Lo! Time, at last, has brought, with tardy flight,
The long-anticipated, wish'd-for night;
How on this blissful night, while yet remote,
Did Hope and Fancy with fond rapture doat!
Like eagles, oft, in glory's dazzling sky,
With full-stretch'd pinions have they soar'd on high,
To greet the appearance of the poet's name,
Dawning conspicuous mid the stars of fame.
Alas! they soar not now;—the demon, Fear,
Has hurl'd the cherubs from their heavenly sphere:
Fancy, o'erwhelm'd with terror, grovelling lies;—
The world of torment opens on her eyes,
Darkness and hissing all she sees and hears;—
(The speaker pauses—the audience are
supposed to clap, when he continues,)
But Hope, returning to dispel her fears,
Claps her bright wings; the magic sound and light
At once have forced their dreaded foe to flight,
Silenced the hissing, chased the darkness round,
And charm'd up marvelling Fancy from the ground.
Say, shall the cherubs dare once more to fly?
Not, as of late, in glory's dazzling sky,
To greet the appearance of the poet's name,
Dawning conspicuous mid the stars of fame;
Presumptuous flight! but let them dare to rise,
Cheer'd by the light of your propitious eyes,
Within this roof, glory's contracted sphere,
On fluttering pinions, unsubdued by Fear;
O! let them dare, ere yet the curtain draws,
Fondly anticipate your kind applause.