ODE
TO
TRAGEDY
.
TO
MRS.
SIDDONS
.
O
HALLOW'D
source
of
fancy'd
woe
,
Around
thy
shrine
the
streams
that
flow
,
From
Pity's
sacred
source
arise
,
Now
lost
in
horror
,
chill'd
we
gaze
,
And
see
thy
hand
the
dagger
raise
;
The
fated
victim
dies
!
Where
the
pale
body
lifeless
lies
,
Sweet
Pity
yields
her
throbbing
sighs
,
And
though
deserving
of
the
doom
,
Yet
falls
he
not
without
a
tear
,
Which
,
shed
by
Virtue
o'er
his
bier
,
Bids
hope
dispel
the
gloom
.
When
first
the
Muse
in
Grecia
sung
,
To
comic
strains
her
shell
she
strung
,
Then
pleas'd
alone
with
shepherd
lays
;
But
O!
when
Genius
pour'd
her
light
Along
the
gloom
of
early
night
,
To
thee
belongs
the
praise
.
By
ev'ry
tragic
bard
of
old
,
Of
whom
th'
historic
page
hath
told
;
By
every
dear
departed
shade
,
By
mighty
Shakspeare's
honour'd
dust
,
And
by
thy
Otway's
laurel'd
bust
;
Descend
to
earth
,
sweet
maid
.
Still
Britons
feel
thy
glowing
rage
,
Illum'd
by
Shakespeare's
magic
page
;
Still
o'er
thy
Otway's
verse
we
mourn
When
impious
Cawdor's
guilty
queen
With
murder
stains
the
horrid
scene
.
O!
how
our
bosoms
burn
.
When
fair
Monimia
weeping
pleads
,
And
when
her
hapless
husband
bleeds
,
Whilst
tears
bedim
her
radiant
eyes
,
Sweet
Pity's
self
descending
there
,
Attempts
to
soothe
the
hopeless
fair
With
sympathetic
sighs
.
When
,
catching
frenzy
from
thy
page
,
Immortal
Siddons
treads
the
stage
,
The
Fairies
stern
awhile
refrain
,
A
while
their
scorpion
lust
restrain
,
And
,
pleas'd
,
behold
the
scene
of
woe
.
Uncertain
,
if
our
tears
and
sighs
,
From
true
,
or
fancied
ills
arise
;
But
,
ah
!
the
sweet
delusion
o'er
,
Again
they
steep
their
snakes
in
gore
,
And
bid
our
sorrows
flow
.