ON HIS PERFORMANCE OF WERNER, IN LORD BYRON'S TRAGEDY OF THAT NAME

O learned in affection's thousand ways!
I thought thy art had proved its happiest power,
When thou didst bend above the opening flower
Of sweet Virginia's beauty, and with praise
Measured in words but fineless in the gaze
Of the proud sire, her gentle secret won:
Or when the patriot archer's hardy son
Was school'd by doting sternness for the hour
Of glorious peril; but the just designs
Were ready; now thy soul's affections glow,
By thy own genius train'd, through frigid lines,
And make a scorner's bloodless fancy show,
When love disdain'd round its cold idol twines,
How mighty are its weakness and its woe!