Monody on the Death of Chatterton

Samuel Taylor Coleridge * Track #13 On The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol I

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Album The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol I

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Monody on the Death of Chatterton by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Thomas Chatterton (1752 – 1770) was a highly gifted and precocious poet from Bristol who committed suicide by taking arsenic at the age of 17. His poetic genius was mythologized in the years following his untimely death, during the height of Romantic sensibility. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Rossetti, Kea...

Monody on the Death of Chatterton Annotated

&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspCold penury repress'd his noble rage,
&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspAnd froze the genial current of his soul.

&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspNow prompts the Muse poetic lays,
&nbsp       &nbspAnd high my bosom beats with love of Praise!
&nbspBut, Chatterton! methinks I hear thy name,
For cold my Fancy grows, and dead each Hope of Fame.

&nbspWhen Want and cold Neglect had chill'd thy soul,
Athirst for Death I see thee drench the bowl!
&nbsp       &nbspThy corpse of many a livid hue
&nbsp       &nbspOn the bare ground I view,
&nbspWhilst various passions all my mind engage;
&nbsp       &nbspNow is my breast distended with a sigh,
&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspAnd now a flash of Rage
Darts through the tear, that glistens in my eye.

&nbsp       &nbspIs this the land of liberal Hearts!
&nbspIs this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain
Pour'd forth her soul-enchanting strain?
&nbspAh me! yet Butler 'gainst the bigot foe
&nbsp       &nbspWell-skill'd to aim keen Humour's dart,
&nbsp       &nbspYet Butler felt Want's poignant sting;
&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspAnd Otway, Master of the Tragic art,
&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspWhom Pity's self had taught to sing,
&nbsp       &nbspSank beneath a load of Woe;
&nbspThis ever can the generous Briton hear,
And starts not in his eye th' indignant Tear?

&nbsp       &nbspElate of Heart and confident of Fame,
From vales where Avon sports, the Minstrel came,
&nbsp       &nbspGay as the Poet hastes along
&nbsp       &nbspHe meditates the future song,
How Ælla battled with his country's foes,
&nbspAnd whilst Fancy in the air
&nbspPaints him many a vision fair
His eyes dance rapture and his bosom glows.
With generous joy he views th' ideal gold:
&nbspHe listens to many a Widow's prayers,
&nbspAnd many an Orphan's thanks he hears;
&nbsp       &nbspHe soothes to peace the care-worn breast,
&nbsp       &nbspHe bids the Debtor's eyes know rest,
&nbsp       &nbspAnd Liberty and Bliss behold:
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 rais'd, and now deprest,
To feel the burnings of an injur'd breast,
&nbspFrom all thy Fate's deep sorrow keen
&nbspIn vain, O Youth, I turn th' affrighted eye;
&nbspFor powerful Fancy evernigh
The hateful picture forces on my sight.
&nbspThere, Death of every dear delight,
&nbspFrowns Poverty of Giant mien!
In vain I seek the charms of youthful grace,
Thy sunken eye, thy haggard cheeks it shews,
The quick emotions struggling in the Face
&nbspFaint index of thy mental Throes,
When each strong Passion spurn'd controll,
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 rais'd the bowl,
When filial Pity stood thee by,
Thy fixéd eyes she bade thee roll
On scenes that 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 made 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 had'st 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 th' 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 combin'd—
&nbsp       &nbspRecoiling back, thou sent'st the friend of Pain
To roll a tide of Death thro' every freezing vein.

&nbsp       &nbsp       &nbspO Spirit blest!
&nbsp       &nbspWhether th' eternal Throne around,
&nbsp       &nbspAmidst the blaze of Cherubim,
&nbsp       &nbspThou pourest forth the grateful hymn,
&nbsp       &nbspOr, soaring through the blest Domain,
&nbsp       &nbspEnraptur'st Angels with thy strain,—
&nbsp       &nbspGrant me, like thee, the lyre to sound,
&nbsp       &nbspLike thee, with fire divine to glow—
&nbsp       &nbspBut ah! when rage the Waves of Woe,
&nbsp       &nbspGrant me with firmer breast t'oppose their hate,
&nbspAnd soar beyond the storms with upright eye elate!

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