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Monody to the Memory of Chatterton

Chill penury repress'd his noble rage,

And froze the genial current of his soul.

AY.

IF

EF can deprecate the wrath of Heaven,

Or human frailty hope to be forgiven !

Ere now thy sainted spirit bends its way To the bland regions of celestial day;

Ere now, thy soul, immers'd in purest air Smiles at the triumphs of supreme Despair;

Or bath'd in seas of endless bliss, disdains The vengeful memory of mortal pains;

Yet shall the

SE a fond memorial give To shield thy name, and bid thy

US live.  Too proud for pity, and too poor for praise,

No voice to cherish, and no hand to raise;

Torn, stung, and sated, with this "mortal coil," This weary, anxious scene of fruitless toil;

Not all the graces that to youth belong,

Nor all the energies of sacred song;

Nor all that

CY, all that

US gave,

Could snatch thy wounded spirit from the grave.  Hard was thy lot, from every comfort torn;

In

TY'S cold arms condemn'd to mourn;

To live by mental toil, e'en when the brain Could scarce its trembling faculties sustain;

To mark the dreary minutes slowly creep:

Each day to labour, and each night to weep; 'Till the last murmur of thy frantic soul,

In proud concealment from its mansion stole,

While

VY springing from her lurid cave,

Snatch'd the young

LS from thy rugged grave.

So the pale primrose, sweetest bud of May,

Scarce wakes to beauty, ere it feels decay;

While baleful weeds their hidden n poisons pour,

Choke the green sod, and wither every flow'r.  Immur'd in shades, from busy scenes remov'd;

No sound to solace,­but the verse he lov'd:

No soothing numbers harmoniz'd his ear;

No feeling bosom gave his griefs a tear;

Obscurely born­no gen'rous friend he found To lead his trembling steps o'er classic ground.

No patron fill'd his heart with flatt'ring hope,

No tutor'd lesson gave his genius scope;

Yet, while poetic ardour nerv'd each thought,

And

ON sanction'd what

ON taught;

He soar'd beyond the narrow spells that bind The slow perceptions of the vulgar mind;

The fire once kindled by the breath of

ME,

Her restless pinions fann'd the glitt'ring flame;

Warm'd by its rays, he thought each vision just;

For conscious

UE seldom feels

ST.  Frail are the charms delusive

CY shows,

And short the bliss her fickle smile bestows;

Yet the bright prospect pleas'd his dazzled view,

Each

PE seem'd ripened, and each

OM true;

Fill'd with delight, his unsuspecting mind Weigh'd not the grov'ling treach'ries of mankind;

For while a niggard boon his Savants supply'd,

And

RE'S claims subdued the voice of

DE:

His timid talents own'd a borrow'd name,

And gain'd by

ON what was due to

ME.  With secret labour, and with taste refin'd,

This son of mis'ry form'd his infant mind !

When op'ning Reason's earliest scenes began,

The dawn of childhood mark'd the future man !

He scorn'd the puerile sports of vulgar boys,

His little heart aspir'd to nobler joys;

Creative Fancy wing'd his few short hours,

While soothing Hope adorn'd his path with flow'rs,

Yet

ME'S recording hand no trophy gave,

Save the sad

AR­to decorate his grave.  Yet in this dark, mysterious scene of woe,

Conviction's flame shall shed a radiant glow;

His infant

SE shall bind with nerves of fire The sacrilegious hand that stabs its sire.

Methinks,

I hear his wand'ring shade complain,

While mournful

HO lingers on the strain;

Thro' the lone aisle his restless spirit calls,

His phantom glides along the minster's § walls;

Where many an hour his devious footsteps trod,

Ere Fate resign'd him TO

IS

NG

OD.  Yet, shall the

SE to gentlest sorrow

Adopt his cause, and make his griefs her own;

Ne'er shall her

ON's neglected name,

Fade in inglorious dreams of doubtful fame;

Shall he, whose pen immortal

US gave,

Sleep unlamented in an unknown grave?

No, ­the fond

SE shall spurn the base neglect,

The verse she cherish'd she shall still protect.  And if unpitied pangs the mind can move,

Or graceful numbers warm the heart to love;

If the fine raptures of poetic fire Delight to vibrate on the trembling lyre;

If sorrow claims the kind embalming tear,

Or worth oppress'd, excites a pang sincere?

Some kindred soul shall pour the song divine,

And with the cypress bough the laurel twine,

Whose weeping leaves the wint'ry blast shall wave In mournful murmurs o'er thy unbless'd grave.  And tho' no lofty

SE or sculptur'd

ST Bends o'er the sod that hides thy sacred dust;

Tho' no long line of ancestry betrays The

DE of

ES, or

MP of

SE.

Tho' o'er thy name a blushing nation rears

ON'S wing­ to hide

ON'S tears!

Still shall thy verse in dazzling lustre live,

And claim a brighter wreath

AN

TH

AN

VE.

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Mary Darby Robinson

Mary Robinson (née Darby; 27 November 1757 – 26 December 1800) was an English actress, poet, dramatist, novelist, and celebrity figure. She live…

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