Told every pang, with which thy soul must

smart,

Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined !

Recoiling quick, thou badest the friend of pain Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing vein !

O spirit blest!

Whether the Eternal's throne around,
Amidst the blaze of Seraphim,

Thou pourest forth the grateful hymn;
Or soaring thro' the blest domain
Enrapturest Angels with thy strain,-
Grant me, like thee, the lyre to sound,
Like thee with fire divine to glow ;-
But ah! when rage the waves of woe,

Grant me with firmer breast to meet their

hate,

And soar beyond the storm with upright eye elate!

Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep! For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave; Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve.

Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide.

And here, in Inspiration's eager hour,

When most the big soul feels the mastering power,

These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er, Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow Would pause abrupt-and gaze upon the waves below.

Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate Who would have praised and loved thee, ere too late.

Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb; But dare no longer on the sad theme muse, Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom: For oh big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing,

Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring; And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart

The last pale Hope that shiver'd at my heart!

Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall dwell1

On joys that were! no more endure to weigh The shame and anguish of the evil day, Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell Sublime of hope I seek the cottaged dell

1 no more, &c.] These eight lines, with one or two verbal alterations, are taken from a sonnet by one of the Pantisocrats, whose name was Favell,

Where Virtue calm with careless step may

stray;

And, dancing to the moonlight roundelay,
The wizard passions weave a holy spell!

O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive!
Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the
gale,

And love with us the tinkling team to drive
O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale;
And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng,
Would hang, enraptured, on thy stately song,
And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
All deftly mask'd as hoar Antiquity.

1

Alas, vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood
Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood!
Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream,
Where Susquehana pours his untamed stream;
And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide,
Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee,
Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!
And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind,
Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.
October, 1794.2

1 Where, &c.] See Introduction, § 1.

2 1794.] This date attaches to the version printed in 1796.

TO THE REV. W. J. H.*

WHILE TEACHING A YOUNG LADY SOME SONG-TUNES

ON HIS FLUTE.

USH! ye

clamorous cares! be mute! Again, dear harmonist! again, Thro' the hollow of thy flute,

Breathe that
strain :

passion-warbled

Till Memory back each form shall bring,
The loveliest of her shadowy throng;
And Hope, that soars on sky-lark wing,
Shall carol forth her gladdest song!

O skill'd with magic spell to roll

The thrilling tones, that concentrate the soul! Breathe thro' thy flute those tender notes again, While near thee sits the chaste-eyed maiden

mild;

And bid her raise the poet's kindred strain,
In soft impassion'd voice, correctly wild.

In Freedom's undivided dell,1

Where Toil and Health with mellow'd Love shall dwell,

*The Rev. W. J. Hort was a Unitarian minister, resident in Bristol in 1794. We have printed the version of this poem to be found in the "Remains,” vol. i,

1 Undivided dell.] So the last poem,—

Far from folly, far from men,
In the rude romantic glen,

Up the cliff, and thro' the glade,
Wandering with the dear-loved maid,
I shall listen to the lay,

And ponder on thee far away;

Still as she bids those thrilling notes aspire,
(Making my fond attuned heart her lyre),
Thy honour'd form, my Friend! shall reappear,
And I will thank thee with a raptured tear.

1794.

LINES ON A FRIEND

WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY

CALUMNIOUS REPORTS.

DMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan,

And inly groan for Heaven's poor

outcast-Man!

'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of truth,

"Peaceful Freedom's undivided dale."

1

"I dreamt," says Coleridge in The Friend, "that in the sober evening of my life I should behold colonies of independence in the undivided dale of industry."

In early youth if, &c] There should be a comma after "youth or after "if;" we incline to the latter, in which case there should be a comma after "ugliness."