THOMAS CHATTERTON. 1752-1770. THOMAS CHATTERTON was the son of the master of a free-school in Bristol, and was born on the 20th of November, 1752. His father dying about three months before the birth of the son, the whole care of his education devolved upon the mother, who appears to have discharged her duty with great fidelity. At the age of eight, he was put to a charity-school at Bristol, where he soon discovered a great passion for books, and before he was twelve had perused about seventy volumes, chiefly on history and divinity, and written some verses which were wonderful for his years. At the age of fourteen he was bound apprentice to a Mr. Lambert, a scrivener in his native city, and he devoted all his leisure time to acquiring a knowledge of English antiquities and obsolete language, as a sort of preparation for the wonderful fabrication he shortly after palmed upon the world. It was in the year 1768 that he first attracted public attention. On the oc casion of the new bridge at Bristol being opened, there appeared in the Bristol Journal an article purporting to be the transcript of an ancient manuscript, entitled, "A Description of the Fryers first passing over the Old Bridge, taken from an Ancient Manuscript." This was traced to Chatterton, who said he had received the paper, together with many other ancient manuscripts, from his father, who had found them in an iron chest in the Redcliff church, near Bristol, and that they were written by Thomas Rowley, a priest of the fifteenth century. Having deceived many persons of some literary pretensions in Bristol, he wrote to Horace Walpole, in London, sending him some specimens of his Rowleian poetry, and requesting his patronage. The virtuoso, however, having shown the poetical specimens to Gray and Mason, who pronounced them to be forgeries, sent the youth a cold reply, and advised him to stick to his professional business. In the mean time Chatterton commenced a correspondence with the Town and Country Magazine, to which he sent a number of communications relating to English Antiquities; and his situation in Mr. Lambert's office becoming every day more and more irksome to him, he solicited and obtained a release from his apprenticeship; his master, it is said, being alarmed by the hints which Chatterton gave of his intention to destroy himself. In the month of April, 1770, Chatterton, then seventeen years old, arrived in London, with many of his ancient manuscripts, and some acknowledged original poems, and received from the booksellers several important literary engagements. He was filled with the highest hopes, and his letters to his mother and sister, which were always accompanied with presents, expressed the most joyous anticipations. But suddenly, for some causes that are not known, all his dreams of honor and wealth to be obtained from his literary labors vanished. His poverty soon became distressing-he suffered from actual want of food; and-having no religious principles to sustain him-he took poison, and was found dead in his bed on the 25th of August, 1770. The chief of the poems of Chatterton, published under the name of Rowley, are the "Tragedy of Ella," the "Execution of Sir Charles Bawdin," "Ode to Ella," the "Battle of Hastings," "The Tournament," one or two " Dialogues," and a "Description of Canynge's Feast." I "In estimating the promises of 1 "It will be asked, For what end or purpose did he contrive such an imposture? I answer, From iucrative views; or perhaps from the pleasure of deceiving the world, a motive which, in many minds, operater more powerfully than the hopes of gain. He probably promised to himself greater emolu his genius," says Campbell, "I would rather lean to the utmost enthusiasm of his admirers, than to the cold opinion of those, who are afraid of being blinded to the defects of the poems attributed to Rowley, by the veil of obso lete phraseology which is thrown over them. If we look to the ballad of Sir Charles Bawdin, and translate it into modern English, we shall find its strength and interest to have no dependence on obsolete words. In the striking passage of the martyr Bawdin standing erect in his car to rebuke Edward, who beheld him from the window, when 'The tyrant's soul rush'd to his face,' and when he exclaimed, 'Behold the man! he speaks the truth, He's greater than a king;' in these, and in all striking parts of the ballad, no effect is owing to mock antiquity, but to the simple and high conception of a great and just character, who 'Summ'd the actions of the day, What a moral portraiture from the hand of a boy! The inequality of Chatterton's various productions may be compared to the disproportions of the ungrown giant. His works had nothing of the definite neatness of that precocious talent which stops in early maturity. His thirst for knowledge was that of a being taught by instinct to lay up materials for the exercise of great and undeveloped powers. Even in his favorite maxim, pushed it might be to hyperbole, that a man by abstinence and perseverance might accomplish whatever he pleased, may be traced the indications of a genius which nature had meant to achieve works of immortality. Tasso alone can be compared to him as a juvenile prodigy. No English poet ever equalled him at the same age."