Over which the bell of Freedom sounds her everlasting chimes,
Thou didst catch that breadth of manner; and to wreath the glorious whole,
Sacred flames are ever leaping from thy democratic soul.
Welcome then that look of grandeur, welcome then that stately mien,
Always shedding native glory o’er the wondrous mimic scene,
Always like a mighty mirror glassing Vice or Virtue’s star,
Giving Time his very pressure, showing Nations as they are!
After a long absence from Albany, Forrest fulfilled an engagement there in 1864. It carried his mind back to his early struggles in the same place, though few of the kind friends who had then cheered him now remained. There was no vacant spot, however, any more than there was any loss of fervor. On the last night the audience—so crowded that “they seemed actually piled on one another in the lobbies”—called him before the curtain and asked for a speech. He said,—
“I am very glad, ladies and gentlemen, that an opportunity is thus afforded me to say a few words, to thank you for your generous welcome here, and also for the kind applause you have lavished on my performances. In Albany I seem to live a twofold existence,—I live one in the past, and I live one in the present,—and both alike are filled with the most agreeable memories. Here, within these very walls, even in my boyish days, I was cheered on to those inspiring toils
‘Which make man master men.’