Page images
PDF
EPUB
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

peyne ?

“ And none can saye, butt all mye lyfe

66 Sweet Florence ! why thee brinie tecrcs? In velr 5 wordyes kept;

“ Thiye wathe my foule auvais, Ani fun:'d the attyonns of the daie

" And almost male mee wyshe før lyfc, " Ecliv nystre before I Nept.

Wyth thee, fivecte caine, to staici * I hire a fpoufe, goe afke of her

“ 'Tys but a journie I felle goe “ Yil derri'd ber bedde?

“ Untoc the landte of birtle; " I have a hynge, and none can laie

“ Nowe, as a procfi of husbande's love, blackc greason one day hedde.

Reccirc thys holie kyte.” i Inne Lent, and enne the lolie eve,

Thenne Florence, fault'uing ynne her face, * Fromnu fi the I dydd refrayne ;

Tremblynge thule wordves spoke, * "hie thould I trunne appeare disinay'd

“ Ah, crucle Edwarde! bloudie kynge! “ To leave thys worlde of payne?

My herte ys welle nyghe broke : " Vo' haplofs Hennie! I rejoyce,

i* Ah, fiecte Syr Charles! why wylt thou goe, "I filenc ii thye dile;

“ Wychcute ihve lovynge wyse ! Motu villyn ylic in thye juft cause

• The cruelle axe thart cuttes thve necke, “ Duc I relign: ly briche.

“ Ytt ckc fhall ende nye lyfc." « Oh ficklc pcoplc! rcwyn'd londe !

And nowe the officers came ynne "! Thiu wyli kenne piace ne moe ;

To brynge Syr Charles awałe,
“ Wiyic Richard's funges cxalt themselves,

Whice turnedd ice his lovynye wyfe,
Thye brookes vyine bloude wylie fiowe. And thus toe her dydd laie:
• Saie, were ve iyr'd of godlic peace,

I

goc to lyfe, and not to dethc; “ And goldie Heric's reigrc,

“Truste thou ynne Godde above, " Thitt you dydd choppe yourt casie daies “ And teache thye fonnes to feare the Lorde, • For tholi of bloude and

“ Aad yane theyre herits hym love: < Whatte tho' I onne a sudde bce drawne,

“ Teache thiem to ruone the nobile race "! dud margled by a hvnde,

" That I theyre fader runne: " I do defye tic trayror's pow'r,

« Florence! thould duche thee take--adicu! “ Hee can ric laun my myr.de;

“ Yre officers, lead onne." " Whatte tho', uphoistcu onne a pole,

Thenne Florence rov'd as aric madde, “ Mve lyinbes Thail roire ynne avre,

And dydd her treffus tere; " And ne ryche monunurit of braili

" Oh! ftiie, inv hudande! lorde! and lyfe?" “ Charles Baudini's name fhail bear;

Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare.

'Tyll tyredd oute ryth ravynge loud,
* Yet yone che holic booke above,
“ W'hyche iyme can't cate aivai,

Shce tellen onne the Hore;
* There wythe the servants of the Lorde

Syr Charles exerted alic hys myghte,

And march'd fromın oute the d re.
“ Mye name shall lyve for aic.
" Thenne welcome detine! for lyfe cterne

Uponne a ledde hec mounted thenne,
" ( leve thus mortall lyfi;

Wythe luckes fulle brave and swete; “ Farewell, váyne world, and allc that's deare, Lookis, that enthoone ne moe concern “ II ye fornes and lovynge wyfe!

Thanne anic ynne the stretc. " Now dethe as welcome to mee comes,

Bifure hym went the council-menne, “ As c'er the month of Maie;

Yone scarlette robes and golde, “ Nor woulde I even wythe to lyve,

Anafills fpanglyngynne the funne,
“ Wyth my dere wyti to ltaie."

Mucho glorious to beholde :
Quod Canynge, “ 'Tys a good lie thynge

The Freers of Seinete Augustyne next
* To bee prepar'd to die;

Appeared to the fvghte, * And from thys worlde of peyne and grefe

Alle cladd yn ne homelie rurfurt wecdes,
" To Goddu yane heaven iv tic."

Of godlie monkyih plyghte:
And nowve the bell beganne to tolle,

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie plaume
And claryonnes to founde;

Motie sweetlie thсye dydd chaunt ;
Syr Charles hee herde the horfos fecte

Behynde theyre backos lyx myntrelles came,
A prauncying onne the grounde :

Who tun'd the itrunge bataunt.
And juste before the officers,

Thenne fyve-and-twentyc archers came;
His lovynge wyfe came ynne,

Echone the bowe dyyd bende,
Wecpynge unfeigned teeres of woe,

From rescue of kynge Henrięs friends
Wythe loude and dy smalle lynne.

