst the desert there, That soon shall bloom a garden, swells a mine Of wealth no less than honour—both most bare To meaner enterprise. Let that be thine— Who knowest how to risk, and how to share! L. B. Hereupon, a bard started up in the very remotest corner, and interposed in favour of the epigram, seeing that such oddities as sonnets and enigmas were allowed to pass current. Immediately, and by unanimous invitation, he produced some lines written in the album of a fair damsel, whose sire has but one leg, and complains of torture in the toes that he has not. "The heart that has been spurn'd by you Can never dream of love again, Save as old soldiers do of pain In limbs they left at Waterloo." We expressed our acknowledgments, and then heaved a sigh to the memory of an old friend, who, having suffered from the gout before his limb was amputated, |
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