Verses on Seeing the Tragedy of the Regent

AWAKE, ye Nymphs of Avon's stream,
Of Shakspeare's verse the fav'rite theme;
No more within that sparry cave,
Whose mouth Avonia's waters lave;
On coral beds in grief recline,
But round your brows the laurel twine;
Again by Cynthia's pallid beam,
Be seen amid the glassy stream;
O chaunt again that Doric strain,
Ye learn'd of Avon's tuneful swain;
And with you bring the breathing lute,
For ages lost, for ages mute,
That Genius erst on him bestow'd,
Whose pictur'd breast with fancy glow'd;
For wak'd by notes that oft have charm'd,
Again by hallow'd frenzy warm'd.

Hark! Echo quits her mossy bed,
And scarce believes her Shakspeare dead;
Again, by Avon's silver stream
A Bard resumes great Nature's theme;
Spurning the rules of sordid art,
Guided but by a feeling heart;
From Nature's self the picture draws,
Confin'd by none but Nature's laws;
To Fancy's realm the daring wight
On eagle wing pursues his flight;
And wand'ring blest those bow'rs among,
Where Shakspeare's self unrival'd sung;
As straying 'mid the holy wood,
For you, fair sisters of the flood;
A blooming wreath behold him twine,
A wreath immortal and divine.