To Chatterton

O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!Dear child of sorrow—son of misery!How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye,Whence Genius mildly flash'd, and high debate.How soon that voice, majestic and elate,Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nighWas night to thy fair morning. Thou didst dieA half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate.But this is past: thou art among the starsOf highest Heaven: to the rolling spheresThou sweetly singest: nought thy hymning mars,Above the ingrate world and human fears.On earth the good man base detraction barsFrom thy fair name, and waters it with tears.