EPITAPH
FOR A PROPOSED MONUMENT TO CHATTERTON, AT BRISTOL.
PAUSE, Stranger! this recording marble bears
The name of Chatterton! Few sons of woe
E'er past Life's sojourn, press'd with heavier cares,
Or felt, more oft, the tear, in darkness, flow.
Though Genius nursed him as her darling child,
And, round his brow, her choicest wreaths entwined,
Neglect turn'd, heedless, from his warblings wild,
And, far from friend and home, with want he pined!
Sighs now avail not! yet, a grateful age
Bestows the last poor meed that still remains,
This Tablet, less enduring than his page,
And gives him back his own transcendent strains.
