The Sun.
London, England, 1824-12-04 00:00:00

POETRY.

PROLOGUE,
To the Tragedy of Ravenna,. Or Italian Lbre ; Spoken by

- .
Mr. CootEn,
From distant reahps and long4orgotten years
'We draw to night a tale of love and tears.
Of wild and stormy' passions, wlyse dark Power •
Blights the young hoPe within life's vernal bower .
.And o'er a clouded world,, that else were fair,
Spreads grief and pain, and darkness and despair.
Yet not unknown our theme, to tragic lore:
Erst, heard by silver Arno's peaceful shore,
And where broad Danaw, in imperial pride,
Rolls his dark flood to Ocean's stormy tide.
To the lone murmurs of the midnight gale
The Bard bath potted the melancholy tale;
And realms, half-barbarous, o'er his wild harp hung,
And wept and wondered as their Poet sung.

But here, alas! the Muse resigns her throne,
And leaves the scenes beloved, so Ipng her own—
Sees her fair realm o'er-run by barbarous hosts
Of witches—water dogs—hobgoblinsghosts—
A while her power withstands their tierce attackol,
'Till reinforced by desPerate troops of hacks—
They charge !—She flies !--,Goths—Vands)artimonsters, thrive,
And Tragedy becomes a fugitive. •

But these are past, the glittering triumph's o'er,
And lima, ruk,-and pageants charm no more.
Her star is up—=the Muse returns again—
Frieti4 of thi‘Stagel—say, shall she come In vain ?
Ia this famed, land, where taste and geniutshine
Say, shall your Stage":!—your Classic Stage !—,decline ? ,
Oh no ! the son of Thespis, dawning bright, •
Scatters afar the eiwious clouds of night— •
And though the hand be weak that wakes the strain,
He comes,, the !Oiliest of a mighty train; '
Be then propitiouiLin this anxious hour—
That proves his weakness, or attests his power.
Be just—yet kind—take this his first essay
But as the promise of a brighter day.

EPILOGUE, by W. 11. STACK, Esq.
Spoken by Mr. YATES.
There ends at-last, thank Heaven, their tragic scene,
Their wounds are staunched—their daggers are wiped clean—
Heroes and heroines, these tools of fate,
Are snugly sitting round the Green-room grate.
The brave—the fair—the living, and the dead,
Arc slily laughing at the tears you shed ;
And for the hours they tried those tears to win,
They send me forth to try to make you grin.
Horrors, avaunt !—Yield yield ! ye tragic Fates !
To smiles and humour—Epilogue—mid YATES. I.

And now since Murder's gone--and Terror flies—
Pray take your; handkerchiefs, and wipe your eyes ;
And, when composed you are yourselves, I pray
You give us ytit.q opinions of the play—
But stay—don't tell.me—in a guess or two,
Your thoughtS tell to you—and you—and you.
[ To the various parts of !hi house.
7 MITATII4O.
Well, Lady 11[Ory,'what d'ye think of this ?
Yon menu the play P4-The thing is—not amiss.
Come, now, your sentimenta÷the truth—no mocking—.
iler,Ladys'hip's siveet red-lipped Blue.stocking)—
The interest is herirt.chaining—Aliere's a dress !
The name is beautiful—and the distress—
! what a floltince—too deep—my maid so tics
:11y stays--It brings the tears into my eyes!

ANOTHER IMITATION'.
HO! I say; George, I've only just popped in,
How goes the piece ?—What piece ?—How looks my chin ?
play—Zottods! who's that pretty face in white
With Lady Route ?-At first appears tonight—
But or the play—Her daughter or her niece ?
The piece n't she, Tom, a dani'dfine piece 9
Now for to.rnorrew's Critics of the Press :
What all will say—'tis divilish hard to guess—
But I must try— [Pulls out a Newspaper and rinds,
Theatricals—Last night,
At Covent-Garden, the long promised sight
Of a new Tragedy.,..."t is full of feeling,
And filled,the house at full price to the ceiling.
Our critic choaks 'gainst Von slaria's breeches, •
That it out-charms Misspells and snakes, and witches ;
And its blood-Pagasus, at the " Ilark, follow,"
Out-runs the horses end Black Huntsman hollow ; •
And in the air flies higher by many a span,
Than the Enchanted Nag of Courdestan—
The scenes throughout bears marks of a fine thinker,
The story's old—and stolen from " Humphrey Clinker."
The authors are—a certain civic joker,
A blind Scotch parson, and an old Jew-broker.—
It is well worthy of high conunendation'
And was announced with general approbation.
Now for ourselves—we fondly hope it may,
Though without magic, prove a charming play.
This is its trial hour—the Judges you—
Its Counsel arguments are few---
llot these, though good and strong, 1 beg to waive,
A lid leave It solely to yourselves to save.
And of the proud result we have no fear,
Certain of feeling, truth, and justice, here.