Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/The Anniversary of the Destruction of the Richmond Theatre
THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF THE RICHMOND THEATRE
WHENCE were those sounds that swept upon the gale,
And swell'd with echoes strange the troubled air?
They seem'd like sorrow's agonizing wail,
The shriek of woe, the moaning of despair.
Where is that lofty pile with arches long,
And ample walls, and oft frequented door,
Whose evening tapers lur'd a sprightly throng,
To taste the pleasures of dramatic lore?
Oh, spare the dread recital! Let the stones
Which the still glowing embers half conceal,
Those blackened ruins, and those calcin'd bones.
The truth, that mocks the aid of speech, reveal.
The polish'd hand, the heav'n illumin'd face,
The eye that spoke the feelings of the soul,
The brow of beauty, and the form of grace,
Lie scorch'd and shrivell'd, like a parching scroll.
For while the unfolding plan, the changeful part,
With hope, or fear, alternate mark'd the mien,
At once! a real terror fill'd the heart,
And bursting flames involved the mimic scene.
And pressing on, where sinking columns blaz'd,
Through folding clouds of suffocating smoke,
And rushing o'er the fall'n, with breathless haste,
The frenzied croud, in wild confusion broke.
The speechless father like a maniac mov'd,
His fainting daughter clasping to his breast,
The youth in anguish bore the maid he lov'd,
But death and agony must shade the rest.
O scene of horror! Night of deep despair!
How each gay prospect, clad in fairest light,
Fades at the storm of grief, or cloud of care,
And sinks oblivious, in the gloom of night!
O bliss of earth! How bright and insincere;
Unworthy of the pains we all bestow!
The proudest hopes that deck this dazzling sphere
But tempt the blast, and urge the darts of woe.
Then let us seek the joys of heavenly birth,
Which the fierce flame, that lights the day of doom,
And melts the basis of the solid earth,
May purify, but never can consume.