Thomas Chatterton poems

Thomas Chatterton(1752 - 1770 / Bristol / England)
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Elinoure And Juga

- by Thomas Chatterton 26

ONNE Ruddeborne bank twa pynynge Maydens sate,
Theire teares faste dryppeynge to the waterre cleere;
Echone bementynge for her absente mate.
Who atte Seyncte Albonns shouke the morthynge speare.
The nottebrowne Elinoure to Juga fayre
Dydde speke acroole , wythe languishment of eyne,
Lyche roppes of pearlie dew, lemed the quyvryng brine.
ELINOURE.
O gentle Juga! heare mie dernie plainte,
To fyghte for Yorke mie love ys dyghte in stele;
O maie ne sanguen steine the whyte rose peyncte,
Maie good Seyncte Cuthberte watche Syrre Roberte wele.
Moke moe thanne deathe in phantasie I feele;
See! see! upon the grounde he bleedynge lies;
Inhild some joice of lyfe, or else mie deare love dies.
JUGA.
Systers in sorrowe, on thys daise-ey'd banke,
Where melancholych broods, we wyll lamente;
Be wette wythe mornynge dewe and evene danke;
Lyche levynde okes in eche the odher bente,
Or lyche forlettenn halles of merriemente,
Whose gastlie mitches holde the traine of fryghte ,
Where lethale ravens bark, and owlets wake the nyghte.

No moe the miskynette shall wake the morne,
The minstrelle daunce, good cheere, and morryce plaie;
No moe the amblynge palfrie and the horne
Shall from the lessel rouze the foxe awaie;
I'll seke the foreste alle the lyve-longe daie;
Alle nete amenge the gravde chyrche glebe wyll goe,
And to the pallante spryghtes lecture mie tale of woe.

Whan mokie cloudis do hange upon the leme
Of leden Moon, ynn sylver mantels dyghte;
The tryppeynge Faeries weve the golden dreme
Of Selyness , whyche flyethe wythe the nyghte;
Thenne (botte the Seynctes forbydde!) gif to a spryte
Syrr Rychardes forme ys lyped, I'll holde dystraughte
Hys bledeynge claie-colde corse, and die eche daie ynn thoughte.
ELINOURE.
Ah woe bementynge wordes; what wordes can shewe!
Thou limed ryver, on thie linche maie bleede
Champyons, whose bloude wylle wythe thie waterres flowe,
And Rudborne streeme be Rudborne streeme indeede!
Haste, gentle Juga, tryppe ytte oere the meade,
To knowe, or wheder we muste waile agayne,
Or wythe oure fallen knyghtes be menged onne the plain.

Soe sayinge, lyke twa levyn-blasted trees,
Or twayne of cloudes that holdeth stormie rayne;
Theie moved gentle oere the dewie mees ,
To where Seyncte Albons holie shrynes remayne.
There dyd theye fynde that bothe their knyghtes were slayne,
Distraughte theie wandered to swollen Rudbornes syde,
Yelled theyre leathalle knelle, sonke ynn the waves, and dyde.

lla, A Tragical Interlude - Entroductionne

- by Thomas Chatterton 25

Somme cherisaunei 'tys to gentle mynde,
Whan heie have chevyced theyre londe from bayne ,
Whan theie ar dedd, theie leave yer name behynde,
And theyre good deedes doe on the earthe remayne;
Downe yn the grave wee ynhyme everych steyne,
Whylest al her gentlenesse ys made to sheene,
Lyche fetyve baubels geasonne to be seene.

?lla, the wardenne of thys castell stede,
Whylest Saxons dyd the Englysche sceptre swaie,
Who made whole troupes of Dacyan men to blede,
Then seel'd hys eyne, and seel'd hys eyne for aie,
Wee rowze hym uppe before the judgment daie,
To sale what he, as clergyond , can kenne,
And howe hee sojourned in the vale of men.

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