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Article TIME AND THE SPIRIT OF ROWLAND. Page 1 of 1 Article TIME AND THE SPIRIT OF ROWLAND. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Time And The Spirit Of Rowland.
TIME AND THE SPIRIT OF ROWLAND
A Dramatic Scene in the Realms of Space , by H . M .
TIME . What art thou that offends my sight ? Thou thing of pow ' r , and life , and might ; My foeman , made by art and skill , That dares to save what I would kill . Since Eve first pluck'd forbidden tree , Humanity was given to me ;
Through me resign'd their parting breath To—fruit of Sin—my brother , Death ! "Pis I , with wan Disease , that show Death , with his dart , where he may go ; But now , indeed ,. ' tis hard to tell , For , —curses on thy magic spell , I hardly now can know my own
, Not even those of fourscore grown : For , back'd by thee , they dare my Hand , And Hair , Skin , Teeth , my pow ' r withstand , All firm in health , no signs display Of ever going to decay . Ha ! do they think , though me they cheat My brother , Death will be so beat ?
The Hair , thro' me , that once turn'd grey , Consuming—perish'd fast away , Now , firm and strengthen'd by thy aid , Is bright in youthful curl and braid : — Thou , thing , I hate , in vain I toil Against thy pow ' rs—Macassar Oil . The Skintooonce that own'd so much
, , , The wither'd Face , that spoke my touch , Now blooming fresh at every pore , Is through thy subtle Kal ydor . Lastly , the Teeth decay'd that grew , Must , firm and white , display their hue , And , like their kindred , seem to dare My pow ' r , ' till I at last despair .
Sl'lRIT OF ROWLAND . Why shoulcVst thou whine , old Father Care ? Thou rifler of the young and fair : Dost think thy sway must always be , To wither all consumtngl y . And spoil the fame ere Death be ni gh ? Never ! while i " and mine are by . No : Art and Science , Research and Skill , Boldl y withstand thy cruel will ; And dare thee still to do thy worst , Old dotard , by all breathing curst .
TIME . What ! shall I hear my name abused , My ancient right by man refused ; I , that saw Rome ' s imperial power Wither , the plaything of my hour ; The Isles of Greece , where Sappho sung , Whose sons , in chains and bondage wrung Havecrouchingtremblingsadand pale
, , , , , Beheld my tablets tell their tale ; I , that nations have ever known What ' twas to wither ' neatli my frown ; Must I , that have witness'd dark decay , Cities and empires pass away ; Must I my pow ' r se « taken b y A child of earthly potency ?
Time And The Spirit Of Rowland.
Yet , ere I go—we seldom meet — I fain would have an earthly treat ! Summon thy Spirits , —let them say Their good on earth—then 1 ' 11 away ; For I must round the globe to-night , — The midni ght moon must mark my flight .
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . I grant thy wish , —thus then see The Spirits of free agency . J Strikes one of Jones's Prometheans , that instantly ignites , over which the Spirit mutters certain indescribable sounds—a star rushes through a dark cloud and remains stationary , —from whence issues an Odour of Roses , and , in oily-like accents , the following ;—I ' m caress'd in the East
, I ' m loved in the West , From the North to the South , By myriads I ' m blest ; As essence that ' s subtle , Of virtues most rare , The world ' s ever term'd me Best friend of the Hair .
I came from far India , ; The sunny—the bright ; I ' ve come from fair Russia , So cold in its blight , From the nations of Europe , I ' ve hither away , I heard thy spell spoken ,
What would ' st with me ?—Say ! TIME . Enough!—Enough , thou taunting thing , Spirit , away on th y foolish wing ; / And now—' ere my quest be o ' er—Call hither thine , the Kalydor . [ At a motion from the Spirit of Rowland , the stars disappear—he mutters the spell , when a second appears . ]
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . Spirit of Kal ydor , tell thy tale , Thy virtuous deeds can never fail . SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . Ask thy mother , let her say . Have I sooth'd her pangs away : Made her happy when she smiled
On her darling , slumbering child ? Ask the girl , whose fair skin ' s hue I ' ve saved from chilly winds that blew ? Ask the sister and the brother , Have they loved , like me , another ? For the toilette , that I deck , Whit ' ner of face , and hands and neck .
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . With ' rer of life , would ' st thou know more ? TIME . Curse thy Macassar—Kalydor ! I know enough— 'Tis done—my reign , Since hair and teeth with age remain . Adieu!—I go o ' er sea and land , To whither where there ' s no Rowland .
