And _Brunton_ and _Euphrasia_ still the same!"
O! soon to seek the city's busier scene,
Pause thee awhile, thou chaste-eyed maid serene,
Till Granta's sons, from all her sacred bow'rs,
With grateful hand shall weave Pierian flow'rs,
To twine a fragrant chaplet round thy brow,
Enchanting ministress of virtuous wo!

It was on the 17th of October, 1785, that Miss Brunton made her first
appearance at Covent Garden theatre in the character of Horatia. The
public had anxiously looked for her, and the house was crowded to
receive her. The venerable Arthur Murphy wrote a prologue for the
occasion, in which he displayed his accustomed delicacy and judgment. It
was as follows, and was well spoken by Mr. Holman:

The tragic Muse long saw the British stage
Melt with her tears, and kindle with her rage,
She saw her scenes with varied passions glow,
The tyrant's downfall and the lover's wo;
'Twas then her Garrick--at that well-known name
Remembrance wakes, and gives him all his fame;
To him great Nature open'd Shakspeare's store,
"Here learn," she said, "here learn the sacred lore;"
This fancy realiz'd, the bard shall see,
And his best commentator breathe in thee.
She spoke: her magic powers the actor tried;
Then Hamlet moraliz'd and Richard died;
The dagger gleam'd before the murderer's eye,
And for old Lear each bosom heav'd sigh;
Then Romeo drew the sympathetic tear,
With him and Cibber Love lay bleeding here.
Enchanting Cibber! from that warbling throat
No more pale Sorrow pours the liquid note.
Her voice suppress'd, and Garrick's genius fled,
Melpomene declined her drooping head;
She mourn'd their loss, then fled to western skies,
And saw at Bath another genius rise.
Old Drury's scene the goddess bade her choose,
The actress heard, and spake, "herself a muse."
From the same nursery, this night appears
Another warbler, yet of tender years;
As a young bird, as yet unus'd to fly
On wings, expanded, through the azure sky,
With doubt and fear its first excursion tries
And shivers ev'ry feather with surprise;
So comes our chorister--the summer's ray,
Around her nest, call'd forth a short essay;
Now trembling on the brink, with fear she sees
This unknown clime, nor dares to trust the breeze.
But here, no unfledg'd wing was ever crush'd;
Be each rude blast within its cavern hush'd.
Soft swelling gales may waft her on her way,
Till, eag