Syr Charles forr to defend.
“ Sweet Florence! nowe I praie furberg, Bold as a lyon came Syr Charles,
“ Ynne quict lett mce die;

Drawne onne a clothe-layde ledde,
« Praie Godde, that ev'ry Christian soulc

Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges white, 9. Maye looke onne dethe as I.

Wyth plunes uponne theyre herde: 5

66

Pelynde Behynde hym hive-and-twentye moe

So lett hym dic !” Duke Richard fayde; Of archers stronge and stoute

“ And maye echone our foes Wyth bended bowe echonc ynne hande, “ Bende downe thcyre neckes to bloudie exe, Niarched ynne goodlie route :

“ And feede the carryon crowes." Scincte Jameses Freers marched next,

And now the horses gentlie drewe Echone hys parre dydd chaunt;

Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle! Behynde tleyre backes fyx mynstrelles came,

The exe dydd glyfterr ynne the lunne, Who tun'd ti.e strunge bataunt:

Hys pretious bluude to apylle. Thenne came the maior and eldermenne,

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scaffold goc, Ynne cloche of scarlett deckt;

As uppe a gilded carro And theyre attendyng menne echone,

Of victoryc, bye val’rous chiefs Lyke Easterne princes trickt:

Gaynod in the bloudie warre :

And to the people hee dydd saic, And afier them a multitude

“ Beholde Of ciuizens dydd thronge ;

you

foc mee dye, The wyadowes were ali full of beddes,

“ For fervynge loyaliy mye kynge, As hce dydd paslu alonge.

“ Mye kynge most rightfullic.

“ As longe as Edwarde rules thys lande, And wherne hce came to the hyghe crose,

“ Ne quiet you wylic knowe; Syr Charles dydd turne and jaie,

“ Your fonncs and husbandes shall be flayne, " o Thou, thatt favest manne fromme fynne,

“ And brookes wythe bloude ihalle flowe, “ Walhe mye foule cican thys daic.”

“ You leave youre goode and lawfulle kyngen Att the grete mynster windowe fat

“ Whenne ynne adversitye ; The kynge ynne mycle state,

“ Lyke mee, untoc the true caufe stycke, To see Charles Baurdin goc alonge

“ And for the true causc dye." To hys most welcom fåte.

Thenne hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys knecs, Soon as the feede drewe nyghe enowe,

A pray'r to Godde dydd make, Thatt Edwarde heç myghte heare,

Besecchynge hym unto hymfelte The brave Syr Charles hce dydd ftande uppe, Hys partynge foule to take. And thus hy; wordes declare :

Then kneclynge downe, he layd hys hecde “ Thou fecst mçe, Edwarde ! traytour vile!

Moft seemlie onne the blockc;
Expos'd to infamie;

Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once “ But be assurd, disloyall manne!

The able heddes-mannc ftroke! “ I'm greateri nowe thannc thcc.

And outę the bloude beganne to flowe, “ Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude,

And rounde the scaffoldc rwyne ; " Thou wearcst nowe á crowne;

And teares, enow to washe't awaie, “ And hast appoynted mee to dye,

Dydd Aowe fromme each mann's eyne. By power nott thync owne.

The bloudic cxc hys bodic fayre “ Thou thynkest I shall dye to-daie;

Ynnto foure parties cutte; “ I have becne dede 'till nowe,

And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde, “ And foone fhall lyve to wearc a crowne

Uponne a pole was putte. “ For aie uponne iny browe :

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle,

One onne the inyníter-tower, “ Whylst thou, perhapps for some few yeares, And one from off the castle-gate “ Shalı rule thys fickle lande,

The crowen dydd devoure : « To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule “ 'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande :

The other onne Scyndte Powle's goode gate,

A dreery spectacle ; “ Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave! Hys hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe crosse, “ Shall falle onne thy owne hedde.”

Ynne hyghe-strccte molt nobile. Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge

Thus was the end of Bawdin's fare: Departed thenne the fledde.

Godde prosper long our kynge, Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face ;

And

may, wyth Bawdin's foule, Hee turn'd his head awaie,

Ynne heaven Godd's mercie synge!
And to hys broder Gloucester
Hee thus dydd speke and faic :

§ 87. The Mynstreiles Songe in Ælla, a Tra-
gycal Enterlude.

