And when thou lovest thy pale orb to shroud ANTHEM FOR THE CHILDREN OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. SERAPHS! around th' Eternal's seat who throng With tuneful extacies of praise: O! teach our feeble tongues like yours Of fervent gratitude to raise― Like you, inspir'd with holy flame the song Who bade the child of woe no longer sigh, Th' all-gracious Parent hears the wretch's prayer; The meek tear strongly pleads on high; And bids compassion seek the realms of woe She comes! she comes! the meek ey'd power 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 Thro' want's dark vale their radiance spread: The uncultur'd mind imbibes the ray, And vice reluctant quits th' expected prey. young 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 tempests 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! 1789. TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY. AN ALLEGORY. 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; Yet ever runs she with reverted face, And looks and listens for the boy behind: O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed, MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON. O WHAT a wonder seems the fear of death, Night following night for threescore years and ten ! Away, grim phantom! scorpion king, away! Made each chance knell from distant spire or dome Return, poor child! home, weary truant, home! Thee, Chatterton! these unblest stones protect From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect. Thou at the throne of mercy and thy God Yet oft, perforce, ('tis suffering Nature's call) Now indignation checks the feeble sigh, [eye; Or flashes through the tear that glistens in mine Is this the land of song-ennobled line? Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, Pity hopeless hung her head, While "mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sublime of thought, and confident of fame, From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel' came. Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along, How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacian foe; In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow. And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame, Wings grow within him; and he soars above praise; To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth, Sweet flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child! 'Avon, a river near Bristol, the birth-place of Chatterton. |