The Rowley Poems by Thomas Chatterton (inspirational books to read .txt) 📖

flowe;

    In purple strekes it dyd his armer staine,

    And smok'd in puddles on the dustie plaine.                           170

 

  But Egelred, before he sunken downe,

  With all his myghte amein his spear besped,

  It hytte Bertrammil Manne upon the crowne,

  And bothe together quicklie sunken dede.

  So have I seen a rocke o'er others hange,                               175

  Who stronglie plac'd laughde at his slippry state,

  But when he falls with heaven-peercynge bange

  That he the sleeve unravels all theire fate,

    And broken onn the beech thys lesson speak,

    The stronge and firme should not defame the weake. 180

 

  Howel ap Jevah came from Matraval,

  Where he by chaunce han slayne a noble's son,

  And now was come to fyghte at Harold's call,

  And in the battel he much goode han done;

  Unto Kyng Harold he foughte mickle near,                                185

  For he was yeoman of the bodie guard;

  And with a targyt and a fyghtyng spear,

  He of his boddie han kepte watch and ward;

    True as a shadow to a substant thynge,

    So true he guarded Harold hys good kynge.                             190

 

  But when Egelred tumbled to the grounde,

  He from Kynge Harolde quicklie dyd advaunce,

  And strooke de Tracie thilk a crewel wounde,

  Hys harte and lever came out on the launce.

  And then retreted for to guarde his kynge,                              195

  On dented launce he bore the harte awaie;

  An arrowe came from Auffroie Griel's strynge,

  Into hys heele betwyxt hys yron staie;

    The grey-goose pynion, that thereon was sett,

    Eftsoons wyth smokyng crymson bloud was wett.                         200

 

  His bloude at this was waxen flaminge hotte,

  Without adoe he turned once agayne,

  And hytt de Griel thilk a blowe, God wote,

  Maugre hys helme, he splete his hede in twayne.

  This Auffroie was a manne of mickle pryde,                              205

  Whose featliest bewty ladden in his face;

  His chaunce in warr he ne before han tryde,

  But lyv'd in love and Rosaline's embrace;

    And like a useless weede amonge the haie

    Amonge the sleine warriours Griel laie.                               210

 

  Kynge Harolde then he putt his yeomen bie,

  And ferslie ryd into the bloudie fyghte;

  Erle Ethelwolf, and Goodrick, and Alsie,

  Cuthbert, and Goddard, mical menne of myghte,

  Ethelwin, Ethelbert, and Edwyn too,                                     215

  Effred the famous, and Erle Ethelwarde,

  Kynge Harolde's leegemenn, erlies hie and true,

  Rode after hym, his bodie for to guarde;

    The reste of erlies, fyghtynge other wheres,

    Stained with Norman bloude theire fyghtynge speres.                   220

 

  As when some ryver with the season raynes

  White fomynge hie doth breke the bridges oft,

  Oerturns the hamelet and all conteins.

  And layeth oer the hylls a muddie soft;

  So Harold ranne upon his Normanne foes.                                 225

  And layde the greate and small upon the grounde,

  And delte among them thilke a store of blowes,

  Full manie a Normanne fell by him dede wounde;

    So who he be that ouphant faieries strike,

    Their soules will wander to Kynge Offa's dyke.                        230

 

  Fitz Salnarville, Duke William's favourite knyghte,

  To noble Edelwarde his life dyd yielde;

  Withe hys tylte launce hee stroke with thilk a myghte,

  The Norman's bowels steemde upon the feeld.

  Old Salnarville beheld hys son lie ded,                                 235

  Against Erie Edelward his bowe-strynge drewe;

  But Harold at one blowe made tweine his head;

  He dy'd before the poignant arrowe flew.

    So was the hope of all the issue gone,

    And in one battle fell the sire and son.                              240

 

  De Aubignee rod fercely thro' the fyghte,

  To where the boddie of Salnarville laie;

  Quod he; And art thou ded, thou manne of myghte?

  I'll be revengd, or die for thee this daie.

  Die then thou shalt, Erie Ethelwarde he said;                           245

  I am a cunnynge erle, and that can tell;

  Then drewe hys swerde, and ghastlie cut hys hede,

  And on his freend eftsoons he lifeless fell,

    Stretch'd on the bloudie pleyne; great God forefend,

    It be the fate of no such trustie freende!                            250

 

  Then Egwin Sieur Pikeny did attaque;

  He turned aboute and vilely souten flie;

  But Egwyn cutt so deepe into his backe,

  He rolled on the grounde and soon dyd die.

