A MONOLOGUE. Hannah Cowley (née Parkhouse) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T38853 K039355.000 Cowley, Mrs. (Hannah), 1743-1809. The Maid of Arragon; a Tale. By Mrs. Cowley. Part I. London printed by T. Spilsbury, for L. Davis, T. Longman, J. Dodsley, T. Cadell, W. Owen, S. Crowder, T. Davies, T. Becket, G. Kearsley, C. Dilly, T. Evans, Richardson and Urquhart, and R. Faulder. M,DCC,LXXX. 1780 pp. []-[]. [6],46,[4]p.; 4⁰.

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A MONOLOGUE . O CHATTERTON ! for thee the pensive song I raise , Thou object of my wonder , pity , envy , praise ! Bright Star of Genius ! — torn from life and fame , My tears , my verse , shall consecrate thy name ! Ye Muses ! who around his natal bed Triumphant sung , and all your influence shed ; APOLLO ! thou who rapt his infant breast , And , in his daedal numbers , shone confest , Ah ! why , in vain , such mighty gifts bestow — Why give fresh tortures to the Child of Woe ? Why thus , with barb'rous care , illume his mind , Adding new sense to all the ills behind ? Thou haggard ! Poverty ! whose cheerless eye Transforms young rapture to the pond'rous sigh ; In whose drear cave no Muse e'er struck the lyre , Nor Bard e'er madden'd with poetic fire ; Why all thy spells for CHATTERTON combine ? His thought creative , why must thou confine ? Subdu'd by thee , his pen no more obeys , No longer gives the song of ancient days ; Nor paints in glowing tints from distant skies , Nor bids wild scen'ry rush upon our eyes — Check'd in her flight , his rapid genius cowers , Drops her sad plumes , and yields to thee her powers . Behold him , Muses ! see your fav'rite son The prey of WANT , ere manhood is begun ! The bosom ye have fill'd , with anguish torn — The mind you cherish'd , drooping and forlorn ! And now Despair her sable form extends , Creeps to his couch , and o'er his pillow bends . Ah , see ! a deadly bowl the fiend conceal'd , Which to his eye with caution is reveal'd — Seize it , APOLLO ! — seize the liquid snare ! Dash it to earth , or dissipate in air ! Stay , hapless Youth ! refrain — abhor the draught , With pangs , with racks , with deep repentance fraught ! Oh , hold ! the cup with woe ETERNAL flows , More — more than Death the pois'nous juice bestows ! In vain ! — he drinks — and now the searching fires Rush through his veins , and writhing he expires ! No sorrowing friend , no sister , parent , nigh , To sooth his pangs , or catch his parting sigh ; Alone , unknown , the Muses' darling dies , And with the vulgar dead unnoted lies ! Bright Star of Genius ! — torn from life and fame , My tears , my verse , shall consecrate thy name !