Hear, with what heart-felt beat, the midnight bell Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture's wing of fire. III. 3. Lord of each pang the nerves can feel, Canst thou, with all thy terrors crowned, Hope to obscure that latent spark, Destined to shine when suns are dark? Thy triumphs cease! thro' every land, Benignly points to piety and peace. Flushed with youth, her looks impart Each fine feeling as it flows; Pure as the mountain-snows: ! Celestial transports round her play, She smiles! and where is now the cloud Grim darkness furls his leaden shroud, Shrinking from her glance in vain. Her touch unlocks the day-spring from above, And lo! it visits man with beams of light and love. YES, 'tis the pulse of life! my fears were vain; After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, April 27, 1795. anching each honest cheek with deeds of night, one here so oft by dim and doubtful light. -To drop all metaphor, that little bell lled back reality, and broke the spell. › heroine claims your tears with tragic tone; very woman-scarce restrains her own! an she, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, Then to be grateful is the part assigned? h, no! she scorns the trappings of her Art; To theme but truth, no prompter but the heart! But, Ladies, say, must I alone unmask? s here no other actress, let me ask. Believe me, those, who best the heart dissect, Know every Woman studies stage-effect. First, how her little breast with triumph swells, Now here, now there, in noise and mischief ever! A school-girl next, she curls her hair in papers, And mimics father's gout, and mother's vapours; Discards her doll, bribes Betty for romances; Playful at church, and serious when she dances; Tramples alike on customs and on toes, And whispers all she hears to all she knows; Her prudence dictates what her pride disdained, Then comes that good old character, a Wife, With nightly blaze set PORTLAND-PLACE on fire; |