« 上一頁繼續 »
'Tis thine; the Saints will give me my reward!' He left the pilgrim and his way aborde 1. Virgin and holy Saints who sit in gloure2, Or give the mighty will, or give the good man power!
ECLOGUE THE FIRST.
When England, reeking from her deadly wound,
(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,
‘Ah, Ralph! if thus the hours do come along,
Nor will our pace swift as our danger go.
My life I have, but have escaped so
O Ralph! come list, and hear my gloomy' tale,
Say to me nought; I ken thy woe in mine,
Oh! I've a tale that Sathanas might tell!
3 'Smeethynge,' smoking.-Chat'erton.
✦ 'Abrodden,' abruptly.-Chatterton.
5 Dernie,' sad.-Chatterton.
'Dygne,' good, neat.-Chatterton.
Sabalus,' the Devil.'-Chatterton
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:-
Oh! I could wail my kingcup-deckèd leas,
My spreading flocks of sheep all lily-white, My tender applings and embodied trees,
My parker's-grange far spreading to the sight,
My flower-Saint-Mary 2 glinting with the light,
Here will I still abide till Death appear;
Here, like a foul-empoisoned deadly tree
Oh! I would slay his murderer joyously,
Cast out from every joy, here will I bleed;
Our woes alike, alike our doom shall be,
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.-Chatterton. ''Hantend,' accustomed.-Chatterton.
Soe wille I, fyxed unto thys piace, gre.' - Chatterton. ''Oh! joieous I hys mortherer would slea.'-Chatterton.
7' Ystorven,' dead-Chatterton.
Even from the cot flown now is happiness: Minsters alone can boast the holy Saint:
Now doth our England' wear a bloody dress,
Peace fled, Disorder shows her face dark-brow'd 2,
ECLOGUE THE THIRD.
A Man; a Woman; Sir Roger.
Wouldst thou ken Nature in her better part?
Go, search the cots and lodges of the hind;
In them you see the naked form of kind.
Would it hear phrase of vulgar from the hind,
If so, read this, which I disporting penn'd:
But whither, fair maid, do ye go?
I will know whither you go,
I will not be answered nay.
To Robin and Nell, all down in the dell,
Sir Roger, the parson, hath hired me there;
We'll work, and we'll sing, and we'll drink of strong beer,
As long as the merry summer's day.
* 'Peace fledde, disorder sheweth her dark rode.' ('Rode,' complexion.) -Chatterton.
How hard is my doom to work!
Dame Agnes, who lies in the kirk,
With golden borders, strong, untold,
I ken Sir Roger from afar,
I will ask why the lordè's son
The sultry sun doth hie apace his wain;
See, the sweet floweret hath no sweet at all;
The craven, warrior, and the wise be blent
By your priestship, now say unto me,
Cast round thine eyes upon this hayèd lea;
This withered floweret will a lesson tell :
It rose, it blew, it flourished and did well, Looking askance upon the neighbour green;
Yet with the green disdained its glory fell,-
Did not its look, the while it there did stand,
Such is the way of life: the lord's rich rent1
Moveth the robber him therefore to slay. If thou hast ease, the shadow of content,
Believe the truth, there's none more whole than thee. Thou workest: well, can that a trouble be? Sloth more would jade thee than the roughest day. Couldst thou the secret part of spirits see, Thou wouldst eftsoons see truth in what I say. But let me hear thy way of life, and then Hear thou from me the lives of other men.
I rise with the Sun,
Like him to drive the wain,
On every Saint's high-day
Hast thou not seen a tree upon a hill,
Whose boundless branches reach afar to sight? When furious tempests do the heaven fill,
It shaketh dire, in dole and much affright;
1 'The loverde's ente' (lord's purse).-Chatterton's text and gloss.