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And visions fair of many a blissful day; Like to some ancient, half-expiring lay; Back o'er life.html">life's devious labyrinthine way, Of life's fair hours, left me behind them grieving. They hear me not my later cadence singing, Dispersed the throng, their severed flight.html">flight now winging; For stranger crowds the Orphean lyre now stringing, Of old who listened to my song, glad hearted, To yon calm spirit-realm uplifts my soul; Fans the Aeolian harp, my numbers roll; The tender impulse, loses its control; Those I have lost become realities to me. PROLOGUE FOR THE THEATRE MANAGER. DRAMATIC POET. MERRYMAN. MANAGER YE twain, in trouble and distress Say, for our scheme on German ground, Fain would I please the public, win their thanks; The posts are now erected, and the planks, Their places taken, they, with eyebrows rais'd, I know the art to hit the public taste, True, they are not accustomed to the best, How make our entertainment striking, new, For to be plain, I love.html">love to see the throng, As wave.html">wave on wave successive rolls along, Still in broad daylight, ere the clock strikes four, And, as for bread in famine, at the baker's door, Such various minds the bard alone can sway, At whose aspect the Spirit wings its flight! Conceal the surging concourse, I implore thee, No, to some peaceful heavenly nook restore me, Where love and friendship yield their choicest blessing, What shyly there the lip shaped forth in sound; In the wild tumult of the hour is drown'd; Until at length with perfect form 'tis crowned; .

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