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.
