Scene,
Bristol. Celmond, alone.
The world is dark with night;
the winds are still,
Faintly the moon her pallid
light makes gleam;
The risen sprites the silent
churchyard fill,
With elfin fairies joining
in the dream;
The forest shineth with the
silver leme;
Now may my love be sated in
its treat;
Upon the brink of some swift
running stream,
At the sweet banquet I will
sweetly eat.
This is the house; quickly,
ye hinds, appear.
Enter a servant.
Cel. Go tell to Bertha straight, a stranger waiteth here.
The Rowley poems include, among other things, a number of dramatic or quasi-dramatic pieces, “Goddwyn,” “The Tournament,” “The Parliament of Sprites”; the narrative poem of “The Battle of Hastings,” and a collection of “eclogues.” These are all in long-stanza forms, mostly in the ten-lined stanza. “English Metamorphosis” is an imitation of a passage in “The Faerie Queene,” (book ii. canto x. stanzas 5-19). “The Parliament of Sprites” is an interlude played by Carmelite friars at William Canynge’s house on the occasion of the dedication of St. Mary Redcliffe’s. One after another the antichi spiriti dolenti rise up and salute the new edifice: Nimrod and the Assyrians, Anglo-Saxon ealdormen and Norman knights templars, and citizens of ancient Bristol. Among others, “Elle’s sprite speaks”:
“Were I once more cast
in a mortal frame,
To hear the chantry-song sound
in mine ear,
To hear the masses to our
holy dame,
To view the cross-aisles and
the arches fair!
Through the half-hidden silver-twinkling
glare
Of yon bright moon in foggy
mantles dressed,
I must content this building
to aspere,[23]
Whilst broken clouds the holy
sight arrest;
Till, as the nights grow old,
I fly the light.
Oh! were I man again, to see
the sight!”
Perhaps the most engaging of the Rowley poems are “An Excelente Balade of Charitie,” written in the rhyme royal; and “The Bristowe Tragedie,” in the common ballad stanza, and said by Tyrwhitt to be founded on an historical fact: the excecution at Bristol, in 1461, of Sir Baldwin Fulford, who fought on the Lancastrian side in the Wars of the Roses. The best quality in Chatterton’s verse is its unexpectedness,—sudden epithets or whole lines, of a wild and artless sweetness,—which goes far to explain the fascination that he exercised over Coleridge and Keats. I mean such touches as these: