Still lights and warms us by its innate blaze.

We have a power to gild our drama's age,—

Cooper's our Sun, his orbit is our stage.

Long may he shine, by sense and taste approved,

By fancy reverenced, and by genius loved!

And when retiring, mourned by every grace,

May Forrest rise to fill his envied place!

Dear child of genius! round thy youthful brow

Taste, wit, and beauty bind thy laurel now.

No foreign praise thy native worth need claim;