[ Time and the Spirit of Rowland disappear on tluir pinions , when the clouds close with a thunder-clap that shakes the city below . ]
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Time And The Spirit Of Rowland.
TIME AND THE SPIRIT OF ROWLAND
A Dramatic Scene in the Realms of Space , by H . M .
TIME . What art thou that offends my sight ? Thou thing of pow ' r , and life , and might ; My foeman , made by art and skill , That dares to save what I would kill . Since Eve first pluck'd forbidden tree , Humanity was given to me ;
Through me resign'd their parting breath To—fruit of Sin—my brother , Death ! "Pis I , with wan Disease , that show Death , with his dart , where he may go ; But now , indeed ,. ' tis hard to tell , For , —curses on thy magic spell , I hardly now can know my own
, Not even those of fourscore grown : For , back'd by thee , they dare my Hand , And Hair , Skin , Teeth , my pow ' r withstand , All firm in health , no signs display Of ever going to decay . Ha ! do they think , though me they cheat My brother , Death will be so beat ?
The Hair , thro' me , that once turn'd grey , Consuming—perish'd fast away , Now , firm and strengthen'd by thy aid , Is bright in youthful curl and braid : — Thou , thing , I hate , in vain I toil Against thy pow ' rs—Macassar Oil . The Skintooonce that own'd so much
, , , The wither'd Face , that spoke my touch , Now blooming fresh at every pore , Is through thy subtle Kal ydor . Lastly , the Teeth decay'd that grew , Must , firm and white , display their hue , And , like their kindred , seem to dare My pow ' r , ' till I at last despair .
Sl'lRIT OF ROWLAND . Why shoulcVst thou whine , old Father Care ? Thou rifler of the young and fair : Dost think thy sway must always be , To wither all consumtngl y . And spoil the fame ere Death be ni gh ? Never ! while i " and mine are by . No : Art and Science , Research and Skill , Boldl y withstand thy cruel will ; And dare thee still to do thy worst , Old dotard , by all breathing curst .
TIME . What ! shall I hear my name abused , My ancient right by man refused ; I , that saw Rome ' s imperial power Wither , the plaything of my hour ; The Isles of Greece , where Sappho sung , Whose sons , in chains and bondage wrung Havecrouchingtremblingsadand pale
, , , , , Beheld my tablets tell their tale ; I , that nations have ever known What ' twas to wither ' neatli my frown ; Must I , that have witness'd dark decay , Cities and empires pass away ; Must I my pow ' r se « taken b y A child of earthly potency ?
Time And The Spirit Of Rowland.
Yet , ere I go—we seldom meet — I fain would have an earthly treat ! Summon thy Spirits , —let them say Their good on earth—then 1 ' 11 away ; For I must round the globe to-night , — The midni ght moon must mark my flight .
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . I grant thy wish , —thus then see The Spirits of free agency . J Strikes one of Jones's Prometheans , that instantly ignites , over which the Spirit mutters certain indescribable sounds—a star rushes through a dark cloud and remains stationary , —from whence issues an Odour of Roses , and , in oily-like accents , the following ;—I ' m caress'd in the East
, I ' m loved in the West , From the North to the South , By myriads I ' m blest ; As essence that ' s subtle , Of virtues most rare , The world ' s ever term'd me Best friend of the Hair .
I came from far India , ; The sunny—the bright ; I ' ve come from fair Russia , So cold in its blight , From the nations of Europe , I ' ve hither away , I heard thy spell spoken ,
What would ' st with me ?—Say ! TIME . Enough!—Enough , thou taunting thing , Spirit , away on th y foolish wing ; / And now—' ere my quest be o ' er—Call hither thine , the Kalydor . [ At a motion from the Spirit of Rowland , the stars disappear—he mutters the spell , when a second appears . ]
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . Spirit of Kal ydor , tell thy tale , Thy virtuous deeds can never fail . SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . Ask thy mother , let her say . Have I sooth'd her pangs away : Made her happy when she smiled
On her darling , slumbering child ? Ask the girl , whose fair skin ' s hue I ' ve saved from chilly winds that blew ? Ask the sister and the brother , Have they loved , like me , another ? For the toilette , that I deck , Whit ' ner of face , and hands and neck .
SPIRIT OF ROWLAND . With ' rer of life , would ' st thou know more ? TIME . Curse thy Macassar—Kalydor ! I know enough— 'Tis done—my reign , Since hair and teeth with age remain . Adieu!—I go o ' er sea and land , To whither where there ' s no Rowland .
[ Time and the Spirit of Rowland disappear on tluir pinions , when the clouds close with a thunder-clap that shakes the city below . ]