XXII. Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend. WHEN from the heart where Sorrow sits, Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye; Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink: My thoughts their dungeon know too well; Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And droop within their silent cell. XXIII. Address, spoken at the opening of Drury-lane Theatre, Saturday, October 10th, 1812. In one dread night our city saw, and sighed, In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, 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, Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall; Yes-it shall be-the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, This fabric's birth attests the potent spell- As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhelmed the gentlest, stormed the sternest heart. Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom That only waste their odours o'er the tomb. VOL. IV. Н Such Drury claimed and claims-nor you refuse With garlands deck your own Menander's head! Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass |