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

Orre Cornysh wrastlers at a Hocktyde game.

    The Normannes, all emarchialld in a lyne,

    To the ourt arraie of the thight Saxonnes came;

    There 'twas the whaped Normannes on a parre

  Dyd know that Saxonnes were the sonnes of warre.                        580

 

    Oh Turgotte, wheresoeer thie spryte dothe haunte,

    Whither wyth thie lovd Adhelme by thie syde,

    Where thou mayste heare the swotie nyghte larke chaunte,

    Orre wyth some mokynge brooklette swetelie glide,

    Or rowle in ferselie wythe ferse Severnes tyde,                       585

    Whereer thou art, come and my mynde enleme

    Wyth such greete thoughtes as dyd with thee abyde,

    Thou sonne, of whom I ofte have caught a beeme,

    Send mee agayne a drybblette of thie lyghte,

  That I the deeds of Englyshmenne maie wryte.                            590

 

    Harold, who saw the Normannes to advaunce,

    Seizd a huge byll, and layd hym down hys spere;

    Soe dyd ech wite laie downe the broched launce,

    And groves of bylles did glitter in the ayre.

    Wyth showtes the Normannes did to battel steere;                      595

    Campynon famous for his stature highe,

    Fyrey wythe brasse, benethe a shyrte of lere,

    In cloudie daie he reechd into the skie;

    Neere to Kyng Harolde dyd he come alonge,

  And drewe hys steele Morglaien sworde so stronge.                       600

 

    Thryce rounde hys heade hee swung hys anlace wyde,

    On whyche the sunne his visage did agleeme,

    Then straynynge, as hys membres would dyvyde,

    Hee stroke on Haroldes sheelde yn manner breme;

    Alonge the field it made an horrid cleembe,                           605

    Coupeynge Kyng Harolds payncted sheeld in twayne,

    Then yn the bloude the fierie swerde dyd steeme,

    And then dyd drive ynto the bloudie playne;

    So when in ayre the vapours do abounde,

  Some thunderbolte tares trees and dryves ynto the grounde.              610

 

    Harolde upreer'd hys bylle, and furious sente

    A stroke, lyke thondre, at the Normannes syde;

    Upon the playne the broken brasse besprente

    Dyd ne hys bodie from dethe-doeynge hyde;

    He tournyd backe, and dyd not there abyde;                            615

    With straught oute sheelde hee ayenwarde did goe,

    Threwe downe the Normannes, did their rankes divide,

    To save himselfe lefte them unto the foe;

    So olyphauntes, in kingdomme of the sunne,

  When once provok'd doth throwe theyr owne troopes runne.                620

 

    Harolde, who ken'd hee was his armies staie,

    Nedeynge the rede of generaul so wyse,

    Byd Alfwoulde to Campynon haste awaie,

    As thro the armie ayenwarde he hies,

    Swyfte as a feether'd takel Alfwoulde flies,                          625

    The steele bylle blushynge oer wyth lukewarm bloude;

    Ten Kenters, ten Bristowans for th' emprize

    Hasted wyth Alfwoulde where Campynon stood,

    Who aynewarde went, whylste everie Normanne knyghte

  Dyd blush to see their champyon put to flyghte.                         630

 

    As painctyd Bruton, when a wolfyn wylde,

    When yt is cale and blustrynge wyndes do blowe,

    Enters hys bordelle, taketh hys yonge chylde,

    And wyth his bloude bestreynts the lillie snowe,

    He thoroughe mountayne hie and dale doth goe,                         635

    Throwe the quyck torrent of the bollen ave,

    Throwe Severne rollynge oer the sandes belowe

    He skyms alofe, and blents the beatynge wave,

    Ne stynts, ne lagges the chace, tylle for hys eyne

  In peecies hee the morthering theef doth chyne.                         640

 

    So Alfwoulde he dyd to Campynon haste;

    Hys bloudie bylle awhap'd the Normannes eyne;

    Hee fled, as wolfes when bie the talbots chac'd,

    To bloudie byker he dyd ne enclyne.

    Duke Wyllyam stroke hym on hys brigandyne,                            645

    And sayd; Campynon, is it thee I see?

    Thee? who dydst actes of glorie so bewryen,

    Now poorlie come to hyde thieselfe bie mee?

    Awaie! thou dogge, and acte a warriors parte.

