No More Learning

FROM THE TURKISH.

1.

The chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offered both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.

2.

These gifts were charmed by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well,--
Alas! they could not teach thee thine.

3.

That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet--till thou couldst think
In other hands its notes were such.

4.

Let him who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shivered in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.

5.

When thou wert changed, they altered too;
The chain is broke, the music mute,
'Tis past--to them and thee adieu--
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.

[MS. M. First published, _Corsair_, 1814 (Second Edition).
]



LINES WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF
_THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY_. [bm]

1.

Absent or present, still to thee,
My friend, what magic spells belong!
As all can tell, who share, like me,
In turn thy converse,[37] and thy song.

2.

But when the dreaded hour shall come
By Friendship ever deemed too nigh,
And "Memory" o'er her Druid's tomb[38]
Shall weep that aught of thee can die,

3.

How fondly will she then repay
Thy homage offered at her shrine,
And blend, while ages roll away,
_Her_ name immortally with _thine_!

April 19, 1812.
[First published, _Poems_, 1816. ]



ADDRESS, SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF
DRURY-LANE THEATRE,
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812. [39]

In one dread night our city saw, and sighed,
Bowed to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride;
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakespeare cease to reign.

Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourned,
Whose radiance mocked the ruin it adorned! )
Through clouds of fire the massy fragments riven,
Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven;
Saw the long column of revolving flames
Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames,[40] 10
While thousands, thronged around the burning dome,
Shrank back appalled, and trembled for their home,
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone[bn]
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall[bo]
Usurped the Muse's realm, and marked her fall;
Say--shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakespeare--worthy him and _you_? 20

Yes--it shall be--the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;[bp]
On the same spot still consecrates the scene,
And bids the Drama _be_ where she hath _been_:
This fabric's birth attests the potent spell----
Indulge our honest pride, and say, _How well_!

As soars this fane to emulate the last,
Oh!