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I've viewed the pit where as in scorn were thrown The bones of Chatterton; and here I see Where first the muses marked him for their own, Emerging from the dawn of infancy.-- Children! He once was blithe as now ye are, The life-beam glittering in his ardent eye: But guilt and melancholy and despair, Pointing their future prey, pa**ed darkling by. Ah! what is genius? It is a burning brand Like that the cherub bore to guard the way To Paradise. If grace support the hand That wields it, then its radiant flame shall play In glory round; else shall its lightnings burst, And strike their victim down--scathed and accursed.