The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton with an essay on the Rowley poems by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat and a memoir by Edward Bell |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton |  |
XIV.
God.Next eve, my son.
Har.
Now, England, is the time,
When thou or thy fell foemen's cause must die.
Thy geason wrongs are run into their prime;
Now will thy sons unto thy succour fly;
E'en like a storm engathering in the sky,
'Tis full, and bursteth on the barren ground,
So shall my fury on the Normans fly,
And all their mighty men be slain around.
100
No more the Englishmen in vain for help shall call.
[Exeunt.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton | |