THOMAS CHATTERTON MINSTRELS' SONG, FROM ÆLLA First Minstrel. The budding floweret blushes at the light, The nesh young cowslip bendeth with the dew; When gentle winds do blow, to whistling din are brought. The evening comes, and brings the dew along; Second Minstrel. So Adam thought when once, in Paradise, 5 ΙΟ 15 Go, take a wife unto thine arms, and see Winter, and barren hills, will have a charm for thee. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 ROUNDELAY, FROM ÆLLA OH sing unto my roundelay, Oh 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. Black his hair as the winter night, Cold he lies in the grave below. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note, Oh! he lies by the willow-tree. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Hark! the raven flaps his wing, In the briared dell below; Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing My love is dead, 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, All the coldness of a maid. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. With my hands I'll fix the briars, Round his holy corse to gre, Elfin fairies, light your fires, Here my body still shall be. 50 55. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Come with acorn-cup and thorn, My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. AN EXCELENTE BALADE OF CHARITIE IN Virgo now the sultry sun did sheene, And hot upon the meads did cast his ray; The apple reddened from its paly green, And the soft pear did bend the leafy spray; 5 The pied chelandry sang the livelong day; ΙΟ 'Twas now the pride, the manhood of the year, And eke the ground was decked in its most deft aumere. The sun was gleaming in the midst of day, Dead-still the air, and eke the welkin blue, A heap of clouds of sable sullen hue, The which full fast unto the woodland drew, Hiding at once the sunnès festive face, And the black tempest swelled, and gathered up apace. Beneath a holm, fast by a pathway-side, Look in his gloomèd face, his sprite there scan; For knights and barons live for pleasure and themselves. The gathered storm is ripe; the big drops fall, 15 20 25 The sun-burnt meadows smoke, and drink the rain; 30 The coming ghastness doth the cattle 'pall, List! now the thunder's rattling noisy sound 35 |