Such as almost a very babe might utter.
Although the dust of his birth-dwelling’s long since trodd’n,
He’s now, as was of yore, a glorious shining beam,
On which our memories love to feed.
His mother fondly watch’d his gentle stature:
Himself the womb of a rare sparkling brain:
And heaping, aye! unthought of world-wide wondrous fame
With his enchanting pen:—the food,
The fondest food of history, and the stage:
’Twas but a little cabinet that did contain