Neglected Genius :: :: University of Virginia Library

Neglected Genius

A Poem. Illustrating the Untimely And Unfortunate Fate Of Many British Poets; From the Period of Henry the Eighth to the Aera of the Unfortunate Chatterton. Containing Imitations of their Different Styles, &c. &c. By W. H. Ireland

Ireland, W. H. (1777-1835)

[section]

[dedication]

Monody UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE WILLIAM CAVENDISH, Late Duke of Devonshire.

Invocation to Genius.

Prologue to Lillo's Elmeric.

Bristol and Richard Savage.

THE WRITER'S ADDRESS TO Richard Savage.

Thomas Chatterton.

IMITATION OF THE Rowleian Style of Poetry.

The Tourneie, CLEPED CHEVAULERIE OFF THE POYNTELLES.

THE Foregoing Stanzas, IN THE MODERN STYLE OF VERSIFICATION.

[In strains like these erst sung the fire-fraught child]

Acrostic.

THE Foregoing Acrostic, IN THE MODERN STYLE OF VERSIFICATION.

THE Poet's Entry into Bristol.

ELEGY.

ELEGIAC STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF Thomas Chatterton.

[Unconscious while I thus gave sadness sway]

THE WRITER'S ADDRESS TO Thomas Chatterton.

EPITAPH, INSCRIBED BY FAME UPON THE TOMB OF GENIUS.

DELINEATION OF THE FATE OF A Modern Poet.

Sonnet IN IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF EDMUND SPENSER.

Lines IN IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF MILTON;

IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF Butler.

Stanzas IN IMITATION OF CHATTERTON'S ROWLEY MANUSCRIPTS.

THE Foregoing Stanzas IN THE MODERN STYLE OF VERSIFICATION.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

IMITATION OF THE Rowleian Style of Poetry.

The Tourneie, CLEPED CHEVAULERIE OFF THE POYNTELLES.

Yn velvett grene the mee was seemly dyghte,
The limmed brooklette oundynge flow'd alonge;
I kenn'd the merrie birds all federed bryghte,
And listeynge herde theyre swotie plesaunte songe;
And as I hede the ethie soundinge straine,
Mie breste embollen was with joie, and eke with payne.

And musinge thus, I straughte mee onn the grene,
Whan swythyn sleepe ywreene mye thoughtsome breste;
Syke vysonne thenn appered to mind's eine,
As ouphante faeries peynct whan poyntelles reste;
Lo! bards as cnyghtes of geasonne chevaulerie,
Forr grete Apollo's crowne wold tilt forr mayysterie.
Thys tourneie , as methought, the muses bless'd,
'Twas cleped Chevaulerie of Poyntelles race;
Eche cnyghte bye lemanne featliest was carress'd,
Hys semlykeene all comlie withe moke grace;
The lists encirclit wer withe twined bays,
A cannopie aborne lemed withe sonnie raies.

These cnyghtes yn fancie's habergeons wer dyghte:
Som stalk'd yn sable , tragedie to shoo;
Whiles mynstrell comedie, yn azur bryghte,
Laugh'd att the merkye vysages of woo;
Som wore the rose's hue, with cristede dove,
To peyncture hem trew champyonns of all swoltrynge love.

Yn blaunchie robes som ynnocence iwreene,
Yn gules som lethalle Mars, fell chefe of warr;
Eche yn hys proper blazonrye was sene,
Yfollowyng fancie's godd yn glestreynge carr;
Ne bardic cnyghte bot thought the palm hys owne,
And sought to bee ensyrked withe the brendeynge crowne.

The winds affered heard the trumpet's braye,
Thys sound forr maysterie the challenge gave;
Eche poyntelle tilter, ready for the fraye,
Cooched hys launce withe fancie's vigorr brave;
Whan lo! the herehaughte's beme the champion runge,
Wonderr eche eine bewryen —mute was every tonge.

Emburled cap a pee, straight grac'd the field,
A youth adyghte yn tints of fancie's hue;
Hys slenderr arme ybore a gyant's sheeld,
A bronde he grypped , myghte an hoste subdue;
He cast the gauntlette , crying, compheeres see,
A striplynge dares your witts to fraies off chevaulerie.

And spekinge thos , he fro hys gyrdle twighte
A parchemente scrolle wyth variedd fygures grac'd;
The sonne-like beaconn met eche wondringe syghte,
The muses own'd the recorde theye hadd trac'd;
Eche quacedd shrunke, the common crie was—Yeeld!
The berne grete Chattertone, han halced all the felde.