  His distant sonne, Sire Romara de Biere,                                255

  Soughte to revenge his fallen kynsman's lote,

  But soone Erie Cuthbert's dented fyghtyng spear

  Stucke in his harte, and stayd his speed, God wote.

    He tumbled downe close by hys kynsman's syde,

    Myngle their stremes of pourple bloude, and dy'd.                     260

 

  And now an arrowe from a bowe unwote

  Into Erle Cuthbert's harte eftsoons dyd flee;

  Who dying sayd; ah me! how hard my lote!

  Now slayne, mayhap, of one of lowe degree.

  So have I seen a leafic elm of yore                                     265

  Have been the pride and glorie of the pleine;

  But, when the spendyng landlord is growne poore.

  It falls benethe the axe of some rude sweine;

    And like the oke, the sovran of the woode,

    It's fallen boddie tells you how it stoode.                           270

 

  When Edelward perceevd Erle Cuthbert die,

  On Hubert strongest of the Normanne crewe,

  As wolfs when hungred on the cattel flie,

  So Edelward amaine upon him flewe.

  With thilk a force he hyt hym to the grounde;                           275

  And was demasing howe to take his life,

  When he behynde received a ghastlie wounde

  Gyven by de Torcie, with a stabbyng knyfe;

    Base trecherous Normannes, if such actes you doe,

    The conquer'd maie clame victorie of you.                             280

 

  The erlie felt de Torcie's trecherous knyfe

  Han made his crymson bloude and spirits floe;

  And knowlachyng he soon must quyt this lyfe,

  Resolved Hubert should too with hym goe.

  He held hys trustie swerd against his breste,                           285

  And down he fell, and peerc'd him to the harte;

  And both together then did take their reste,

  Their soules from corpses unaknell'd depart;

    And both together soughte the unknown shore,

    Where we shall goe, where manie's gon before.                         290

 

  Kynge Harolde Torcie's trechery dyd spie,

  And hie alofe his temper'd swerde dyd welde,

  Cut offe his arme, and made the bloude to flie,

  His proofe steel armoure did him littel sheelde;

  And not contente, he splete his hede in twaine,                         295

  And down he tumbled on the bloudie grounde;

  Mean while the other erlies on the playne

  Gave and received manie a bloudie wounde,

    Such as the arts in warre han learnt with care,

    But manie knyghtes were women in men's geer.                          300

 

  Herrewald, borne on Sarim's spreddyng plaine,

  Where Thor's fam'd temple manie ages stoode;

  Where Druids, auncient preests, did ryghtes ordaine,

  And in the middle shed the victyms bloude;

  Where auncient Bardi dyd their verses synge                             305

  Of Cæsar conquer'd, and his mighty hoste,

  And how old Tynyan, necromancing kynge,

  Wreck'd all hys shyppyng on the Brittish coaste,

    And made hym in his tatter'd barks to flie,

    'Till Tynyan's dethe and opportunity.                                 310

 

  To make it more renomed than before,

  (I, tho a Saxon, yet the truthe will telle)

  The Saxonnes steynd the place wyth Brittish gore,

  Where nete but bloud of sacrifices felle.

  Tho' Chrystians, stylle they thoghte mouche of the pile,                315

  And here theie mett when causes dyd it neede;

  'Twas here the auncient Elders of the Isle

  Dyd by the trecherie of Hengist bleede;

    O Hengist! han thy cause bin good and true,

    Thou wouldst such murdrous acts as these eschew.                      320

 

  The erlie was a manne of hie degree,

  And han that daie full manie Normannes sleine;

  Three Norman Champyons of hie degree

  He lefte to smoke upon the bloudie pleine:

  The Sier Fitzbotevilleine did then advaunce,                            325

  And with his bowe he smote the erlies hede;

  Who eftsoons gored hym with his tylting launce,

  And at his horses feet he tumbled dede:

    His partyng spirit hovered o'er the floude

    Of soddayne roushynge mouche lov'd pourple bloude.                    330

 

  De Viponte then, a squier of low degree,

  An arrowe drewe with all his myghte ameine;

  The arrowe graz'd upon the erlies knee,

  A punie wounde, that causd but littel peine.

