The actor’s dead, and memory alone Recalls the genial magic of his tone; Marble nor canvas nor the printed page Shall tell his genius to another age: A memory, doomed to dwindle less and less, His world-wide fame shrinks to this littleness. Yet if, a half a century from to-day, A tender smile about our old lips play, And if our grandchild query whence it came, We ’ll say: “A thought of Brougham.”— And that is Fame!
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