Classic Poem

So long, the shame of a misjudging age,
Has frighted Sense forsook the injur'd Stage,
Wild Rant so long has held its turgid reign,
I only look'd for " King Cambyaes' vein, "
Unnatural attitude, affected start,
And Folly's desp'rate passes at the heart;
No more I hop'd, in silent awe, to hear
Nature'S strong diction vibrate on my ear,
Nature , and S HAKESPEARE ! diff'ring but in name,
The same their charms, their sov'reignty the same.
But when, compell'd th' impartial palm to yield,
Mid the dread strife of B OSWORTH'S fatal field,
Severely touch'd with terrible delight,
Thy R ICHARD 's gloomy semblance meets my sight,
Action's new pow'rs I view, in fond amaze,
And in such colors ev'n the Tyrant praise.
Nor less applauds my voluntary strain,
Thy deep conception of the tortur'd T HANE ,
Prepar'd his hands in guiltless blood to steep,
And, wild as S HAKESPEARE'S fancy, " murder sleep. "
On Merit still tho' Obloquy attends,
Nay, often, courteously may come from friends;
Tho' puny critics, in censorial pride,
Create small faults for Dulness to deride;
To Nature link'd, pursue her sacred plan,
Nor in the tame, cold mimic lose the man;
Copy from none to whose desert we bow,
But copy least from those who triumph now;
So shall thy arduous labor rise, complest
In finish'd grace, originally great;
So shalt thou wield the glitt'ring shafts of wit,
Best comment on the scenes our fathers writ;
From breast to breast diffuse th' electric fire;
And bid ev'n foes unwillingly admire.
Thus, o'er some waste where R OSA 's genius threw
Fantastic forms, of gaunt, distemper'd hue,
Well pleas'd, I wander with unweary'd eye,
Nor, tho' I tremble, his just meed deny,
Tho' vague the figures, wayward the designs,
Ev'n there the spirit of S ALVATOR shines,
And mid the sombrous shadows of his mind,
Imagination revels unconfin'd.