! DEATH OF SIR CHARLES BAWDIN. The feather'd songster chanticleer Had wound his bugle-horn, And told the early villager The coming of the morn: King Edward saw the ruddy streaks Of light eclipse the gray, And heard the raven's croaking throat, Proclaim the fated day. "Thou'rt right," quoth he, " for by the God That sits enthroned on high! Charles Bawdin, and his fellows twain, To-day shall surely die." ments from this indirect mode of exercising his abilities: or he might have sacrificed even the vanity of appearing in the character of an applauded original author, to the private enjoyment of the success of his invention and dexterity."-Warton. 1 For papers on the authenticity of the Rowleian poems, read-Campbell's "Specimens," vi. 152— 162; Warton's "History of English Poetry," vol. ii. section xxvi.; "An Essay on the Evidence, ex ternal and internal, relating to the Poems attributed to Thomas Rowley," by T. J. Mathias, and "The Life of Thomas Chatterton, with Criticisms on his Genius and Writings, and a Concise View of the Controversy concerning Rowley's Poems," by George Gregory, D. D. .Then with a jug of nappy ale His knights did on him wait; "Go tell the traitor, that to-day He leaves this mortal state." Sir Canterlone then bended low, But when he came, his children twain, With briny tears did wet the floor, For good Sir Charles's life. "Oh good Sir Charles!" said Canterlone, "Bad tidings I do bring." "Speak boldly, man," said brave Sir Charles; "What says the traitor king?" "I grieve to tell: before yon sun He hath upon his honor sworn, "We all must die," said brave Sir Charles; "Of that I'm not afraid; e? What boots to live a little space? Thank Jesus, I'm prepared. But tell thy king, for mine he's not, I'd sooner die to-day, Tan live his slave, as many are, We all must die," said brave Sir Charles; Death is the sure, the certain fate, Say why, my friend, thy honest soul Is it for my most welcome doom Saith godly Canynge, "I do weep, "Then dry the tears that out thine eye From godly fountains spring; Death I despise, and all the power Of Edward, traitor king. When through the tyrant's welcome means I shall resign my life, The God I serve will soon provide For both my sons and wife. In London city was I born, Of parents of great note; I make no doubt but he is gone Where we for ever shall be blest, He taught me justice and the laws And eke he taught me how to know He taught me with a prudent hand And none can say but all my life And summ'd the actions of the day What though I on a sled be drawn, I do defy the traitor's power, What though, uphoisted on a pole, And no rich monument of brass Yet in the holy book above, Which time can't eat away, There, with the servants of the Lord, Then, welcome death! for life eterne Farewell, vain world, and all that's dear, My sons and loving wife! Now death as welcome to me comes As e'er the month of May; Nor would I even wish to live, Saith Canynge, ""Tis a goodly thing And from this world of pain and grief To God in heaven to fly." And now the bell began to toll, Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet And just before the officers His loving wife came in. Weeping unfeigned tears of wo With loud and dismal din. "Sweet Florence! now I pray forbear, Pray God that every Christian soul Sweet Florence! why these briny tears? And almost make me wish for life, 'Tis but a journey I shall go Unto the land of bliss; Now, as a proof of husband's love, Then Florence, faltering in her say, Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go The cruel axe that cuts thy neck, And now the officers came in "I go to life, and not to death; Teach them to run the noble race That I their father run, Florence! should death thee take-adies Ye officers, lead on." Then Florence raved as any mad, And did her tresses tear; "Oh stay, my husband, lord, and life!"— Sir Charles then dropp'd a tear. Till tired out with raving loud, Sir Charles exerted all his might, Upon a sled he mounted then, With looks full brave and sweet. Looks that enshone no more concern Than any in the street. |