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DEATH OF CHATTERTON.
5
Clad in Nature's rich array,
And bright in all her tender hues,
Sweet tree of Hope! thou loveliest child of Spring!
How fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom,
Loading the west-winds with its soft perfume!
And Fancy, elfin form of gorgeous wing,
On every blossom hung her softering dews,
That, changeful, wanton'd to the orient day!
But soon upon thy poor unsheltered head
Did Penury her sickly mildew shed:
And soon the scathing Lightning bade thee stand
In frowning horror o'er the blighted land!
Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
And Joy's wild gleams, that lighten'd o'er thy face?
B3