Rous'd from dolce slepe, uppon thys dreme I dwelte,
Arist enthoghteynge , and hent onn mye course;
Halie the poyntelle mynstrell's merritt felte,
Hys mittie pathos, and subduynge force,
I bente the knee att boyhoode's rythme adygne ,
And hallow'd Rowlei Chattertone—The Berne Divine!

TOURNEIE — TOURNAMENT.

CLEPED — CALLED.

CHEVAULERIE — CHIVALRY.

POYNTELLES — POETS.

MEE — MEADOW.

DYGHTE — DIGHT.

LIMMED — GLASSY.

BROOKLETTE — RIVULET.

OUNDYNGE — UNDULATING.

KENN'D — HEARD.

FEDERED — FEATHERED.

LISTEYNGE — LISTENING.

SWOTIE — SWEET.

HEDE — ATTEND TO.

ETHIE — EASY.

EMBOLLEN — SWELLED.

EKE — ALSO.

STRAUGHTE — STRETCHED.

SWYTHYN — QUICKLY.

YWREENE — COVERED.

SYKE — SUCH.

VYSYONNE — VISION, DREAM.

EINE — EYE.

OUPHANTE — OUPHEN ELVES.

CNYGHTES — KNIGHTS.

GEASONNE — RARE.

MAYYSTERIE — VICTORY.

TOURNEIE — TOURNAMENT.

CLEPED — NAMED.

POYNTELLES — POETS.

CNYGHTE — KNIGHT.

LEMANNE — MISTRESS.

FEATLIEST — MOST BEAUTIFUL.

SEMLYKEENE — COUNTENANCE.

MOKE — MUCH.

ENCIRCLIT — ENCIRCLED.

ABORNE — BURNISHED.

LEMED — GLISTENED.

CNYGHTES — KNIGHTS.

HABERGEONS—COATS OF MAIL.

DYGHTE — DRESS'D.

SABLE — BLACK.

MERKYE — DARK.

CRISTEDE — CRESTED.

PEYNCTURE — PICTURE, DELINEATE.

SWOLTRYNGE—OVERWHELMING.

BLAUNCHIE — WHITE.

IWREENE — DISCLOSED.

GULES — RED.

LETHALLE — DEADLY.

YFOLLOWYNG—GOING AFTER.

GLESTREYNGE—GLITTERING.

BARDIC — APPERTAINING. TO POETS.

CNYGHTE — KNIGHT.

BOT — BUT.

ENSYRKED — CIRCLED.

BRENDEYNGE—FLAMING.

AFFERED — AFFRIGHTED.

BRAYE — CLANGOR, DIN.

POYNTELLE — POET.

COOCHED — COUCHED.

HEREHAUGHTE'S HERALD'S.

BEME — TRUMPET.

CHAMPION — CHALLENGE.

BEWRYEN — DECLARED.

EMBURLED — ARMED.

ADYGHTE — CLOATHED.

YBORE — BORE, CARRIED.

BRONDE — A SWORD.

GRYPPED — GRASPED.

GAUNTLETTE—GLOVE.

COMPHEERES—COMPANIONS.

FRAIES — FEATS, FIGHTS.

THOS — THUS.

TWIGHTE — PLUCKED.

QUACEDD — VANQUISHED.

HALCED — DEFEATED.

DOLCE — SWEET.

ARIST — AROSE.

ENTHOGHTEYNGE — THINKING.

HENT — PROCEEDED.

HALIE — HAPPY.

POYNTELLE — POET.

MITTIE — MIGHTY.

ADYGNE — NERVOUS.

THE Foregoing Stanzas, IN THE MODERN STYLE OF VERSIFICATION.

In velvet green the meadows all were dight,
The glassy current rippled sweet along;
I saw the merry birds in feathers bright,
And listen'd to their pretty soothing song;
And as I paid attention to the strain,
A something sooth'd my breast with pleasure and with pain.

And thus o'ercome I stretch'd me on the green,
Till gentle sleep entranc'd my thoughtful breast;
A vision straight subdu'd my mind serene,
A fairy sight my wand'ring brain oppress'd;
Array'd as knights of chivalric renown,
Bards came to tilt, and bear away the verdant crown.

This tournament, methought, the muses bless'd,
'Twas call'd the Chivalry of Genius' race;
Eàch knight by blooming maiden was caress'd,
His mien resplendant, figure 'ray'd in grace:
The lists were form'd of intertwisted bays,
The glitt'ring canopy beam'd bright Apollo's rays.

The knights in fancy's armour were bedight:
Some stalk'd in sable, tragedy to show;
While sons of comedy, in azure bright,
Laugh'd at their solemn visages of woe;
Some wore the rosy hue, with crested dove,
To picture them true champions of all conqu'ring love.

