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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 ardours flame,
praise ; To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth, And young
and old shall now see happy days. On many a waste he bids trim 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
Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial
From the hard world brief respite could they winThe frost nipped sharp without the canker preyed
within! Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace, And Joy's wild gleams that lightened o'er thy face? Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye! Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps I view, On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew, And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh!
Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,
When Care, of withered brow,
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, And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear ;
See, see her breast's convulsive throe,
Her silent agony of woe! .
And thou had'st dashed it, at her soft command,
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart
O Spirit blest!
me, like thee, the lyre to sound,
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
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove,
And here, in Inspiration's eager hour,
These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,
Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar, With wild unequal steps he passed 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
Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate (late.
Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall
dwell 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 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!
Alas, vain Phantasies ! the fleeting brood