CHATTERTON, &c. « To him that foe-much-dreaded dethe “ Ne ghaftlie terrors-brynge,

O'ynge untoe my roundelaic,

o! droppe the brynie teare wythe mcc, Beholde the manne! hec ipake the truthe, Daunce ne moe atte hallic daie, “ Hce's grcater than a kynge!

Lycka a reynynge i ryver bee;

grant hee

Running

ys dedde,

Mic love ys dedde,

§ 88. Gborus in Goddwyn, a Tragedie. Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

CHATTERTON, &c. Al under the wyllowe tree.

WHAN Freedom, dreste yn bloddc-Steyned Black hys cryne 2 as the wyntere nyght,

vefte, Whyte hys rode 3 as the fommer snowe,

To everie knyghte her warre-longe funge, Rodde hys face as the mornynge lyghtc,

L'ponne her hedde wylde wedes were spredde;
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe;

A gorie aniace by her honge.
Mie love ys dedde,

She daunced onne the heathe;
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

She hcarde the voice of deathe;
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Palc-eyned affryghte, hys harte of tylver hue,
Swote hys tongue as the throstles note,

In vayne affayled s her bosome to acale 6;

5 Quycke ynne daunce as thought cann bee,

Sbe hearde onflemed 7 the thriekynge voiceof woe, Defte hy's taboure, codgelle ftote,

And sadneffe ynne the owlette Shake the dale.

She shooke the burled 8 speere,
O! free lys bie the wyllowe tree:

On hie she jette g her sheelde,
Mie love ys dedde,

Her focmen 10 all appere,
Gonne to hys dear he bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree :

And Alizze 11 along the feelde.

Power, wythe his heafod 12 straught 13 ynto Harkc! the ravenne flappes hys wynge,

the skyes, In the briered dell belowe;

Hys speere a sonne-beame, and his sheelde a starre, Harke ! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge, Alyche 14 twaie 15 brendeyng 16 gronfyres 17 To the nyghte-mares as heie goe;

rolls hys eyes,

(war. Mie love

Chaftes 18 with hys yronne feete and soundes to
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

She fyttes upon a rocke,
Al under the wyllowe tree :

She bendes before hys 1peere,
See ! the whyte moone seenes onne hie;

She ryses from the shocke,
Whyterre ys mie true loves throude ;

Wieldyng her own yn ayre.
Whyterre yanne the mornynge ikie,

Harde as the thonder dothe lhe drive ytte on,
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloudes

Wytte feillye 19 wympled 20 gies 2 1 ytte to hys
Mie love

ys
dedde,

crowne,

[ys gon, Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Hys longe fharpe fpeerc, hys spreddyng shelde Al under the wyllowe tree.

He falles, and fallynge rolleth thousandes down. Heere, upon mie true loves grave,

War, goare-faced war, bie envie burld 22,
Schalle the baren fleurs he layde,

Hys feerie hcaulme 24 noddynge to the ayre,
Nce one hallie seyncte to save
Al the celness of a myade.

Tenne bloddie arrowes ynne his itreynynge fyfte ---
Mic love ys dedde,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

§ 89. Grongar Hill. DYER.
Wythe mie hondes I'll dent the brieres
Rounde hys hallie corse to gre,

SILENT Nymph! with curious eye,
Ouphante fairie, lyghte your fyres,

Who, the purple cvening, lie
Heere mie boddic stylle fchalle bee.

On the mountain's lonely van,
Mie love ys dedde,

Beyond the noise of busy man,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Painting fair the form of things,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

While the yellow linnet sings;

Or the tuneful nightingale
Comme, wythe acorne-coppe and thorne,

Charms the forest with her tale;
Drayne mie hartys blocide awaie;

Come, with all thy various hues,
Lyfe & all yttes goode I scorne,

Come, and aid thy fiiter Muse.
Daunce bie nete, or feastc by daie.

Now, while Phoebus riding high,
Mic love
ys dcdde,

Gives lustre to the land and sky,
Gonne to hys deathe-bedde,

Grongar Hill invites my song,
Al under the wyllowe tree.

Draw the land cape bright and strong:
Water wytches, crownede wythe reytes 4, Grongar! in whose molly cells,
Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde.

Sweetly musing Quiet dwells;
I die ; I comme; mie true love waytes,

Grongár! in whole filent shade,
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed.

