Behold! this marble tablet bears inscribed
The name of Shakspeare!—
What a glorious theme
For never-ending praise! His drama's page,
Like a clear mirror, to our wondering view
Displays the living image of the world,
And all the different characters of men:
Still, in the varying scenes, or sad, or gay,
We take a part; we weep; we laugh; we feel
All the strong sympathies of real life.
To him alone, of mortals, Fancy lent
Her magic wand, potent to conjure up
Ideal Forms, distinctly character'd,
Exciting fear, or wonder, or delight.
The works of Shakspeare! are they not a fane,
Majestic as the canopy of heaven,
Embracing all created things, a fane
His superhuman genius has upraised,
To Nature consecrate? The Goddess there
For ever dwells, and from her sanctuary,
By Shakspeare's voice, her poet and high-priest,
Reveals her awful mysteries to man,
And with her power divine rules every heart.
At Shakspeare's name, then, bow down all ye sons
Of learning, and of art! ye men, endow'd
With talent, taste! ye nobler few who feel
The genuine glow of genius! bow down all
In admiration! with deep feeling own
Your littleness, your insignificance;
And with one general voice due homage pay
To Nature's Poet, Fancy's best-loved Child!