18. THOMAS CHATTERTON and WILLIAM BLAKE are two minor poets, of whom little is known and less said, but whose work is of the most poetical and genuine kind. --Chatterton was born at Bristol in the year 1752. He was the son of a schoolmaster, who died before he was born. He was educated at Colston’s Blue-Coat School in Bristol; and, while at school, read his way steadily through every book in three circulating libraries. He began to write verses at the age of fifteen, and in two years had produced a large number of poems-- some of them of the highest value. In 1770, he came up to London, with something under five pounds in his pocket, and his mind made up to try his fortune as a literary man, resolved, though he was only a boy of seventeen, to live by literature or to die. Accordingly, he set to work and wrote every kind of productions-- poems, essays, stories, political articles, songs for public singers; and all the time he was half starving. A loaf of bread lasted him a week; and it was “bought stale to make it last longer.” He had made a friend of the Lord Mayor, Beckford; but before he had time to hold out a hand to the struggling boy, Beckford died. The struggle became harder and harder-- more and more hopeless; his neighbours offered a little help-- a small coin or a meal-- he rejected all; and at length, on the evening of the 24th August 1770, he went up to his garret, locked himself in, tore up all his manuscripts, took poison, and died. He was only seventeen. 19. Wordsworth and Coleridge spoke with awe of his genius; Keats dedicated one of his poems to his memory; and Coleridge copied some of his rhythms. One of his best poems is the +Minstrel’s Roundelay+-- “O sing unto my roundelay, O drop the briny tear with me, Dance no more on holy-day, 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 skin as the summer snow, Red his face as the morning light, Cold he lies in the grave below. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow-tree.” 20. WILLIAM BLAKE (+1757-1827+), one of the most original poets that ever lived, was born in London in the year 1757. He was brought up as an engraver; worked steadily at his business, and did a great deal of beautiful work in that capacity. He in fact illustrated his own poems-- each page being set in a fantastic design of his own invention, which he himself engraved. He was also his own printer and publisher. The first volume of his poems was published in 1783; the +Songs of Innocence+, probably his best, appeared in 1787. He died in Fountain Court, Strand, London, in the year 1827.