Analysis of Address, Spoken At The Opening Of Drury-Lane Theatre. Saturday, October 10, 1812
George Gordon Lord Byron 1788 (London) – 1824 (Missolonghi, Aetolia)
In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd,
Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride
In one short hour beheld the blazing fane,
Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd,
Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!)
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, While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome,
Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home,
As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone
The skies, with lightnings awful as their own,
Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall
Usurp 'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall;
Say - shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakspeare--worthy him and you?
Yes--it shall be--the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;
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 fare to emulate the last,
Oh! might we draw our omens from the past,
Some hour propitious to our prayers may boast
Names such as hallow still the dome we lost.
On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art
O'erwhelm'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart.
On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew;
Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew,
Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu:
But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
That only waste their odours o'er the tomb.
Such Drury claim'd and claims--nor you refuse
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
With garlands deck your own Menander's head,
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead.
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write.
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs;
While thus Remembrance borrows Banquo's glass
To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass,
And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine
Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line,
Pause--ere their feebler offspring you condemn,
Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Friends of the stage! to whom both Players and Plays
Must sue alike for pardon or for praise.
Whose judging voice and eye alone direct
The boundless power to cherish or reject;
If e'er frivolity has led to fame,
And made us blush that you forbore to blame;
If e'er the sinking stage could condescend
To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend,
All past reproach may present scenes refute,
And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute!
Oh! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws,
Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause;
So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's powers,
And reason's voice be echo'd back by ours!
This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd
The Drama's homage by her herald paid,
Receive our welcome too, whose every tone
Springs from our hearts, and fair would win your own.
The curtain rises--may our stage unfold
Scenes not unworthy Drury's days of old!
Britons our judges, Nature for our guide,
Still may we please--long, long may you preside.
Scheme | AABB CCDDXEEFFGGHHII JJXXKK LLXXMMIIINNOOPPQQRRSSTTUU VVWWJJXXAXYYZZ 1 1 FF2 2 AA |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 01111010101 1101011011 0111010101 010101111 1111101001 11001010101 11110011010 11010101110 1011010101 11111001011101010101 1101010111 110110101 0111010111 11001000101 110110101 1111110101 111101000101 101110101 011110101 1111010111 0101110111 10111101 0101011111 111010101 01101010111 111111001 11111010101 110010110111 1111010111 1101110101 1010010101 110110101 111101011 1111011101 1111010111 1101111001 1101011101 11010111001 1111111 111110101 11011110101 110111111 111111111 11101001111 1101010101 11011111 010101111 01010101101 11111101 0111011101 11011111001 1101110111 1101010101 01010110101 11001001111 011111111 1100101101 1101011111 1101110111 0101011101 111101011 111110101 11110101010 0111101110 11010010101 011010101 011010111001 11101011111 01010110101 110101111 101010101101 1111111101 |
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 3,223 |
Words | 569 |
Sentences | 21 |
Stanzas | 6 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 15, 6, 25, 14, 8 |
Lines Amount | 72 |
Letters per line (avg) | 36 |
Words per line (avg) | 8 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 428 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 94 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 27, 2023
- 3:01 min read
- 121 Views
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"Address, Spoken At The Opening Of Drury-Lane Theatre. Saturday, October 10, 1812" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 24 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/15030/address%2C-spoken-at-the-opening-of-drury-lane-theatre.-saturday%2C-october-10%2C-1812>.
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