An echo of _Macbeth_, V, 5: by James Russell Lowell

No. The lines are directly from Macbeth, Act V, Scene 5. Lowell's role is in how he frames it—by referring to it as "an echo" and treating the passage as a standalone poem, he is curating rather than creating. It’s a nineteenth-century way of saying, these words are worthy of standing on their own.

Macbeth delivers these lines right after he hears about Lady Macbeth's death. At this moment, he also learns that Birnam Wood is advancing toward his castle — the prophecy is coming apart — and instead of grieving, he reacts with a profound, philosophical numbness. The full speech starts with "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow," and it stands out as one of the most well-known reflections of nihilism in English literature.

It refers to a mediocre or insignificant actor — poor in the sense of being pitiful or low quality, rather than financially poor. This suggests that life doesn't reach the level of a great performance. Instead, it's a minor, forgettable role that is poorly executed, and then it's done.

The word echo plays an important role in the title. An echo is a sound that repeats after the original has faded — it's softer and secondary, but it conveys the same meaning. Lowell suggests these lines have been resonating in his mind (and in culture) long after Shakespeare penned them. There's also a subtle irony: the poem is literally about things that are "heard no more," yet it continues to be heard.

Mortality and the fleeting nature of life are central themes. The poem contends — without any sentimentality — that human life is insubstantial, brief, and ultimately quiet. It also weaves in a theme of identity: if life is merely a performance that leaves no enduring mark, what does that say about our sense of self?

The passage is rich in figurative language. It features two extended metaphors: life as a shadow and life as an actor. Personification allows life to strut and fret. There’s alliteration in struts and stage, as well as in poor player. The meter is iambic pentameter — the typical form for Shakespearean verse — providing a steady rhythm that reflects the concept of time running out.

It's about as close to nihilism as Shakespeare ever gets. At this moment, Macbeth truly believes that life has no meaning — it's just noise followed by silence. Whether the poem as a whole supports that view hinges on your interpretation of Lowell's act of preservation: by echoing these lines, he is, in a way, proving them wrong — the words have been heard again, centuries later.

Because theater is inherently a temporary and artificial experience. Everyone in the audience is aware that the play will conclude, the actor will exit the stage, and the lights will eventually dim. By likening life to a performance, Shakespeare (and Lowell, by extension) connects with a truth we already grasp: every show comes to an end, and the stage does not grieve for the actors who depart.