The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why blooms the radiance of the morning sky?
Why spring the beauties of the season round?
Why buds the blossom with the glossy dye?
Ah! why does nature beautify the ground?

Whilst, softly floating on the zephyr's wing,
The melting accents of the thrushes rise,
And all the heavenly music of the spring,
Steal on the sense, and harmonize the skies;

191

When the racked soul is not attuned to joy,
When sorrow an internal monarch reigns:
In vain the choristers their powers employ,
'Tis hateful music, and discordant strains.

The velvet mantle of the skirted mead,
The rich varieties of Flora's pride,
Till the full bosom is from trouble freed,
Disgusts the eye, and bids the big tear glide.

Once, ere the gold-haired sun shot the new ray
Through the grey twilight of the dubious morn,
To woodlands, lawns, and hills, I took my way,
And listened to the echoes of the horn;

Dwelt on the prospect, sought the varied view,
Traced the meanders of the bubbling stream:
From joy to joy uninterrupted flew,
And thought existence but a fairy dream.

Now through the gloomy cloister's lengthening way,
Through all the terror superstition frames,
I lose the minutes of the lingering day,
And view the night light up her pointed flames.

I dare the danger of the mouldering wall,
Nor heed the arch that totters o'er my head;
O! quickly may the friendly ruin fall,
Release me of my love, and strike me dead.

M---! cruel, sweet, inexorable fair,
O! must I unregarded seek the grave?
Must I from all my bosom holds repair,
When one indulgent smile from thee would save?

192

Let mercy plead my cause; and think, oh! think!
A love like mine but ill deserves thy hate:
Remember, I am tottering on the brink,
Thy smile or censure seals my final fate.

Shoreditch, May 20, [1770].