PRIZE ADDRESS,

Spoken at the Opening of the Salem Theatre, 1828.

To call past ages from the sleep of time,
To rouse the dwellers of each voiceless clime,
And bid them stand as once on Earth they stood,

To shake the guilty, and to charm the good;

To catch the wonders of the present hour, New grace to fiction give, to truth new power, With mirth to cheer, with grief to melt the soul, And hold each passion in sublime control;

For these the Drama rose in ancient days, And taught her Bards undying strains to raise; Bade them unlock the treasures of the mind, And spread a new creation to mankind.

'Twas glorious all! the Muses blessed the hour, And poured their sweetest songs in dome and bower; But night at length "came down " - the night of doom, That wrapped Earth's brightest realm in starless gloom. Round Wisdom's haunts the raven shadows swept, Art's lovely daughters veiled their heads, and wept; From their cold groves the Drama's minstrels fled, And Dulness brooded o'er the living dead.

So tuneless ages rolled-when, lo! once more
Redeeming Genius sought a happier shore.
Like Mercy's dove for one green spot he flew,
Nor paused till Ocean's empress caught his view;
There his bold eye beheld the promised rest,
And Shakspeare's Albion wooed him to her breast.

Then sang The Bard! in greatness and in grace,
The matchless One- th' anointed of his race.
At his command once more the Drama rose,

To shield fair Virtue, and to shame her foes.
Time bowed before him, Death resigned his trust,
Kingdoms came back, and Monarchs left the dust;
All, at his bidding, burst Oblivion's grave,
To warn, to win, to chasten, and to save.

Proud was the lyre beneath its master's hand, And rapt the listeners of our Father-land.

Soon from the Old the New World caught the strain, And hailed on Freedom's shores the Drama's reign; From spot to spot the inspiration flew,

And reared at last This vaulted Dome - for You!

For you, ye glad-eyed throngs, who cluster round Where a new home the Drama's sons have found, For you, for you and yours, our fane is dressed

By

you and yours, 0 may our rites be blessed! Pure be the verse that lingers on each tongue,

Meet for the wise, the beauteous, and the young;

So parent love shall smile upon the place,
And gather here the fond ones of his race;
So all, in pleasure lapped, or lost in woe,
Shall gaze unfearing, and untainted go.

Come, then, to us and to yourselves be just, And bid the Stage fulfil its glorious trust. To this fair Temple as your feet ye turn, Let no strange fire to shame its altar burn; On you the cherub voice of goodness calls; Rise up her champions, and protect these walls! So shall their echoes wake and warm each heart, All ill subdue, and all that's good impart ;

So shall they stand, to holy Virtue dear,

Above all hatred, and above all fear.

PRIZE ADDRESS,

Recited at the Opening of the Philadelphia Theatre, 1828.

It came from Heaven! the realms of time to tread, And summon forth the long-forgotten dead;

Their deeds of guilt and goodness to unfold,

The garnered glories of the days of old.

It came from Heaven! to soar where fancy reigns, And rouse the phantoms of her bright domains; Their wildest haunts, their loftiest heights explore, And lead man on, to wonder and adore.

Genius! these gifts are thine; 'tis thine, sweet Power, With these to soothe and sway life's shifting hour; To nerve the soul, to wake young Virtue's glow, And bid the tears of Grief and Rapture flow; 'Tis thine, with these, to rule each clime and age, Mankind thy subjects, and thy throne the Stage!

The Pencil's boast, the Chisel's skill, decay,
And Wisdom's noblest record fades away;
But here, untouched by Time's devouring tooth,
The pictured group puts on immortal youth;

Here the bold deed that in the marble spoke,
Again revives, new plaudits to provoke ;

And the proud truth that graced the mouldering page,
Still pleads triumphant, echoed from the Stage.

Here gathering round in long-departed days, Earth's master minstrels poured their deathless lays; Descending down, through each descending race, Still came the gifted to adorn the place; With Love to soften, and with Wit to charm, To mock with Folly, and with Guilt alarm; While o'er each scene, to sacred feeling dear, Taste smiled applause, and Beauty dropped a tear.

Long, long for these may this fair temple stand,
The pride and promise of our happier land.
Our happier land! forever live that claim

On Virtue's rolls, as in the blast of Fame;
So rival shores, while, saddening, they behold
Our young orb rising to eclipse the old,
May with our greatness find our goodness page,
To mark indeed a new, a better age.

Within these walls, in some inspiring day, May native bards our native deeds portray. Shall foreign legends still go brightening down, And cold Oblivion's night-cloud veil our own? Look round the spot, to faith and firmness dear; Finds no rapt spirit fit incitement here? Here, where the Indian roved in nature's pride, And built his fires, and loved, and warred, and died?