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Ode to Superstition. . .

Written to be spoken in a Theatre ...

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Oн could my mind, unfolded in my page,

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Enlighten climes and mould a future age;

There as it glowed, with noblest frenzy fraught, Dispense the treasures of exalted thought;

To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart,

And bid the tear of emulation start!

Oh could it still, thro' each succeeding year,

My life, my manners, and my name endear;
And, when the poet sleeps in silent dust,

Still hold communion with the wise and just!

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