 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
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LXXIX.
[Æl.]
As for my heart, I own it is, as e'er
It hath been in the summer-shine of fate,
Unknowèn to the hideous garb of fear;
My swelling blood, with mastery elate,
Boils in my veins, and rolls in rapid state,
Impatient for to meet the piercing steel
And tell the world, that Ælla died as great
As any knight who fought for England's weal.
Friends, kin, and soldiers, in black armour drear,
My actions imitate, my present counsel hear.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
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