SHAKESPERE'S HOUSE

                THOU ART GONE

          FROM MY GAZE

E. M. HODGES, Printer, (from PITT'S,) Whole-
sale Toy and Marble Warehouse 31, Dudley
Street, Seven Dials.

THOU art gone from my gaze like a beautiful
dream,
And I seek thee in va n by the meadow and stream,
Oft I b eathe thy de r name to the winds floating by
But thy sweet voice i mute to my bosom's lone sigh.
In the stillness of night when the stars mildlty shine
My heart fondly holds a communion with thine,
For I fe l thou art ne r, and where'er I may be,
That thy spir t of love keeps a watch over me.

Of the birds in thy bower new companions I make
Every simple wild flower I prize for thy s ke,
The deep woods and dark wilds can a pleasure im-
For their soli ude suits my sorrow-worn heart. [part
Thon art gone from my gaze, yet I will not repi e,
Ere long we shall meet in the home th t's now thine
For I feel thou art near, and where'er I may be,
That thy spirit of love keeps a watch over me.

        SHAKESPERE'S HOUSE.

' Pulling down and building up is all the go,
And the scene changes like a rarce show,"
Yet is it not disgrace ful to the nation,
That Shakespere's house s doomed to mutilation ?
The house in which that great man first drew breath,
A sp t renowned before and after de th—
Where pilgrims from eve y land have come,
To see his birth place, Nature's learned home—
Whe e fi st s one fo th, a p le, an infant lighs,
A spreading brilliancy wh ch still burns bright.
Oh, who shall have the writings on the wal s,
Oh, who can save the house that's doomed to fall ?
True genius of which we vainly boast,
By our rulers eem neglec ed most.
How we took the kernel, and threw by the shell,
Profanati n, degr dation,—O England, thou
    art a lard nat o !

Time ha owed spot. could we call hack those days,
When Shakesp re here in thaughtles boyho d plays
Before his p a s had graced the mimic scene,
Since which three hundred years have been.
Food fo, reflect on, here the tni king mind,
' And good in everything' we ought to find.
From out the walls in fancy, we might trace
Macbeth, Hamlet, and King Richard's face ;
And all the clouds that on this house have lowered
Looks frowningly, as 'twere upon a coward
Who thus stands moekly by this sacred wood,
Nor helps to save it for its country good.

But let it go, our Shakespere ueeds no fam ,
'Tis but a house ! a hou e ! " What's in a name ?"
Let it be sold, or in the s a be toss d—
His loved and mighty labours n 'er will be lost,
Alle cation, dilapidation,---Time steps in and
    cheats the nation !

G eat premier,---Oh, King John---grant this our
Why in this la d should genius be a martyr?[charter
The Tempest's rising, if we fail we fall,
And time may tell you a sad winters Tale,
Come As you like it, make this house a treasure.
Do not divide it, Measure for Measu .
M th nhs in sadness I c n see the Moor,
Othello, loo ing black r th in before ,
Therefore good John, we look' to you
To put this house in order, & to Tame the Shrew,
The very age and body of the time (reftecting mirrors)
Proclaims this sa'e a Comedy of Errors,
While England wast s her housands, lis not sooth-
To say this is Much ado about nothing ;           [ing
For to the wise and thoughtful this would seem
A summer cloud or Midsummer Night's Dream.
Moderation, preservat on, Is all we e asking of
    the nation !

Robins at knocking houses down so fond,
Exclaims, with Shak speres Jew, I'll have my bond,
Put down your hammer, Mr. Robins stop ;
You take my house when you do touch the prop,
Hard-hearted man, such antique re ics ridding,
with hammer soon to fall an looks for-bidding,
Shakesgere by you has been puff d up and praised,
To sell is house you have a story raised,
And is it true this hours is coming down
To be put on wheels and dragged about the town ?
Can such things be, can it be so !
what, make this classic pile a travelling show!
Tis true, tis pity, chaps from Yankee land
Are coming over with the cash in and.
B ow winus c ack cheeks, their paltry lucre spurn
To what base uses may we not return,
Sp cul t on—Brit sh nation, Oh, save the house
    from exportat on !

Time was, and it seem but 'toher day,
when we could see a real Shakesperian play,
with Miss O'Ne ll, Siddons, or the great John Kem-
Could laugh at Munden, or at old Kean tremble [ ble.
Macready does Shak sper now with Kean sonChar-
And Drury lane holds legit macy with Harley, [lie,
Shakesp re inside h s long been quite neglected
His statue outside looks for lorn dejected,
For great folks now run afte, G a y or A l-bony,
Tamburini, Jenny Lind, or Taglioni,
which John Bu l's dire i dignation rouses
Till he exclaims " A pl gue on both your houses.
Portia, Miranda, Juliet for him plead,
Preserve this house, thy potent spell we need,
My song is done, and you I pardon crave--
All's well that Ends well, if this house we save.
Determination, stimulation, -and Shakespere's
    house an honour to the ration.