  Or with mie swerde I'll perce thee to the harte.                        650

 

    Betweene Erie Alfwoulde and Duke Wyllyam's bronde

    Campynon thoughte that nete but deathe coulde bee,

    Seezed a huge swerde Morglaien yn his honde,

    Mottrynge a praier to the Vyrgyne:

    So hunted deere the dryvynge hounds will flee,                        655

    When theie dyscover they cannot escape;

    And feerful lambkyns, when theie hunted bee,

    Theyre ynfante hunters doe theie oft awhape;

    Thus stoode Campynon, greete but hertlesse knyghte,

  When feere of dethe made hym for deathe to fyghte.                      660

 

    Alfwoulde began to dyghte hymselfe for fyghte,

    Meanewhyle hys menne on everie syde dyd slee,

    Whan on hys lyfted sheelde withe alle hys myghte

    Campynon's swerde in burlie-brande dyd dree;

    Bewopen Alfwoulde fellen on his knee;                                 665

    Hys Brystowe menne came in hym for to save;

    Eftsoons upgotten from the grounde was hee,

    And dyd agayne the touring Norman brave;

    Hee graspd hys bylle in syke a drear arraie,

  Hee seem'd a lyon catchynge at hys preie.                               670

 

    Upon the Normannes brazen adventayle

    The thondrynge bill of myghtie Alfwould came;

    It made a dentful bruse, and then dyd fayle;

    Fromme rattlynge weepons shotte a sparklynge flame;

    Eftsoons agayne the thondrynge bill ycame,                            675

    Peers'd thro hys adventayle and skyrts of lare;

    A tyde of purple gore came wyth the same,

    As out hys bowells on the feelde it tare;

    Campynon felle, as when some cittie-walle

  Inne dolefulle terrours on its mynours falle.                           680

 

    He felle, and dyd the Norman rankes dyvide;

    So when an oke, that shotte ynto the skie,

    Feeles the broad axes peersynge his broade syde,

    Slowlie hee falls and on the grounde doth lie,

    Pressynge all downe that is wyth hym anighe,                          685

    And stoppynge wearie travellers on the waie;

    So straught upon the playne the Norman hie

 

       *       *       *       *       *

 

    Bled, gron'd, and dyed; the Normanne knyghtes astound

  To see the bawsin champyon preste upon the grounde.                     690

 

    As when the hygra of the Severne roars,

    And thunders ugsom on the sandes below,

    The cleembe reboundes to Wedecesters shore,

    And sweeps the black sande rounde its horie prowe;

    So bremie Alfwoulde thro the warre dyd goe;                           695

    Hys Kenters and Brystowans slew ech syde,

    Betreinted all alonge with bloudless foe,

    And seemd to swymm alonge with bloudie tyde;

    Fromme place to place besmeard with bloud they went,

  And rounde aboute them swarthless corse besprente.                      700

 

    A famous Normanne who yclepd Aubene,

    Of skyll in bow, in tylte, and handesworde fyghte

    That daie yn feelde han manie Saxons sleene,

    Forre hee in sothen was a manne of myghte;

    Fyrste dyd his swerde on Adelgar alyghte,                             705

    As hee on horseback was, and peersd hys gryne,

    Then upwarde wente: in everlastynge nyghte

    Hee closd hys rollyng and dymsyghted eyne.

    Next Eadlyn, Tatwyn, and fam'd Adelred,

  Bie various causes sunken to the dead.                                  710

 

    But now to Alfwoulde he opposynge went,

    To whom compar'd hee was a man of stre,

    And wyth bothe hondes a myghtie blowe he sente

    At Alfwouldes head, as hard as hee could dree;

    But on hys payncted sheelde so bismarlie                              715

    Aslaunte his swerde did go ynto the grounde;

    Then Alfwould him attack'd most furyouslie,

    Athrowe hys gaberdyne hee dyd him wounde,

    Then soone agayne hys swerde hee dyd upryne,

  And clove his creste and split hym to the eyne.                         720

 

       *       *       *       *       *

 

[Footnote 1: In Turgott's tyme Holenwell braste of erthe so fierce

that it threw a stone-mell carrying the same awaie. J. Lydgate ne

knowynge this lefte out o line.]

 

[Editor's note: l. 578 _see Introduction_ p. xlij]

 

 

 

 

ONN OURE LADIES CHYRCHE.

 

 

  As onn a hylle one eve sittynge,

  At oure Ladie's Chyrche mouche wonderynge,

  The counynge handieworke so fyne,

  Han well nighe dazeled mine eyne;

  Quod I; some counynge fairie hande                                        5

  Yreer'd this chapelle in this lande;

  Full well I wote so fine a syghte

  Was ne yreer'd of mortall wighte.

  Quod Trouthe; thou lackest knowlachynge;

  Thou forsoth ne wotteth of the thynge.                                   10

  A Rev'rend Fadre, William Canynge hight,

  Yreered uppe this chapelle brighte;

  And eke another in the Towne,

  Where glassie bubblynge Trymme doth roun.

  Quod I; ne doubte for all he's given                                     15

  His sowle will certes goe to heaven.

  Yea, quod Trouthe; than goe thou home,

  And see thou doe as hee hath donne.

