Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Thomas Chatterton (1752–1770)

Minstrel’s Roundelay (from Œlla)

O SING unto my roundelay,

O drop the briny tear with me,

Dance no more at holy-day,

Like a running river be.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Black his locks as the winter night,

White his skin as the summer snow,

Red his face as the morning light,

Cold he lies in the grave below.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Sweet his tongue as the throstle’s note,

Quick in dance as thought can be,

Deft his tabor, cudgel stout,

O he lies by the willow-tree!

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing

In the briar’d dell below;

Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing

To the nightmares as they go.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

See! the white moon shines on high;

Whiter is my true love’s shroud;

Whiter than the morning sky,

Whiter than the evening cloud.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Here upon my true love’s grave

Shall the barren flowers be laid:

Not one holy Saint to save

All the coldness of a maid!

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

With my hands I’ll gird the briars

Round his holy corse to grow.

Elfin Faëry, light your fires;

Here my body still shall bow.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,

Drain my heartè’s blood away;

Life and all its good I scorn,

Dance by night or feast by day.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.