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 |
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[Unconscious while I thus gave sadness sway] |
 | Neglected Genius |  |
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[Unconscious while I thus gave sadness sway]
Unconscious while I thus gave sadness sway,How rapid time's swift wing bore hours away;
I woke not from the trance, till midnight's knell
Sounded in brazen notes from Redcliffe's bell;
The silv'ry orb diffus'd a ray serene,
And silence held sole empire o'er the scene.
No footsteps dar'd the realms of death invade,
And brush the night-dew from the moisten'd glade;
The solemn silence deeper awe impress'd,
And thoughts portentous sway'd my aching breast:
When, from a turret of Saint Mary's fane,
A radiant blaze illum'd night's awful reign.
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No more the bat perform'd its mazy round;
The brilliant glare awoke my mental dream,
I rear'd my gaze, and by the vivid beam
Beheld a Phœnix from its fire arise,
And wing a flight seraphic to the skies;
From whose bright flame appear'd with angel grace,
Two beamy spirits of ethereal space;
The thrill of terror shook my mortal frame,
As sounds harmonious softly breath'd my name;
Which thus continu'd: “Friend of slighted worth,
“Lo! here you see two angels once of earth;
“In me behold that Chatterton you mourn,
“By man's neglect from mundane annals torn,
“While at my side, tho' far more ripe in years,
“The form of Bastard Savage now appears.
“Think not as damned spirits of the night
“We stalk from graves, to blast thy fear-struck sight;
“Impell'd by injuries, thro' life endur'd,
“To thee we fly; from conduct well assur'd,
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“And lull our injur'd souls to calm repose.”
One spirit ceas'd, when lo! the other cried,
“Thou know'st dull Bristol, and its grov'ling pride;
“Straight to thy scourge of satire, scorpions twine,
“One lash be Chatterton's, the other mine:
“As for myself, tho' doom'd by wayward fate
“To sojourn in this land, and curse my state,
“Tho' penury assail'd my parting hour,
“I spurn'd its riches, and despis'd its pow'r;
“For which it left my mortal frame to rot
“With baser earth, neglected and forgot.
“Still this I'd pardon, and with conscious pride
“Disdain its vengeance and its scorn deride;
“But to behold one stripling of its race,
“As great in genius, as its sons are base;
“View in mere boyhood brightest talents shine,
“And see all patronage remain supine;
“To future times shall pass such taste deprav'd,
“And Bristol's character in brass be 'grav'd;
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“And from the page of science blot her name;
“Avenge the suff'rings of this injur'd youth,
“The cause is noble, for thy plea is truth:
“Nor need one falsehood e'er thy page imbue,
“The lash most poignant when the picture's true.
“In this Bristolians scorn a mask to wear,
“Secure in ignorance, contempt they dare;
“Unblushing boast themselves to meanness prone,
“And glory that true baseness is their own.”
Great Savage paus'd, and Chatterton again,
In melancholy accents, breath'd this strain:
“O! could they but have seen my frame, a prey
“To famine's tortures, sealing life's decay;
“Could they have felt cold hunger's gnawing fangs,
“That ceaseless wrung me with convulsive pangs;
“Sure soft compunction had assum'd its part,
“To prove that Bristol still possess'd an heart:
“But ah! unpitied and bereft of friend,
“Fell desperation urg'd me to my end;
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“Alone I suffer'd, and alone expir'd.
“Such was my fate:—Oh! advocate my cause,
“Judge the unfeeling by the sternest laws;
“But last of all, if jealous of renown,
“Somehand wou'd rob me of fame's verdant crown;
“Prove thou the champion of my slander'd muse,
“And with thy vengeance satire's gall infuse:
“So shall my spirit be for ever blest,
“And for thyself procure Elysium's rest.
“Farewell,” with piteous tone, the phantom cried;
“Farewell,” the Bastard Savage solemn sigh'd:
The visions faded, while with fervor ray'd,
I vow'd to heav'n their wills should be obey'd;
Since which eventful hour, my teeming brain
Has toil'd to lull their soul's indignant pain;
Just to my oath, some future flight shall prove,
I spurn the enemies of those I love:
Savage and Chatterton, your cause is mine;
Lur'd by such talents, let my efforts shine:
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Bristol, of ignorance the saddled ass;
Whose leaden hoofs defile the groaning earth;
Fell grave of wisdom, and the tomb of worth.
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