Samuel Taylor Coleridge

“ Friend to the friendless, to the sufferer health,
He hears the widow’s prayer, the good man’s praise;
To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth, 60
And young and old shall now see happy days.
On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner’s eyes ”

“ Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide. 110
And here, in Inspiration’s eager hour,
When most the big soul feels the mastering power,
These wilds, these caverns roaming o’er,
Round which the screaming sea-gulls soar,
With wild unequal steps he pass’d along,
Oft pouring on the winds a broken song:
Anon, upon some rough rock’s fearful brow
Would pause abrupt — and gaze upon the waves below.
Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate
Who would have prais’d and lov’d thee, ere too late. 120
Poor Chatterton! farewell! ”