ODE TO TRAGEDY. TO MRS. SIDDONS. George Monck Berkeley Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T142950 K111746.000 Berkeley, George Monck, 1763-1793. Poems: by the late George-Monck Berkeley, Esq. ... With a preface by the editor, consisting of some anecdotes of Mr. Monck Berkeley and several of his friends. London printed by J. Nichols; and sold by Messrs. Leigh and Sotheby; Mr. Edwards; Mr. Cooke, Oxford; Mr. Todd, York; Messrs. Simmons and Co.; Messrs. Flackton, Marrable, and Claris; and Mr. Bristow, Canterbury 1797 pp. 95-98. viii,DCXXXII,212p.,plate: port.; 4⁰.

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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 .