In lily robes some innocence display'd,
Others in gules invok'd the god of war:
Each in his proper blazonry array'd,
Follow'd bright fancy's god in radiant car;
No poet knight but thought the palm his own,
And thirsted to enjoy the never-fading crown.

The zephyrs, frighted, heard the trumpet's bray,
The sound for mastery the challenge gave;
Each poet-tilter, burning for the fray,
Couch'd firm the lance, with fancy's vigor brave;
When lo! a clarion sound defiance rung,—
Wonder each gaze express'd, surprise breath'd ev'ry tongue.

Arm'd cap a pee a youth straight grac'd the field,
Clad in each tint of fancy's heav'nly hue;
His slender arm upheld a giant's shield,
A lance he grasp'd that might an host subdue;
Then cast the glove, exclaiming, “Brothers, see!
“A stripling dares your wits to feats of chivalry!”

While speaking thus, he from his girdle took
A parchment scroll, with varied figures grac'd;
The sun-like beacon met each wond'ring look,
The muses own'd the record they had trac'd;
Each shrunk abash'd, the general cry was—“Yield!
“Apollo's child, Great Chatterton, subdues the field!”

Woke from this trance, upon the dream I dwelt,
Rose from the sod, and homeward bent my course;
Enraptur'd, all the poet's merit felt,
His witching pathos, and subduing force;
Yielded the knee at boyhood's brilliant shrine,
And hail'd Rowleian Chatterton—The youth Divine.

[In strains like these erst sung the fire-fraught child]

In strains like these erst sung the fire-fraught child,
In language nervous, and with fancy wild;
No theme too dazzling for his mental store,
No style too rude, tho' 'ray'd in antique lore:
The field immense of poetry he ran,
And gain'd the fadeless crown, ere yet a man.
Such was the youth who fled his native soil,
Wearied with Bristol and its sordid toil;
London, he thought, would patronize his worth,
And foster one of Heliconian birth.
Vain was the hope:—sweet youth, thy godlike song
Woke not at pity's string the list'ning throng;

Tho' all admir'd, the muse remain'd forgot:
E'en classic Walpole left thee to thy lot.
Pining, the spirit still, by genius fed,
Inspir'd his pride, and rear'd aloft his head;
Disdainful he beheld the threat'ning bane,
And silent suffer'd famine's deadly pain;
Proud to the last, he breath'd no suppliant's sigh,
True son of fire, with spirit fix'd on high;
He spurn'd humility, nor deign'd to sue
For that reward which genius claims its due:
He died!—ah! let me close the mournful truth,
Corroding poison nipp'd his budding youth;
Unutterable anguish seal'd his fate,
And bore his spirit to the kindred great:—
While soft the cherub choir of minstrels sung
The holy requiem;—lo! the clarion tongue
Of great Apollo, hail'd his darling boy,
And crown'd his soul with everlasting joy.

Acrostic.

Cale and neglectedd slombers Fancie's bard,
Hys mortayle parte entremed wythe the duste;
Airie the mysterk sprytes pace o'er the sward ,
To joyne theyre laments wyth eche passente gust.
Thrillinge's the owlett's screech, wyth bat's combin'd,
Embolleing lethalle horrours off nyghte's howr;
Rede , swotelie stealynge onn thee sorrowyng mynde,
Triomphaunte cryes—Dethe has ne longerr power;
O'er erthe's frayle parte hys aderne bronde had swaye,
Nowghte cann atteynte hys fame that glemes forr aye .

CALE — COLD.

ENTREMED — INTERMIXED.

MYSTERK — MYSTICK.

SPRYTES — SPIRITS.

SWARD — THE TURF.

PASSENTE — PASSING.

EMBOLLEING — SWELLING.

LETHALLE — DEADLY.

REDE — WISDOM.

SWOTELIE — SWEETLY.

ADERNE — CRUEL.

BRONDE — SWORD.

ATTEYNTE — TARNISH.

GLEMES — SHINES.

AYE — FOR EVER.

THE Foregoing Acrostic, IN THE MODERN STYLE OF VERSIFICATION.

Cold and neglected slumbers Fancy's bard,
His mortal part now mould'ring with the dust;
Airy the mystic spirits pace the sward,
To join their moanings with each passing gust.
Thrilling's the screech-owl's note with bat's combin'd,
Encreasing deadly horrors of night's hour;
Reason, soft stealing o'er the sorrowing mind,
Triumphant cries—Death has no longer pow'r;
O'er earth's frail part his icy shaft had sway,
Nought can subdue fame's everlasting ray.

