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Lo! fancy now, on airy pinions spread,
With fcenes ideal hovers o'er my head.
I fee! I fee! more pleafing themes arise:
What mystic shadows flit before my eyes !
Imagination paints the facred grove,
The place devote to poefy and love.
Here grateful poets hail the actors' name,
And pay the rightful tribute to their fame :
Around their tomb, in gen'rous forrow, mourn,
And twine the laurels o'er the favour'd urn.
Methinks I view the laft fepulchral frame,
That bears infcrib'd her much-lamented name.
See! to my view the drama's fons difplay'd:
What laurell'd phantoms croud the awful fhade!
First of the choir immortal Shakespear ftands,
Whofe fearching eye all nature's scene commands:
Bright in his look celestial spirit blooms,
And genius o'er him waves his eagle plumes!
Next tender Southern, skill'd the foul to move;
And gentle Rowe, who tunes the breast to love.
The witty Congreve near with sprightly mien :
And eafy Farquhar with his lighter scene.
A num'rous train of bards the shrine furround,
In tragic trains and comic lore renown'd.

See! on the tomb yon penfive form appear,
Heave the full figh, and drop the frequent tear:
The garments loose her throbbing bofom show;
Difpers'd in air her careless treffes flow:
Round her pale brows a myrtle wreath is spread,
A gloomy cyprefs nods above her head.

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See! while her hand a folemn lyre sustains,
Her trembling fingers wake the languid strains :
Soft to the touch the vocal strings reply,
And tune the notes to answer ev'ry figh,
She (child of grief !) at human mis'ry weeps;
At ev'ry death her dismal vigil keeps.
But chief she mourns, when fate's relentless doom
Gives wit and beauty victims to the tomb.
Her lays their merits and their loss proclaim,
(A mournful talk !) and elegy her name!
Now bending o'er the pile she vents her moan,
And

pours these sorrows o'er the senseless stone.
Ah! loft, for ever loft! the breath that warm’d,
The wit that ravish'd, and the mien that charm'd!
Here sleeps, beneath, the faireft of the fair,
The graces' darling, and the muses' care !
Who once could fix a thousand gazers eyes,
Now cold and lifeless unregarded lies!
Who once the soul in bonds of love detain'd,
Now lies, alas ! in stronger bonds restrain'd,
Pale death has rifled all her pleasing store,
And Nature loaths a form so lov'd before !
Is there a fair whose features point the dart,
Charm the fix'd eye, and fafcinate the heart?
Behold what soon disarms the childish fting,
And plucks the wanton plume from Cupid's wing:
Then boaft no longer wit's fallacious store ;
The sweets of sprightly converse boaft no more :
Those lips so fram’d to each persuasive art,
No more shall touch the ear, and win the heart !

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Let beauty here her tranfient bleffing weigh;
Let humble wit her pitying tribute pay;
Let female grace vouchfafe the kindly tear;
Wit, grace, and beauty, once were center'd here!
Ye facred bards, who tun'd the drama's lays,
Here pay your incense of distinguish'd praise!
She gave your scenes with ev'ry grace to shine
She gave new feeling to the nervous line:
Her beauties well fupply'd each tragic lore,
And shew'd those charms your muse but feign'd before!
Here round her shrine your votive wreaths bestow,

Around her shrine eternal greens fhall grow.

;

The lift'ning groves fhall learn her name to fing,
And zephyrs waft it on their downy wing;
'Till ev'ry fhade thefe doleful founds return,
And ev'ry gale in fullen dirges mourn!

The mourner ends with fighs; her hand the rears,
And with her veftüre dries the gushing tears.
Behold each bard the foft contagion feels;
From ev'ry eye the trickling forrow steals.
See! Nature's fon lament her hapless doom,
See! Shakespear bending o'er his fav'rite's tomb,
Each fhadowy form declines his awful head,
And scatters roses on the funʼral bed.

In flow proceffion round the fhrine they move,
And chant her praises thro' the tuneful grove

Farewel the glory of a wondring age,
The fecond Oldfield of a finking stage!
Farewel the boast and envy of thy kind,
A female foftnefs, and a manly mind!

Long

Long as the mufes can record thy praife,
Thy fame shall laft to far fucceeding days:
While wit survives, thy name shall ever bloom,
And wreaths unfading flourish round thy tomb!

While thus I tune the plaintive notes in vain,
For her, whofe worth demands á nobler strain;'
Lo! to my thought fome warning genius cries:
Attempt not, fwain, beyond thy flight to rife.
Shall thy weak skill attempt to raise our woes,
Or paint a lofs that ev'ry bofom knows?
'Tis not thy lays can teach us tears to shed;
What eye refrains?-for Woffington is dead!

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VEN

"And pour thy tempeft on his guilty head!"

Thus heav'n's decree, in thunder's found,

Shook the dark abyfs profound.

The unchain'd furies come!

Pale melancholy ftalks from hell:

Th' abortive offspring of her womb,
Despair and Anguish, round her yell.

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By fleepless terror Saul poffefs'd,
Deep feels the fiend within his tortur'd breaft,
Midnight spectres round him howl:
Before his eyes

In troops they rife,

And feas of horror overwhelm his foul,

Hafte; to Jeffe's fon repair:
He beft can sweep the lyre,
Wake the folemn founding air,
And lead the vocal choir:

On ev'ry ftring foft-breathing raptures dwell,
To footh the throbbings of the troubled breast;
Whofe magic voice can bid the tides of paffion fweil,
Or lull the raging form to rest.

Sunk on his couch, and loathing day,
The heav'n-forfaken monarch lay:

To the fad couch the fhepherd now drew near;
And, while th' obedient choir stood round,
Prepar'd to catch the foul-commanding found,
He dropp'd a gen'rous tear.-

Thy pitying aid, O God, impart !

For lo, thy poifon'd arrows drink his heart!

The mighty fong from Chaos rofe.Around his throne the formless atoms fleep, And drowsy darkness broods upon the deep.Confufion, wake!

Bid the realms of Chaos shake!

Roufe him from his dread repose!-

Hark!

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