AN EXCELLENT BALLAD OF CHARITY. In Virgine the sultry Sun 'gan sheene And the soft pear did bend the leafy spray; The sun was gleaming in the mid of day, A heap of clouds of sable sullen hue, The which full fast unto the woodland drew, Hiding at once the Sunnè's festive face; And the black tempest swelled and gathered up apace Beneath an holm, fast by a pathway side Which did unto Saint Godwyn's convent lead, Poor in his view, ungentle in his weed, Look in his gloomèd face; his sprite there scan, The Knights and Barons live for pleasure and themselves • Goldfinch. 2 Used by Chatterton as 'mantle.' • Dortoure bedde.' 'Dourtoure, a sleeping room.'-Chatterton. The gathered storm is ripe; the big drops fall; The sunburnt meadows smoke and drink the rain; And the full flocks are driving o'er the plain ; And the hot fiery steam in the wide flame-lowe2 dies. 3 List! now the thunder's rattling clamouring sound Again the levin and the thunder pours, And the full clouds are burst at once in stormy showers. Spurring his palfrey o'er the watery plain, The Abbot of Saint Godwyn's convent came; His cope was all of Lincoln cloth so fine, With a gold button fastened near his chin; 5 His autremete was edged with golden twine, And his peak'd shoe a lordling's might have been; 6 'Here Chatterton's text-word is 'flott,' and his gloss 'fly.' 'Gush Beems more appropriate. 'lowings-flames.-Chatterton. 3 Clymmynge,' noisy.-Chatterton. Clamouring' is adopted as neares in sound to his text-word. To signify cursing.'-Chatterton. A loose white robe worn by priests.'-Chatterton. Steevens, being in Bristol in 1776, saw horse-milliner' inscribed over a shop door, outside which stood a wooden horse decked with ribbons. 'An alms, Sir Priest!' the drooping pilgrim said, 'Varlet,' replied the Abbot, 'cease your din; This is no season alms and prayers to give ; My porter never lets a beggar in; None touch my ring who not in honour live.' And now the sun with the black clouds did strive, And shot upon the ground his glaring ray: The Abbot spurred his steed, and eftsoons rode away. Once more the sky was black, the thunder roll'd: Not dight full proud nor buttoned up in gold; His cope and jape2 were grey, and eke were clean; A Limitour he was, of order seen; 3 And from the pathway side then turnèd he, Where the poor beggar lay beneath the holmen trea 'An alms, Sir Priest,' the drooping pilgrim said, 'For sweet Saint Mary and your order's sake!' The Limitour then loosened his pouch-thread And did thereout a groat of silver take; The needy pilgrim did for gladness shake. 'Here, take this silver, it may ease thy care; We are God's stewards all,-nought of our own we bear. 'But ah! unhappy pilgrim, learn of me, Scarce any give a rentroll to their Lord: Here, take my semicope,-thou'rt bare, I see; 2 A short surplice worn by friars of inferior class.-Chatterton. A licensed begging friar.-Chatterton. Tis thine; the Saints will give me my reward!' He left the pilgrim and his way aborde1. Virgin and holy Saints who sit in gloure2, Or give the mighty will, or give the good man power! ECLOGUE THE FIRST. 3 When England, reeking from her deadly wound, From her galled neck did pluck the chain away, Kenning her liegeful sons fall all around, (Mighty they fell,—'twas Honour led the fray,) Then in a dale, by eve's dark surcote grey, Two lonely shepherds did abrodden fly, (The rustling leaf doth their white hearts affray,) And with the owlet trembled and did cry. First Robert Neatherd his sore bosom stroke, Robert. ‘Ah, Ralph! if thus the hours do come along, Nor will our pace swift as our danger go. To our great wrongs we have upheapèd moe,— The Barons' war! Ah, woe and well-a-day! My life I have, but have escaped so That life itself my senses doth affray. 5 O Ralph! come list, and hear my gloomy tale, Ralph. Say to me nought; I ken thy woe in mine, 6 Oh! I've a tale that Sathanas might tell! Sweet flowerets, mantled meadows, forests fine,- The sweet-strung viol1 dinning in the dell,The joyous dancing in the hostel-court,— Eke the high song and every joy,-farewell! Farewell the very shade of fair disport! Impestering trouble on my head doth come.:— No one kind Saint to ward the aye-increasing doom! Oh! I could wail my kingcup-deckèd leas, My parker's-grange far spreading to the sight, Inured unto the pain, I let no salt tear flow. Here will I still abide till Death appear; I to lament have greater cause than thee, Oh! I would slay his murderer joyously, 6 Robert. Our woes alike, alike our doom shall be, 7 My son, mine only son, all death-cold is! Here will I stay and end my life with thee,— A life like mine a burden is, I wis. 'Swote ribible,' sweet violin.-Chatter:on. 'Hantend,' accustomed.-Cha'terion. 2 Marygold.-Chatterton Soe wille I, fyxed unto thys piace, gre.'-- Chatterton. 'Oh! joieous I hys mortherer would slea.'-Chatterton. Portcullis.-Chatterton. 7. Ystorven,' dead-Chatterton. 76 |