Читать книгу André - Dunlap William - Страница 3

A native Bard, a native scene displays,

And claims your candour for his daring lays:

Daring, so soon, in mimic scenes to shew,

What each remembers as a real woe.

Who has forgot when gallant André died?

A name by Fate to Sorrow's self allied.

Who has forgot, when o'er the untimely bier,

Contending armies paus'd, to drop a tear.

Our Poet builds upon a fact tonight;

Yet claims, in building, every Poet's right;

To choose, embellish, lop, or add, or blend,

Fiction with truth, as best may suit his end;

Which, he avows, is pleasure to impart,

And move the passions but to mend the heart.

Oh, may no party-spirit blast his views,

Or turn to ill the meanings of the Muse:

She sings of wrongs long past, Men as they were,

To instruct, without reproach, the Men that are;

Then judge the Story by the genius shewn,

And praise, or damn, it, for its worth alone.