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(ORIGINAL VERSION.)* [This poem has since appeared in print, much altered,

whether for the better I doubt. This was, I believe, written before the Author went to College. (Note

by J. T. C.)] NOW prompts the Muse poetic lays,

And high my bosom beats with love of praise, But, Chatterton ! methinks I hear thy name, For cold my fancy grows, and dead each hope of

Fame. When Want and cold Neglect had chill'd thy soul, Athirst for Death I see thee drain the bowl,

Thy corse of many a livid hue

On the bare ground I view, * This original draught of Coleridge's Monody on Chatterton appears to have been produced at Christ's Hospital as a school exercise, together with the two following Poems. It is derived from a note-book in the handwriting of the late Sir John Taylor Coleridge, the nephew of the poet, kept at Eton College in 1807, which has been kindly placed at the publisher's disposal by his son, the present Lord Coleridge, of Ottery St. Mary.

While various passions all my mind engage :
Now is my breast distended with a sigh,

And now a flash of rage
Darts through the tear that glistens in my eye.
Is this the land of liberal heart?
Is this the land where Genius ne'er in vain
Pour'd forth her soul-enchanting strain ?
Ah me! yet Butler 'gainst the bigot foe
Well skill'd to aim keen humour's dart,
Yet Butler felt want's poignant sting;
And Otway, master of the Tragic art,
Whom Pity's self had bade to sing,
Sunk beneath the load of woe
Which can the generous Briton ever hear
And starts not in his eye the indignant tear ?

Elate of Heart, and confident of fame
From vales, where Avon sports, the minstrel came.

Gay as the Poet hastes along

He meditates the future song,
How Ælla battled with his country's foes-

And while Fancy in the air

Paints him many a vision fair, His

eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows ! With generous joy he views the rising gold,

He listens* to many a widow's prayers,
And many an orphan's thanks he hears-
He soothes to peace the care-worn breast,
He bids the debtor's eyes know rest,
And liberty, and bliss behold.

* Sic in MS. Qy. "lists,”—ED.

And now he punishes the heart of steel
And her own iron rod he makes oppression feel.
Fated to heave sad Disappointment's sigh,
To feel the hope now raised and now deprest,
With all the burnings of an injured breast.
Lo! from thy dark Fate's sorrow keen
In vain, O youth, I turn th' affrighted eye.

For busy Fancy ever nigh
The hateful picture forces on my sight !

There, death of every dear delight,

Frowns Poverty of giant mien !
In vain I seek the charms of youthful grace,
Thy sunken eye, thy haggard cheek she shows,
The quick emotions struggling in thy face

Faint index of thy mental throes,
When each strong passion spurn'd control,
And not a friend was nigh to calm thy stormy soul.

Such was the sad and gloomy hour

When anguish'd Care of sullen brow
Prepared the poison's death-cold power.
Already to thy lips was raised the bowl
When filial Pity stood thee by,-
The fixed eye she bade thee roll
On scenes which well might melt thy soul-

Thy native cot she held to view,
Thy native cot, where Peace ere long

Had listen'd to thy evening song.
Thy sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,
And mark thy mother's thrilling tear.
She bade thee feel her deep-drawn sigh,

And all her silent agony of woe.

“ And from thy fate shall such distress ensue ?
“Ah, dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand.”
And thou hadst dash'd it, at her soft command,
But that Despair and Indignation rose,
And told again the story of thy woes,
Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart.
The dread dependence on the low-born mind,
Told every woe, for which thy breast might smart,
Neglect and grinning Scorn and Want combined-
Recoiling back thou badest the friend of Pain
Quick roll a tide of Death through every icening

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,
Like thee, when rage the waves of woe,
To leave behind contempt and want and state
And seek in other worlds an happier fate.*

* It seems that the Author considered the sentiment in these last three lines “so improper," that he soon altered them to those that now stand in the text. (See vol. i. pp. 60-61.) The first foot-note on p. 61 should be deleted.


O MEEK attendant of Sol's setting blaze,

I hail, sweet star, thy chaste effulgent glow; On thee full oft with fixed eye I gaze

Till I, methinks, all spirit seem to grow. O first and fairest of the starry choir,

O loveliest 'mid the daughters of the night,
Must not the maid I love like thee inspire

Pure joy and calm Delight?
Must she not be, as is thy placid sphere

Serenely brilliant? Whilst to gaze a while
Be all my wish ʼmid Fancy's high career

E'en till she quit this scene of earthly toil; Then Hope perchance might fondly sigh to join Her spirit in thy kindred orb, O star benign!


WITHIN these wilds was Anna wont to rove

While Harland told his love in many a sigh, But stern on Harland rolled her brother's eye, They fought, they fell-her brother and her love!

* Now first printed from the late Sir J. T. Coleridge's MS. book.

+ Now first printed from the late Sir J. T. Coleridge's MS. note-book.

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