A spreading brilliancy, which still burns bright.
Oh, who shall have the writings on the walls,
Oh, who can save the house that’s doomed to fall?
True genius, of which we vainly boast,
By our rulers seems neglected most.
How we took the kernel, and threw by the shell,
Profanation, degradation,—Oh, England, thou art a tardanation!
Time-hallowed spot, could we call back those days,
When Shakespeare here in thoughtless boyhood plays.
Before his plays had graced the mimic scene,