LINES ON THE CELEBRATED SHAKESPEARE.
On a biforked hill, with Fame’s ever-green crown’d,
Encircled with azure serene,
Whilst the Sylphs of his fancy play’d wantonly round,
Willy Shakespeare enliven’d the scene.
As all pensive he sat, keen-ey’d Wisdom drew near,
Just sent from the regions above;
And smiling she whisper’d this truth in his ear,
Thy lays breathe the spirit of Jove.
To his side came the Muse of the bowl and the blade,
To hail him great Prince of her art;
Whilst Comedy near, all those dimples display’d
That gave a brisk pulse to the heart.
Bright Genius approach’d him with pleasing respect,
In her arms a young eagle she bore,
To shew, if unshackl’d by icy neglect,
To what wonderful heights she could soar.
Recumbent before him, straight dropt the sweet maid,
And expanding the wings of her bird
“Take the Quill of Sublimity, Shakespeare,” she said,
“And go fashion the tear-starting word.”
To Genius he bow’d, as she pluckt forth the Quill,
To the breeze were his vestments unfurl’d,
Like a sun-beam, with Fancy he fled from the hill,
To charm and illumine the world.
For the good of mankind, he rare precepts convey’d,
And his strains had such pow’r o’er the ear,
That, whenever he pleas’d, from the concourse that stray’d,
He could call forth a smile or a tear.
Old Time knew his worth, with the sigh of esteem,
From the earth bid sweet Willy arise;
With his genius he fled, but has left us his theme,
Which shall ever be dear to the wise.