For the modest Muses made,

arist 23,

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

2 Hair.

3 Complexion. 4 Water-Mags. 8 Armed, pointed.

5 Endeavoured. 6 Freeze. 9 Hoisted on high, railed.

7 Undismayed.

10 Foes, enemies. 13 Stretched,

11 Fly. 12 Head. 14 Like. 15 Two.

16 Flaming. 19 Closely,

17 Meteors.

18 Beats, stamps. 20 Mantled, covered. 21 Guides. 22 Armed,

23 Arofe.

24 Helmet.

So

}

So oft I have, the evening still,

Turime has seen, that lifts the low, Ar the fountain of a rill,

dur'tich lays the low brow, Sat upon a flow'ry bed,

Hintern this broken pile complete, With my hand beneath my head,

Big vith the vnity oi date : While firay'd my eyes o er Towy's flood, Butirantient is the imile of Fate ! Over mead and over wond,

A linele rule, a little fu av, From house to houle, from hill to hii,

A furi-beam in a winter's day, Till Contemplizion had her fill.

!? rhe proud and m'ghty have About his chequer'd files I wind,

Bcrucen the cri lie and th. grave. And leave his brooks and meads behind;

And see the rivers, how they run And groves and grottos, where I lay,

Thro'woods and meads, in thâde and fun! And vistoz shooting bean of day.

Sometimes swifi, fometimes flow, Wide and wider Spreads the vale,

Wave fucceeding wave, they go As circles on a liftooth canal:

A various journey to the deep, The mountains round, unhappy fate !

Like human life, to endless sleep! Sooner or later, of all height,

Thus is Nature's venture wrought, Withdraw their summits from the skies, To infruct our wand'ı ing thought; And leffen as the others rife.

Thus thu dreIcs green and gay, Still the propert wider spreads,

To disperse our cares away. Adds a ti ouland woods and ineads;

Ever cha ming, erer neti, Suill is widers, widens full,

When will the landscape rire the view! And fioks the re:rly-rifin hill.

The fountain's fall, the river's flow, Now I gain the niouniain's brow;

The woody vallies, warm and low; What a landscape lies below!

The windy fummit, wild and high, No clouds, no vapours, intervenc;

Roughly rushing on the fav! But the gay, the open secne

The pleasant feat, the ruin's tow'r, Does the face of Nature thew

The naked rock, the shady bow'r; In all thre hues of hearer's boir;

The town and village, dome and farm,
And, fivelling to embrace the light,

Fach gire cach a double cliarm,
Spreads around beneath rhe fight.
Old cafties on the cliffs anile,

As pearls upon an Ethiop's arm.

See on the mountain's fouthern side,
Proudly tow'ring in the skics;
Ruthing from the woods, the spires

Where the prospect opens wide,
Seern from hence ascending fires :

T'here the evening gilds the tide, Half his beams Apollo theds

How close and fmall the hedges lie! On the yellow mountain-heads,

What firtaks of meadow's cross the ere! Gilds the fiecces of the flocks,

Aftep, methinks, may puts the stream,

So little distant dangers team :
And glitters on the broken rocks.
Below me trees urinurber'd rife,

So we mistake the future's face,
Beautiful in various dyes :

Eved thro' Hope's deluding glass.

As son summits foft and fair,
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,

Clad in colours of the air,
The yellow beech, the table yew:
Theilender tir that taper grows,

Which, to those who journey ncar,
The sturdy oak with broad-fprvad kunghs;

Barren, brown, and rough appear; And, berond the purple grove,

Still we tread the lame coarle way; Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!

The presunt's Hill a cloudy day. Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,

O may I with myself agree, Lics a long and level lawn,

And ncver covet what I lce! On ivhich a dark lill, steep and higli,

Content me with a humble thadi, Holds and charms the wandring eye.

Mv patlio:is tam d, my wies laid; Dep are his feet in Towy's tlood;

For while cur wishes wildly roll, His fides are cloth'd with waring rood;

"l'e banish quiet from the Toul: And ancient towers crown his brow,

'Tis thus the bufi bcat the air, That cast an au ful look below;

And mifers gather wealthand care.
Whofe ragge:1 walls the ivy creeps,

Now, e'en now, my joys run high,
And with her arms from fallios koups: Is on the mountain turf I lie;
So both a safety from the wind

While the wanton zephyr sings,
On mutual dependance find.

And in the vale perfumes his wings ; "Tis now the maven's blesk abordo,

While the waters murinur deep; Tis now th' apartment of the road ;

While the thepherd charins his theep; And there the tox fecurely feeds,

While the birds unbounded fly, And there the pois'nous adder breeds,

And with music fill the sky, Conccald in ruins, mors, and needs ;

Now, e'en now, my joys run high. While, ever and ano!, there falls

Be full, ye courts ! be great who will ; Huge hcaps of boary moulder'd svalis: Search for seace with all your skill;

Open

}

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Ipfe cava folans aegrum teftudine amorem,
Te, dulcis conjux, te rolo in littore fecuong
Te veniente dis, te decedente canebat.'

