Minstrel’s Song

Thomas Chatterton (17527#150;1770)

O SING unto my roundelay!

O, drop the briny tear with me!

Dance no more at holiday;

Like a running river be.

My love is dead,

Gone to his death-bed,

All under the willow-tree.

Black his hair as the winter night,

White his neck as the summer snow,

Ruddy his face as the morning light;

Cold he lies in the grave below.
My love is dead, etc.

Sweet his tongue as the throstle’s note;

Quick in dance as thought can be;

Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;

O, lie lies by the willow-tree!
My love is dead, etc.

Hark! the raven flaps his wing

In the briered dell below;

Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing

To the nightmares as they go.
My love is dead, etc.

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, etc.

Here, upon my true-love’s grave

Shall the barren flowers be laid,

Nor one holy saint to save

All the coldness of a maid.
My love is dead, etc.

With my hands I ’ll bind the briers

Round his holy corse to gre;

Ouphant fairy, light your fires;

Here my body still shall be.
My love is dead, etc.

Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,

Drain my heart’s blood away;

Life and all its good I scorn,

Dance by night, or feast by day.
My love is dead, etc.

Water-witches, crowned with reytes,

Bear me to your lethal tide.

I die! I come! my true-love waits….

Thus the damsel spake, and died.