But ever in my love-lorn flights Art ever gives disgust. Why, says some priest of mystic thought, The bard alone by nature taught, Is to that nature just. But ask your orthodox divine, If ye perchance should read this line Will all his sermons, preaching, prayers, In natural religion free, I to no other bow the knee, Nature's the God I own: Let priests of future torments tell, No other hell is known. I steel'd by destiny was born, I fired by burning planets came From flaming hearts to catch a flame, And bid the bosom swell. Then catch the shadow of a heart, Till as a hostage you remit Your heart, your sentiment, your wit, To make a safe return. A rev'rend cully-mully puff 'Tis vanity, 'tis impudence Is all the merit, all the sense TO MR. HOLLAND.* WHAT numbers, Holland, can the muses find, Majestic as the eagle on the wing, Or the young sky-helm'd, mountain-rooted tree; Pleasing as meadows blushing with the spring, Loud as the surges of the Severn sea. In terror's strain, as clanging armies drear : In pity, gentle as the falling tear; In all-superior to my feeble lays. Black Anger's sudden rise, extatic pain; Whatever passions gall the human breast, This person was an actor of some provincial celebrity, whose performance of various characters at Bristol was for some time the engrossing subject of conversation among the friends of Chatterton. So just thy action with thy part agrees, By thee the harsh line smoothly glides along. At thy feign'd woe we're really distrest, By every judge of nature 'tis confest, AN ELEGY, On the much-lamented death of WM. BECKFORD, Esq., late Lord Mayor of, and Representative in Parliament for the City of London.* I. WEEP on, ye Britons! give your gen'ral Tear; To the Editor of Felix Farley's Journal. SIR,-As the columns of your Paper gave the earliest effusions of the highly-gifted Chatterton to the public eye, it may form a ground for claiming a space for an entire copy of an Elegy by him, of which only the first twelve stanzas, gathered from a contemporary review, are to be found in any edition of his works. It was advertised in the Middle 11. When like the Roman to his Field retired, 111. With soul impell'd by Virtue's Sacred Flame, IV. In the last awful, the departing Hour, When life's poor Lamp more faint and fainter grew; As Mem'ry feebly exercis'd her pow'r, He only felt for Liberty and you. V. He view'd Death's Arrow with a Christian Eye, And nobly gave your Miseries that sigh With which he never gratified his own. sex Journal (the patriotic paper of that period, to which Chatterton made many communications), on the 3rd July, 1770, and was published in quarto, by Mr. Kearsley of Fleet-street, price one shilling. It is probable the author received for this production two guineas, according to his current account, inserted in his life, of the balance in favour of the Lord Mayor's death. The obtainment of a copy of the original publication was an object of search for above ten years. Your's &c. EU. HOOD. The punctuation, capital letters, numerals, &c. are followed, as printed in Kearsley's edition. [For a complete copy of this celebrated Elegy-the first ever included in an edition of Chatterton's Works- the present Editor is indebted to the good services of Mr. Tyson, of Bristol.] |