  Quod I; I doubte, that can ne bee;

  I have ne gotten markes three.                                           20

  Quod Trouthe; as thou hast got, give almes-dedes soe;

  Canynges and Gaunts culde doe ne moe.

 

T.R.

 

 

 

 

ON THE SAME.

 

 

    Stay, curyous traveller, and pass not bye,

    Until this fetive pile astounde thine eye.

    Whole rocks on rocks with yron joynd surveie,

    And okes with okes entremed disponed lie.

    This mightie pile, that keeps the wyndes at baie,                       5

    Fyre-levyn and the mokie storme defie,

    That shootes aloofe into the reaulmes of daie,

  Shall be the record of the Buylders fame for aie.

 

    Thou seest this maystrie of a human hand,

    The pride of Brystowe and the Westerne lande,                          10

    Yet is the Buylders vertues much moe greete,

    Greeter than can bie Rowlies pen be scande.

    Thou seest the saynctes and kynges in stonen state,

    That seemd with breath and human soule dispande,

    As payrde to us enseem these men of slate,                             15

  Such is greete Canynge's mynde when payrd to God elate.

 

    Well maiest thou be astound, but view it well;

    Go not from hence before thou see thy fill,

    And learn the Builder's vertues and his name;

    Of this tall spyre in every countye telle,                             20

    And with thy tale the lazing rych men shame;

    Showe howe the glorious Canynge did excelle;

    How hee good man a friend for kynges became,

  And gloryous paved at once the way to heaven and fame.

 

 

 

 

EPITAPH ON ROBERT CANYNGE.

 

 

    Thys mornynge starre of Radcleves rysynge raie,

    A true manne good of mynde and Canynge hyghte,

    Benethe thys stone lies moltrynge ynto claie,

    Untylle the darke tombe sheene an eterne lyghte.

    Thyrde fromme hys loynes the present Canynge came;

    Houton are wordes for to telle hys doe;

    For aye shall lyve hys heaven-recorded name,

    Ne shall yt dye whanne tyme shalle bee no moe;

    Whanne Mychael's trumpe shall sounde to rise the solle,

  He'll wynge to heavn wyth kynne, and happie bee hys dolle.

 

 

 

 

THE STORIE OF WILLIAM CANYNGE.

 

 

  Anent a brooklette as I laie reclynd,

  Listeynge to heare the water glyde alonge,

  Myndeynge how thorowe the grene mees yt twynd,

  Awhilst the cavys respons'd yts mottring songe,

  At dystaunt rysyng Avonne to be sped,                                     5

  Amenged wyth rysyng hylles dyd shewe yts head;

 

  Engarlanded wyth crownes of osyer weedes

  And wraytes of alders of a bercie scent,

  And stickeynge out wyth clowde agested reedes,

  The hoarie Avonne show'd dyre semblamente,                               10

  Whylest blataunt Severne, from Sabryna clepde,

  Rores flemie o'er the sandes that she hepde.

 

  These eynegears swythyn bringethe to mie thowghte

  Of hardie champyons knowen to the floude,

  How onne the bankes thereof brave Ælle foughte,                          15

  Ælle descended from Merce kynglie bloude,

  Warden of Brystowe towne and castel stede,

  Who ever and anon made Danes to blede.

 

  Methoughte such doughtie menn must have a sprighte

  Dote yn the armour brace that Mychael bore,                              20

  Whan he wyth Satan kynge of helle dyd fyghte,

  And earthe was drented yn a mere of gore;

  Orr, soone as theie dyd see the worldis lyghte,

  Fate had wrott downe, thys mann ys borne to fyghte.

 

  Ælle, I sayd, or els my mynde dyd saie,                                  25

  Whie ys thy actyons left so spare yn storie?

  Were I toe dispone, there should lyvven aie

  In erthe and hevenis rolles thie tale of glorie;

  Thie actes soe doughtie should for aie abyde,

  And bie theyre teste all after actes be tryde.                           30

 

  Next holie Wareburghus fylld mie mynde,

  As fayre a sayncte as anie towne can boaste,

  Or bee the erthe wyth lyghte or merke ywrynde,

  I see hys ymage waulkeyng throwe the coaste:

  Fitz Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twentie moe                               35

  Ynn visyonn fore mie phantasie dyd goe.

 

  Thus all mie wandrynge faytour thynkeynge strayde,

  And eche dygne buylder dequac'd onn mie mynde,

  Whan from the distaunt streeme arose a mayde,

  Whose gentle tresses mov'd not to the wynde;                             40

  Lyche to the sylver moone yn frostie neete,

  The damoiselle dyd come soe blythe and sweete.

 

  Ne browded mantell of a scarlette hue,

  Ne shoone pykes plaited o'er wyth ribbande geere,

  Ne costlie paraments of woden blue,                                      45

  Noughte of a dresse, but bewtie