The Complete Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton: Acknowledged poemsG. Routledge & Sons, limited, 1906 |
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Common terms and phrases
arms BACCHUS beauteous beauties blest breast Bristol Burgum BURLETTA burning Bute Catcott Cawna cease to sigh Chalma's charms conscience CUPID dart dear divine drink edition eyes fair fame fancy fate fire flame fools Gaira genius goddess grace ground happy hast heart heaven HECCAR honour infamy inspiration Jove JUNO JUPITER labour LADY TEMPEST LATITAT Lord Rust loud lyre Magazine Maia mighty mind MISS HOYLAND muse Narva nature never Nicou night numbers o'er passion pleasure praise pride priest prose raptures Recitative redemption draweth nigh resign rise roar roll Rowley poems sacred SCENE sense shine sing skies smile soft song soul strain Styx swear sweet swells Swift tear tell thee thine Thomas Chatterton Thomas Rowley thou thunder tongue torments Twitcher virtue W. W. Skeat Whilst William Canynge wings ye Britons Zounds ΙΟ
Popular passages
Page 218 - Eternal acts is right. O, teach me, in the trying hour, When anguish swells the dewy tear, To still my sorrows, own Thy power, Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear. If in this bosom aught but Thee Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see, And Mercy look the cause away. Then why, my soul, dost thou complain ? Why, drooping, seek the dark recess ? Shake off the melancholy chain, For God created all to bless. But ah ! my breast is human still—- The rising sigh, the falling...
Page 171 - Thy friendship never could be dear to me, Since all I am is opposite to thee. If ever obligated to thy purse, Rowley discharges all — my first, chief curse! For had I never known the antique lore, I ne'er had ventured from my peaceful shore To be the wreck of promises and hopes, A Boy of Learning, and a Bard of Tropes ; But happy in my humble sphere had moved, Untroubled, unrespected, unbeloved.
Page xxviii - The Life of Thomas Chatterton, with Criticisms on his Genius and Writings, and a Concise View of the Controversy concerning Rowley's Poems...
Page 136 - Look up, ye Britons ! cease to sigh, For your redemption draweth nigh.
Page 6 - What distant region holds thee from my arms ? Cawna, the pride of Afric's sultry vales, Soft as the cooling murmur of the gales, Majestic...
Page 203 - When in the morn with thoughts erect Sly Dick did on his dream reflect, Why faith, thinks he, 'tis something too, It might — perhaps — it might — be true, I'll go and see — away he hies, And to the garret quick he flies, Enters the room, cuts up the clothes And after that reeves up the hose ; Then of the cloth he purses made, Purses to hold his filching trade.
Page 201 - Impell'd by his eternal love He left His palaces above To cheer our gloomy sky. How shall we celebrate the day, When God appeared in mortal clay, The mark of worldly scorn ; When the Archangel's heavenly lays, Attempted the Redeemer's praise And hail'd salvation's morn! A humble form the Godhead wore, The pains of poverty He bore, To gaudy pomp unknown : Tho' in a human walk He trod Still was the Man Almighty God In glory all His own.
Page 202 - Who groaned beneath a life of shame, In all afflictions tried ! The soul is raptured to conceive A truth, which Being must believe, The God Eternal died. My soul, exert thy powers, adore, Upon devotion's plumage soar To celebrate the day : The God from whom creation sprung Shall animate my grateful tongue ; From Him I'll catch the lay...
Page 20 - Whilst we lift the flowing bowl Unregarded thunders roll. Air changes. — Since man, as says each bearded sage, Is but a piece of clay, Whose mystic moisture lost by age, To dust it falls away, 'Tis orthodox, beyond a doubt, That drought will only fret it ; To make the brittle stuff hold out Is thus to drink and wet it. Recitative— Ah ! Master Cupid, 'slife, I did not s...
Page 197 - Now, rest my muse, but only rest to weep A friend made dear by every sacred tie ; Unknown to me be comfort peace or sleep : Phillips is dead — 'tis pleasure then to die. Few are the pleasures Chatterton e'er knew, Short were the moments of his transient peace ; But melancholy robb'd him of those few, And this hath bid all future comfort cease.