  So have I seene a Dolthead place a stone,                               335

  Enthoghte to staie a driving rivers course;

  But better han it bin to lett alone,

  It onlie drives it on with mickle force;

    The erlie, wounded by so base a hynde,

    Rays'd furyous doyngs in his noble mynde.                             340

 

  The Siere Chatillion, yonger of that name,

  Advaunced next before the erlie's syghte;

  His fader was a manne of mickle fame,

  And he renomde and valorous in fyghte.

  Chatillion his trustie swerd forth drewe.                               345

  The erle drawes his, menne both of mickle myghte;

  And at eche other vengouslie they flewe,

  As mastie dogs at Hocktide set to fyghte;

    Bothe scornd to yeelde, and bothe abhor'de to flie,

    Resolv'd to vanquishe, or resolv'd to die.                            350

 

  Chatillion hyt the erlie on the hede,

  Thatt splytte eftsoons his cristed helm in twayne;

  Whiche he perforce withe target covered,

  And to the battel went with myghte ameine.

  The erlie hytte Chatillion thilke a blowe                               355

  Upon his breste, his harte was plein to see;

  He tumbled at the horses feet alsoe,

  And in dethe panges he seez'd the recer's knee:

    Faste as the ivy rounde the oke doth clymbe,

    So faste he dying gryp'd the recer's lymbe.                           360

 

  The recer then beganne to flynge and kicke,

  And toste the erlie farr off to the grounde;

  The erlie's squier then a swerde did sticke

  Into his harte, a dedlie ghastlie wounde;

  And downe he felle upon the crymson pleine,                             365

  Upon Chatillion's soulless corse of claie;

  A puddlie streme of bloude flow'd oute ameine;

  Stretch'd out at length besmer'd with gore he laie;

    As some tall oke fell'd from the greenie plaine,

    To live a second time upon the main.                                  370

 

  The erlie nowe an horse and beaver han,

  And nowe agayne appered on the feeld;

  And manie a mickle knyghte and mightie manne

  To his dethe-doyng swerd his life did yeeld;

  When Siere de Broque an arrowe longe lett flie,                         375

  Intending Herewaldus to have sleyne;

  It miss'd; butt hytte Edardus on the eye,

  And at his pole came out with horrid payne.

    Edardus felle upon the bloudie grounde,

    His noble soule came roushyng from the wounde.                        380

 

  Thys Herewald perceevd, and full of ire

  He on the Siere de Broque with furie came;

  Quod he; thou'st slaughtred my beloved squier,

  But I will be revenged for the same.

  Into his bowels then his launce he thruste,                             385

  And drew thereout a steemie drerie lode;

  Quod he; these offals are for ever curst,

  Shall serve the coughs, and rooks, and dawes, for foode.

    Then on the pleine the steemie lode hee throwde,

    Smokynge wyth lyfe, and dy'd with crymson bloude.                     390

 

  Fitz Broque, who saw his father killen lie,

  Ah me! sayde he; what woeful syghte I see!

  But now I must do somethyng more than sighe;

  And then an arrowe from the bowe drew he.

  Beneth the erlie's navil came the darte;                                395

  Fitz Broque on foote han drawne it from the bowe;

  And upwards went into the erlie's harte,

  And out the crymson streme of bloude 'gan flowe.

    As fromm a hatch, drawne with a vehement geir,

    White rushe the burstynge waves, and roar along the weir.             400

 

  The erle with one honde grasp'd the recer's mayne,

  And with the other he his launce besped;

  And then felle bleedyng on the bloudie plaine.

  His launce it hytte Fitz Broque upon the hede;

  Upon his hede it made a wounde full slyghte,                            405

  But peerc'd his shoulder, ghastlie wounde inferne,

  Before his optics daunced a shade of nyghte,

  Whyche soone were closed ynn a sleepe eterne.

    The noble erlie than, withote a grone,

    Took flyghte, to fynde the regyons unknowne.                          410

 

  Brave Alured from binethe his noble horse

  Was gotten on his leggs, with bloude all smore;

  And now eletten on another horse,

  Eftsoons he withe his launce did manie gore.

  The cowart Norman knyghtes before hym fledde,                           415

  And from a distaunce sent their arrowes keene;

  But noe such destinie awaits his hedde,

  As to be sleyen by a wighte so meene.