What while the humble floweret lowly dight Standeth unhurt, unquashèd by the storm. Such picture is of Life: the man of might Is tempest-chafed, his woe great as his form: Thyself, a floweret of a small account, Wouldst harder feel the wind, as higher thou didst mount. MINSTRELS' MARRIAGE-SONG. [From Ella; a Tragical Interlude.] First Minstrel. The budding floweret blushes at the light: In daisied mantles is the mountain dight; The slim1 young cowslip bendeth with the dew; The trees enleafèd, into heaven straught, When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din are brought. The evening comes and brings the dew along; Second Minstrel. So Adam thought, what time, in Paradise, All heaven and earth did homage to his mind. 1 'Nesh,' tender.-Chatterton. 26 Ynn womman alleyne mannès pleasaunce lyes, VOL. III. Ee Chatterton. Third Minstrel. When Autumn stript and sunburnt doth appear, Bearing upon his back the ripened sheaf; When levin-fires and gleams do meet from far the sight; When the fair apples, red as even-sky, Do bend the tree unto the fruitful ground; When juicy pears and berries of black dye Do dance in air and call the eyes around; Then, be it evening foul or evening fair, Methinks my joy of heart is shadowed with some care. Second Minstrel. Angels are wrought to be of neither kind; That, without woman, cannot stillèd be: Women are made not for themselves but man,- Albeit, without women, men were peers To savage kind, and would but live to slay; 1 Tere,' health.-Chatterton. 2 ‘Tochelod yn Angel joie heie (they) Angeles bee.'—Chatterton. THE ACCOUNTE OF W. CANYNGE'S FEAST. BY WILLIAM CANYNGE.1 Thorowe the halle the bell han sounde; Ande snoffelle oppe the cheorte steeme. Syke keene theie ate; the minstrels plaie, Butte nodde yer thankes ande falle aslape. Thus echone daie bee I to deene, Gyf Rowley, Iscamm', or Tyb. Gorges be ne seene. MINSTREL'S ROUNDELAY. [From Ella.] O sing unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear with me, Like a running river be. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. 1 The above piece is given in Chatterton's original spelling, as a sample. 2 Fair welcome.-Chatterton. (Bel-acceuil.-Tyrwhitt.) Becomes.-Chatterton. Cheerful.-Chatterton. Snuff up.-Chatterton. The names of Canynge's favourite poets and friends, as developed in Chatterton's Rowleian system. Black his locks as the winter night, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note, O he lies by the willow-tree! Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Hark! the raven flaps his wing Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. See the white moon shines on high; My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Here upon my true love's grave Shall the barren flowers be laid: Not one holy Saint to save All the coldness of a maid! Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. 1 'Rode,' complexion.-Chatterton. With my hands I'll gird1 the briars Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. The original concludes with the following quatrain :— • Water-witches crowned with reytes, Bear me to your lethal tide. I die! I come! My true love waits! Thus the damsel spake, and died.' In spite of the words 'reytes' (water-flags) and 'lethal' (deadly), this stanza is a false eighteenth-century note, strangely out of harmony with the almost completely sustained tone of the rest of this noble ditty; it is moreover an awkward break-down in metre. I have ventured to transfer it from the text to this foot-note. A word may be needed as to my modernized text: wherever Chatterton's gloss-word has been adopted instead of his text-word, this is done without notification. Now and then the rhyme or clearness of phrase compelled substitution: this has been specified in the notes in every case of the least importance. |