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She comes ! she comes ! the meek eyed power I see
With liberal hand that loves to bless; The clouds of sorrow at her
presence flee; Rejoice! rejoice! ye children of distress! The beams that play around her head
Through Want's dark vale their radiance spread : The young
uncultur'd mind imbibes the ray, And Vice reluctant quits th' expected prey.
Cease, thou lorn mother! cease thy wailings drear;
Ye babes! the unconscious sob forego; Or let full gratitude now prompt the tear
Which erst did sorrow force to flow. Unkindly cold and tempest shrill
In life's morn oft the traveller chill, But soon his path the sun of Love shall warm; And each glad scene look brighter for the storm !
+ TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.
ON the wide level of a mountain's head
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place) Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread, Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
That far outstripp'd the other;
For he, alas! is blind!
ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON.
O WHAT a wonder seems the fear of death,
Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep, Babes, Children, Youths, and Men, Night following night for threescore years and ten! But doubly strange, where life is but a breath To sigh and pant with, up Want's rugged steep, Away, Grim Phantom! Scorpion King, away! Reserve thy terrors and thy stings display For coward Wealth and Guilt in robes of State ! Lo! by the grave I stand of one, for whom A prodigal Nature and a niggard Doom (That all bestowing, this withholding all) Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome Sound like a seeking Mother's anxious call, Return, poor Child ! Home, weary Truant, home!
Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect
Yet oft, perforce ('tis suffering Nature's call),
that heaven-born Genius so should fall ; And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul Averted shudders at the poisoned bowl.
Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view
Thy corse of livid hue ; Now indignation checks the feeble sigh, Or flashes through the tear that glistens in mine eye!
Is this the land of song-ennobled line ?
Poured forth his lofty strain ?
And o'er her darling dead
Pity hopeless hung her head, While “mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famished form !
Sublime of thought, and confident of fame,
Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along,
He meditates the future song,
And while the numbers flowing strong
In eddies whirl, in surges throng,
And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame,
Avon, a river near Bristol ; the birth-place of Chatterton.
Friend to the friendless, to the Sufferer health,
and old shall now see happy days. On
many a waste he bids crim Gardens rise, Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes; And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel, And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel,
Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child!
Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,
When Care, of withered brow, Prepared the poison's death-cold power: Already to thy lips was raised the bowl,
When near thee stood Affection meek
(Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek), Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll
On scenes that well might melt thy soul ; Thy native cot she flashed upon thy view, Thy native cot, where still, at close of day, Peace smiling sate, and listened to thy lay;
Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,
See, see her breast's convulsive throe,
Her silent agony of woe !
And thou had'st dashed it, at her soft command,
O Spirit blest! Whether the Eternal's throne around, Amidst the blaze of Seraphim, Thou pourest forth the grateful hymn; Or soaring through 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,