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MONODY ON THE
Assume, O DEATH! the cherub wings of PEACE,
And bid the heart-sick Wanderer's anguish cease!
Thee, Chatterton! yon unblest stones protect
From Want, and the bleak Freezings of neglect!
Escap'd the fore wounds of Affliction's rod
Meek at the Throne of Mercy, and of God,
Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptur'd hymn
Amid the blaze of Seraphim!
Yet oft ('tis nature's bosom-startling call)
I weep, that heaven-born Genius so should fall;
And oft, in Fancy's saddest hour, my soul
Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl.
Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view
Thy corse of livid hue;