Open wide the lofty door,

Nor by yon fountain's fide,
Seek her on the marble floor :

Nor where its waters glide
In vain ye search, she is not there ;

Along the valley, can she now be found:
In vain ye search the domes of Care !

In all the wide-ftretch'd prospect's ample bound,
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,

No more my mournful eye
On the ineads and mountain-heads,

Can aught of her erpy,
Along with Plealure clofc allied,

But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie,
Ever by cach other's side ;
And often, by the murm'ring rill,

O shades of Hagley, where is now your boast?
Hears the thrush, while all is still,

Your bright inhabitant is loft.
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

You ine preferr’d to all the gay resorts
Where feinale vanity might wish to shine,

The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.
$ 90. A Mon?dy on the Death of bis Lady. Her modest beauties Thunn'd the public eye:
By George Lord LYTTLETON.

To your sequesterd dales

And Aower-embroider'd vales,
Froin an admiring world the chose to fly.
With nature there retir'd, and Nature's God,

The filent paths of wisdom trod,
AT length escap'd from ev'ry human eye,
From ev'ry duty, ev'ry care,

And banish'd every paflion from her brcast;
That in my mournfulthoughts mightclaim a share,

But those, the gentlest and the best,
Or force my tears their flowing Itream to dry;

Whose holy flames with energy divine

The virtuous heart enliven and improve,
Beneath the gloom of this embow'ring fhade,
This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made,

The conjugal and the maternal love.
I now may give my burden'd heart relief,

Sweet babes! who like the little playfulfawns
And pour forth'all my stores of grief;

Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns,
Of grief furpalling every other woe,

By your delighted mother's side,
Far as the purest blits, the happiest love

Who now your infant steps shall guide ?
Can on th' ennobled mind bestow,

Ah! where is now the hand, whole tender care
Exceeds the vulgar joys that move

Toevery virtue would have form'd your youth,
Our gross desires, inelegant and low.

And strew'd with flow'rs the thorny ways of
Yc tufted groves, ye gently-falling rills,

truth?
Yc high o'ershadowing hills,

O lo's beyond repair !
Ye lawns gay-smiling with eternal green,

O witched father! left alone,
Oft have you my Lucy scen!

To weep their dire misfortune, and thy own!
But never thall you now behold her more : How thall thy weaken d mind, opprets d with
Nor will the vow, with fond delight,

And, drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, (woe,
And rafte refin'd, your rural charms explore. Perform the duties that you doubly owe,
Clos'd are those bcautcous cyes in endlets night, Now she, alas! is gone,
Those beauteous eves, where beaming us'd to thinc From fully and froin vice their helpleis age to save?
Realon's pure light, and Virtue's fpark divinc.

Where were ré, Muses, when reicntiels Fate
Oft would the Dryads of these woods rejoice

From these fond arms your fair disciple to:c;
To hear her heavenly voice;
For her despising, when the doign’d to sing,

From these fond arins, that vainly Atrove
The sweetest jongsters of the spring :

With hapless, ineffuetual love,
The woodlark and the linner plcas d no more:

To guard her bosom from the mortal blow?
The nightingale was mute,

Could not your favouring pow'r, Aonian

maids,
And every thepherd's flute
Was cast in silent corn away,

Could not, alas! your pow'r prolong her date;
While all attended to her tweeter lay.

l'or whom so oft, in these inspiring thades,
Ye larks and linres, now refuse your song:

Or under Camden's moss-clad mountains huar,
And thou, melodious Philomel,

You open'd all your sacred store ;
Again thy plaintive story tell;

Whate'er vour ancient lages taught,
For death has itepp'd that tuneful tongue,

Your ancient bards sublimcly thought,
Whose music couldalone your warbling norcs excel. And bade her raptur'd breast with all your spirit

glow?
In vain I look around
O'er all the well-known ground,

Nor then did Pindus or Castalia's plain,
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to delcry;

Or Aganippe's fount, your steps detuin,
Where oft we us'd to walk;

Nor in the Thespian valleys did ycu play ;
Where oft in tender talk

Nor then on Mincio's bank *
We saw the summer sun go down the sky;

Bcret with ofiers dank,

• The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil.

Not

« PreviousContinue »