THE Poet's Entry into Bristol.

POETA NASCITUR NON FIT.

Slow, pensive, sad, I bent my weary way,
And enter'd Bristol with declining day;
The sun, in splendid radiance, gilt the west,
And labour's weary offspring thought of rest:
For, when the child of luxury retires
To share day's second meal, and fan desires;
When ev'ry viand courts the pamper'd taste,
And floods of wine are offer'd up to waste;—
The son of toil, that with day's orb arose,
Feels nature flag, and longs for sound repose.
Such was the hour I enter'd trade's fam'd seat,
Forth from her mart her offspring 'gan retreat;

For me the busy sound no charm possess'd,
Sorrow alone reign'd empress o'er my breast.
Heedless I pass'd the stupid, sordid crew,
Till Redcliffe's gothic spire appear'd in view;
That sainted beacon, fraught with magic sway,
To guide the pilgrim poet on his way.
Warm fancy soon awaken'd pity's sigh,
And mem'ry op'd the sluices of mine eye;
My o'erfraught feelings own'd the genial guest,
And tears gave freedom to my surcharg'd breast:
I stood absorb'd, as if my wand'ring mind
Had clos'd on life and cares of human kind.
Yet soon this pleasing apathy was broke,
By human accents from the trance awoke;
I turn'd around, and with obsequious smile,
Beheld the portress of this hallow'd pile,
Who, little heeding melancholy's trace,
That deep impress'd its signet on my face,
Uprais'd the key, when anxious to explore
Interior grandeur, straight the willing door

Yielded admittance to that peaceful spot,
Where princely Canning shares each mortal's lot,
Slumbers in peace, more bless'd from innate worth,
Than scepter'd monarchs of imperial birth.
I gaz'd around, while ev'ry object brought
Some speaking record to my busy thought;
“Here oft,” I sigh'd, “the minstrel of this scene
“Wou'd pause, and contemplate the sculptur'd mien
“Of him he honor'd with a patron's name,
“For monkish Rowley weaving wreaths of fame;
“Clothing his genius with the phrase of yore,
“To honor ancient times with modern lore;
“As if the rough set gem did not impart
“Lustre like that enchas'd by workman's art:
“Exterior trappings 'lure the vulgar sight,
“But genius, like the sun, scorns borrow'd light;
“It reigns unrivall'd, to astound the gaze,
“And fills its sphere with undiminish'd blaze.”
One object more remain'd to kindle thought,
And fresh enchain my soul, with feeling fraught;

Anxious I trod each winding step, to gain
The chamber drear where coffers yet remain
That once the records of past times conceal'd,
Records, which Chatterton alone reveal'd;
Who deck'd each simple fact of prose uncouth
With inspiration of poetic youth,
Made Bawdin's fate in numbers sweet appear,
And draw from ev'ry eye the pitying tear.
Alone I enter'd this portentous room,
As Sol's last radiance chas'd eve's mantling gloom;
Through apertures where casements ne'er yet hung,
The moaning breeze 'midst dismal vacuum wrung;
Each pond'rous chest with iron clamps array'd,
Bereft of cov'ring, emptiness display'd;
Aloft the tatter'd cobwebs wav'd in air,
Shunn'd by their former tenants in despair;
While 'neath the footstep dust the pavement dight,
Mingled with odour of the birds of night:
I paus'd contemplative, since that lone room
Fir'd boyish talent to defy earth's doom;

Led budding genius to expand its pow'r,
And bloom unrivall'd for a short liv'd hour:
For as it blossom'd, fate with envy gave
The stern decree, and doom'd it to the grave.
Sick'ning with retrospect, I bade adieu,
Yet linger'd still, to take one parting view;
For trivial objects, to the feeling soul,
Possess a magic that defies controul,
In spite of manhood's reason—chain the will,
And make philosophy an infant still.
With measur'd pace and melancholy air,
I 'gan descend the turret's winding stair,
And oftimes listened to the echoing sound,
That seem'd to speak some following foot's rebound;
I paus'd—methought his spirit wander'd near;
I list'ned—but no sound broke stillness drear;
And fraught with strong emotions, join'd once more
My kind conductress at Saint Mary's door;
Dropp'd the expected fee, then silent sped,
To wander 'midst the records of the dead.

Weary at length, upon a tomb reclin'd,
I gave indulgence to my sad'ned mind;
Pictur'd the monumental marble nigh,
That veil'd the poet's dust from mortal eye;
And as my soul for martyr'd genius bled,
I breath'd these numbers to its spirit fled.