FAREWELL ADDRESS,

Spoken by Mr Kemble to the Edinburgh Theatre, on the 29th March, 1817. WRITTEN BY SIR WALTER Scott, Bart.

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound,
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,
And longs to rush on the embattled lines,
So I, your plaudits ringing on my ear,
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near;
To think my scenic hour for ever past,
And that those valued plaudits are my last.

Why should we part, while still some powers remain,
That in your service strive not yet in vain ?
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply,
And sense of duty fire the fading eye:
And all the wrongs of age remain subdued
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude?
Ah, no! the taper, wearing to its close,
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows;
But all too soon the transient gleam is past,
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last;
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.
Yes! it were poor, remembering what I was,
To live a pensioner on your applause,
To drain the dregs of your endurance dry,
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy,
Till every sneering youth around inquires,
"Is this the man who once could please our sires!"
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien,
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene.
This must not be ;-and higher duties crave
Some space between the theatre and grave;
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall;
My life's brief act in public service flown,
The last, the closing scene, must be my own.

Here, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced parts
May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts,
Not quite to be forgotten, even when
You look on better actors, younger men;
And if your bosoms own this kindly debt
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget-
Oh how forget!—how oft I hither came
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame!
How oft around your circle this weak hand
Has waved immortal Shakespeare's magic wand,
Till the full burst of inspiration came,

And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame!
By memory treasured, while her reign endures,
These hours must live-and all their charms are yours.

Oh favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms,
For manly talent, and for female charms,

Could this full blossom prompt the sinking line,
What fervent benedictions now were mine!

But my last part is play'd, my

knell is rung,

When e'en your praise falls faultering from my tongue;
And all that you can hear, or I can tell,

Is-Friends and Patrons, hail, and FARE YOU WELL!

ODE BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq.

Recited after the Dinner on occasion of Mr Kemble's Retirement from the Stage.

PRIDE of the British stage,

A long and last adieu!

Whose image brought th' heroic age

Reviv'd to Fancy's view.

Like fields refresh'd with dewy light,
When the Sun smiles his last-
Thy parting presence makes more bright
Our memory of the past.

And Memory conjures feelings up,

That wine or music need not swell,

As high we lift the festal cup,

To" Kemble, Fare thee well."

His was the spell o'er hearts,
Which only Acting lends
The youngest of the sister Arts,
Where all their beauty blends,

For ill can Poetry express

Full many a tone of thought sublime ; And Painting, mute and motionless, Steals but one glance from Time.

But, by the mighty Actor brought,

Illusion's wedded triumphs come... Verse ceases to be airy thought,

And Sculpture to be dumb. to laɛ suman) “Q

Time may again revive,0 s tou 24 ure 90s dan puret

But ne'er efface the charm,

When Cato spoke in him alive, teri

Or Hotspur kindled warm.

What soul was not resign'd entire Laidoms at ng 16 To the deep sorrows of the Moor? cum il What English heart was not on fire,^ »ti senw ba A With him at Agincourt?

And yet a majesty possess'd

His transport's most impetuous tone,

And to each passion of his breast

The Graces gave their zone.j

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High were the task-too high, 10 izom att tala

Ye conscious bosoms here, Protea£ii 8 In words to paint your memory binové teás Of Kemble and of Lear." た

But who forgets that white discrowned heads 197 Those bursts of Reason's half-extinguish'd glare, Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed, to son¶ In doubt more touching than despair.76 916) A

If 'twas reality he felt

Had Shakspeare's self amidst you been, Friends, he had seen you melt,

And triumph'd to have seen!

And there was many an hour
Of blended kindred fame,
When Siddons's auxiliar power,
And sister magic came.

1

At once ennobled and correction for any lupa ma His mind survey'd the Tragic page ob ada 'T And what the Actor could effect, con mille I mdW The Scholar could presagecogA se mid daiW

These were his traits of worth vrenjem a toy kana And must we lose them now in a'jrouzau Pit And shall the scene no more shew forth fore of brå His sternly-pleasing brow? even somi) edi

Alas! the moral brings a tear

'Tis all a transient hour below,

And we, that would detain thee here,q 93 abrow al Ourselves as fleetly go. Dus oldmo X 10

Yet shall our latest age ontw putr joyrół odw toå

This parting scene review

Pride of the British stage,

A long and last adieu!

TO THE SPIRIT OF KOSCIUSKO.

UNNOTICED shall the mighty fall?
Unwept and unlamented die?—

Shall he, whom bonds could not enthral,
Who plann'd, who fought, who bled for all,
Unconsecrated lie?

Without a song, whose fervid strains
Coul'd wake the blood of patriot veins !-

No!-thus it ne'er shall be: and fame
Ordains to thee a brighter lot;

While earth-while hope endures, thy name,
Pure-high unchangeable-the same-
Shall never be forgot;

'Tis shrined amid the holy throng;
'Tis woven in immortal song!-

Yes!-Campbell of the deathless lay,

The rapt adorer of the free,

Has painted Warsaw's latest day,
In colours that resist decay,
In accents worthy Thee;

Thy bands on battle-field array'd,

And in thy grasp the patriot blade!

Though thou hast bade our world farewell, And left the blotted lands beneath,

In purer, happier realms to dwell;

With Wallace, Washington, and Tell,
Thou sharest the laurel wreathe
The Brutus of degenerate climes!
A beacon-light to other times!

ON THE LATE MR HORNER.

"Monibus date lilia plenis."

Ir dying worth could consecrate the ground,
Or dying Genius give a lasting name
To scenes where its pure spirit breath'd around,
To scenes that saw expire its soul of flame;