Thomas Chatterton

(1752 - 1770 / Bristol / England)

Thomas Chatterton Poems

1. Onn John A Dalbenie 4/1/2010
2. The Accounte Of W. Canynges Feast 4/1/2010
3. The Churchwarden And The Apparition: A Fable 4/1/2010
4. On The Same (Oure Ladies Chyrche) 4/1/2010
5. Songe To Aella, Lorde Of The Castel Of Brystowe Ynne Daies Of Yore 4/1/2010
6. On The Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming To Judgment) 4/1/2010
7. Onn Oure Ladies Chyrche 4/1/2010
8. The Tournament. An Interlude 4/1/2010
9. The Storie Of William Canynge 4/1/2010
10. The Gouler's Requiem 4/1/2010
11. The Romance Of The Knight 4/1/2010
12. Picture Of Autumn 4/1/2010
13. On Happienesse 4/1/2010
14. Heccar And Gaira 1/1/2004
15. Narva And Mored 1/1/2004
16. The Methodist 1/1/2004
17. Sly Dick 1/1/2004
18. The Death Of Nicou 1/1/2004
19. Song From Aella 1/4/2003
20. Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act Ii 4/1/2010
21. Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act Iv 4/1/2010
22. Eclogue The First 4/1/2010
23. Eclogue The Second 4/1/2010
24. Eclogue The Third 4/1/2010
25. Epitaph On Robert Canynge 4/1/2010
26. Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act I 4/1/2010
27. The Resignation 1/1/2004
28. Bristowe Tragedie: Or The Dethe Of Syr Charles Badwin 4/1/2010
29. Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Act Iii 4/1/2010
30. The Advice 1/1/2004
31. Elegy On The Death Of Mr. Phillips 4/1/2010
32. Englysh Metamorphosis 4/1/2010
33. Goddwyn; A Tragedie 4/1/2010
34. Ælla, A Tragical Interlude - Entroductionne 4/1/2010
35. Elinoure And Juga 4/1/2010
36. Battle Of Hastings - Ii 4/1/2010
37. Battle Of Hastings - I 4/1/2010
38. The Copernican System 1/1/2004
39. Chatterton's Will 1/1/2004
40. Colin Instructed 1/1/2004
Best Poem of Thomas Chatterton

A New Song

Ah blame me not, Catcott, if from the right way
My notions and actions run far.
How can my ideas do other but stray,
Deprived of their ruling North-Star?

A blame me not, Broderip, if mounted aloft,
I chatter and spoil the dull air;
How can I imagine thy foppery soft,
When discord's the voice of my fair?

If Turner remitted my bluster and rhymes,
If Hardind was girlish and cold,
If never an ogle was got from Miss Grimes,
If Flavia was blasted and old;

I chose without liking, and left without pain,
Nor welcomed the frown with a sigh;...

Read the full of A New Song

Song From Aella

O SING unto my roundelay,
O drop the briny tear with me;
Dance no more at holyday,
Like a running river be:
   My love is dead,
   Gone to his death-bed
All under the willow-tree.

Black his cryne as the winter night,

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