« EelmineJätka »
In antient times, when Britain's trade was arms,
hose generous rivals lov'd each other well:
'im? Whose arms had shook its firmest tow'r.
This night a DOUGLAS your protection claims ;
In days of classic fame, when Persia’s Lord
Such proud pre-eminence not valour gave,
Above the rest the Tragic Muse admir'd Each Attic breast with noblest passions fir'd. In peace their poets with their heroes shard Glory, the hero's, and the bard's reward. The Tragic Muse each glorious record kept, And, o'er the kings she conquerid, Athens wept*.
Here let me ccase, impatient for the scene, To you I need not praise the Tragic Queen: Oft has this audience soft compassion shown To wocs of heroes, heroes not their own.
* See the PERSAI of Æschylus.
This night our scenes no common tear demand,
Listen attentive to the various tale,