University of Virginia Library

THE FATE OF GENIUS

A Tale

Far from the life of market towns was seen
The humble hutts & spire of topal green
Were from the treetops that the hamlet shields
The white spire mounts & over looks the fields
Meeting the distant view of passing eyes
Were gentle memory often points & sighs
For there amidst the ignorance it wears
Wants chilling views & labours ceasless cares
A rustic genius from the darkness sprung
& sought the muses mid his toils & sung
& warmd with hopes while nature round him smild
He himnd their raptures & his fate beguild
But evil light thro his oblivion gleamd
The world wore smiles his artless hopes esteemd
& warmd with raptures better days to meet
They sought applause & realizd the cheat
Soon envys wasps around his sweets did swarm
& peacfull muses fled the rude alarm
Soon fames vain follys from their ambush rose
Friends while theyre powerless but in public foes
This praisd as fine what that as faults accusd
That urgd amendments which the next abusd
Thus mid the wild confusion babel raisd
By one advisd by others scofft & praisd
The damps of dissapointment provd too much
& warm hopes witherd at the chilly touch
Shrinking from life & hopes emblazoned noon
To witness envy had its own too soon
& what remains now linger to be blest
Aside that church were friendship tells the rest
Who placd a stone to mark his lowly sleep
That kindred hearts might find the spot to weep
Were the old sexton deaths undaunted slave
Who knew the bard & dug his early grave
To each request enquireys warmth may raise
Oft gives the tale of his unnoticd days
In hopes calm walks ere flattery smild his friend
& black injustice bade their journey end
‘I knew him from a child’ the clerk woud say
‘& often noticd his dislike to play
‘Oft met him then lone left by woods & streams
‘Muttering about as people do in dreams
‘& neath lone bushes dropt about the field
‘Or peacfull hedges that woud shelter yield
‘With hand beneath his head in silence bent
‘Oft saw him sit & wonderd what it meant
‘Nor did his habits alter with his age
‘Still woods & fields his leisure did engage
‘Nor friends nor labour woud his thoughts beguile
‘Still dumb he seemd in company & toil
‘& if ones questions did his dreams supprise
‘His unconscern oft pausd in wrong replys
‘We wonderd many times as well we might
‘& doubted often if his mind was right
‘Een children startld from his oddness ran
‘& shund his wanderings as “the crazy man”
‘Tho harmless as the things he mixd among
‘His ways was gentle & unknown to wrong
‘For Ive oft markd his pity passing bye
‘Disturb the spiders web to save the flye
‘& saw him give to tyrant boys a fee
‘To buy the captive sparrows liberty
‘Each sundays leisure brought the woods their guest
‘& wildest spot which suited him the best
‘As bushy greens & valleys left untilld
‘Were weedy brooks went crooking as they willd
‘Were flags & reeds & sedge disorderd grew
‘These woud his abscence from his home pursue
‘& as he rambld in each peacful round
‘Hed fancy friends in every thing he found
‘Muttering to cattle—aye & even flowers
‘As one in visions claimd his talk for hours
‘& hed oft wonder were we nought coud see
‘On blades of grass & leaves upon the tree
‘& pointed often in a wild supprise
‘To trifling hues of gadding butterflys
‘While if another made new marvels known
‘That seemd to me far wonderous then his own
‘Of ghosts hed seen that nightly walks decievd
‘He heeded not but laughd & disbelievd
‘Nights dismal tongues that hardest hearts affright
‘& all may hear that travel out at night
‘Her shadowd howling tenants fierce & grim
‘Tho trifles struck him—such was nought to him
‘At length twas known his ways by woods & brooks
‘Were secret walks for making ryhmes & books
‘Which strangers bought & with amazment read
‘& calld him poet when they sought his shed
‘But men they said like serpents in the grass
‘That skulk in ways which learning has to pass
‘To slander worth which they woud feign posses
‘& dissapointment urges to suppress
‘Snarling at faults too bright for common minds
‘& hiding beautys wisdom warmly finds
‘Such marr'd his powers & slanderd in disguise
‘& tryd to black his merits with their lyes
‘& tho his friends the cheating fraud descryd
‘It hurt too earnest to be wipd aside
‘He dwindld down from too severe a blast
‘& hopes might wish to live that dyd as fast
‘Still he did live till real life seemd as gone
‘& his soul lingerd in a shadowd one
‘& yet he mingld in his favourd ways
‘& bar'd his forhead to the sunny days
‘Listning the lark on fountains moaning wave
‘As like a ghost as ever left its grave
‘& fled the world at last without a sigh
‘& dyd as gentle as a lamb woud dye
‘His learned friends said envys aim was blest
‘That malice killd him—they might know the best
‘Else folks less learnd to different causes led
‘Who read his books & marveld as they read
‘Were he so free of ghost & fairey talks
‘They thought he found them on his lonley walks
‘& that some secret which he faild to keep
‘Brought on their anger & his endless sleep
‘Be as it might his life fell in decay
‘& that stone tells when it was calld away
‘Were een the daiseys that around it spread
‘The gifts of spring to dress his lowly bed
‘Are often stole in garden scenes to grow
‘As relics of the dust that sleeps below
‘While the stones verses hid by summers weed
‘Which strangers eager trample down to read
‘Are bye the curious often written down
‘Tho they tell nought of praises or renown’
‘Here sleeps the hopes of one whose glowing birth
‘Was found too warm for this unfeeling earth
‘That frownd & witherd—yet the fruitfull stem
‘Hides here & buds with others warm as them
‘Waiting that sun to warm their bloom to smile
‘& welcome heaven as their native soil