Twelve English poets; sketches of the lives and selections from the works of the twelve representative English poets from Chaucer to Tennyson

Front matter

TWELVE ENGLISH ^ POETS ^

BELLAMY o y

>^^. .0^

Preface

The sketches collected in this volume, and published under the title of "Twelve English Poets," were prepared at the request of the editors of the Outlook^ and originally appeared in that journal.

Their purpose is to show to young readers what has been the direct line of descent of English poetry, and to provide them with a brief introduction to the work of these great masters, in the hope that such an early introduction may lead to a lifelong intimacy with them.

The text of the selections from Chaucer is from the Riverside edition, and is used by the kind permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

BLANCHE WILDER BELLAMY.

Brooklyn, March, 1899.

Contents

PAGE

Chaucer i

Spenser 33

I

Lo ! I, the man whose Muse whylome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a farre unfitter taske. For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine oaten reeds, And sing of knights and ladies gentle deeds; Whose praises having slept in silence long, Me all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng : Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song.

II

Help then, O holy virgin ! chiefe of nyne, Thy weaker novice to perform thy will ; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still. Of Faerie knights and fayrest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue. his undeserved wrong: O, helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong !

Z7

III. And thou, most dreaded impe of highest love

Fair Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart

At that good knight so cunningly didst rove.

That glorious fire it kindled in his hart;

Lay now thy deadly heben bowe apart,

And, with thy mother mylde, come to mine ayde ;

Come, both; and with you bring triumphant Mart,

In loves and gentle ioUities arraid.

After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie rage allayd.

IV. And with them eke, O goddesse heavenly bright

Mirrour of grace and majestic divine.

Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light

Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth shine.

Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne.

And raise my thoughtes, too humble and too vile,

To thinke of that true glorious type of thine.

The argument of mine afflicted stile:

The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest Dread, a while.

CANTO I. The patron of true Holinesse

Foule Errour doth defeate ; Hypocrisie, him to entrappe,

Doth to his home entreate.

I.

A GENTLE knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,

Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine,

The cruel markes of many a bloody fielde;

Yet armes till that time did he never wield :

His angry steede did chide his foaming bitt,

As much disdayning to the curbe to yield :

Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,

As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt.

II.

And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore,

The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,

For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,

And dead, as living, ever him ador'd :

Upon his shield the like was also scor'd

For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had.

Right, faithfull, true he was in deede and word ;

But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad ;

Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.

III.

Upon a great adventure he was bond,

That greatest Gloriana to him gave,

(That greatest glorious Queene of Faery Lond)

To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have,

Which of all earthly thinges he most did crave.

And ever as he rode, his hart did earne

To prove his puissance in battel brave

Upon his foe, and his new force to learne;

Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stearne.

IV.

A lovely ladie rode him faire beside, Upon a lowly asse more white than snow; Yet she much whiter ; but the same did hide Under a vele, that wimpled was full lowe; And over all a blacke stole shee did throw, As one that inly mournd; so was she sad. And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow; Seemed in heart some hidden care she had; And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad.

V. So pure and innocent, as that same lambe

She was in life and every vertuous lore,

And by descent from royall lynage came

Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore

Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore

And all the world in their subjection held;

Till that infernal feend with foule uprore

Forwasted all their land, and them expeld ;

Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compeld.

VI

Behind her farre away a dwarf e did lag.

That lasie seemd, in being ever last.

Or wearied with bearing of her bag

Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past,

The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast.

And angry love an hideous storme of raine

Did poure into his lemans lap so fast,

That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain;

And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

VII. Enforst to seek some covert nigh at hand

A shadie grove not farr away they spide,

That promist ayde the tempest to withstand ;

Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride

Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide.

Not perceable with power of any starr :

And all within were pathes and alleles wide,

With footing worne, and leading inward farr:

Faire harbour that them seems ; so in they entred ar.

XXIX.

At length they chaunst to meet upon the way

An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad,

His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie gray.

And by his belt his booke he hanging had;

Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad ;

An^ to the ground his eyes were lowly bent.

Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad ;

And all the way he prayed, as he went.

And often knockt his brest, as one that did repent.

XXX.

He faire the knight saluted, louting low, Who faire him quited, as that courteous was ;

And after asked him, if he did know

Of straunge adventures, which abroad did pas.

*' Ah ! my dear sonne," quoth he, ''how should, alas !

Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell.

Bidding his beades all day for his trespas,

Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell ?

With holy father sits not with such thinges to mell.

XXXI.

" But if of daunger, which hereby doth dwell, And homebredd evil ye desire to heare, Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, That wasteth all this countrie farre and neare." "Of such," saide he, ''I chiefly doe inquere; And shall thee well rewarde to shew the place, In which that wicked wight his dayes doth weare : For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, That such a cursed creature lives so long a space."

XXXII.

"Far hence," quoth he, "in wastfull wildernesse

His dwelling is, by which no living wight

May ever passe, but thorough great distresse,"

" Now," saide the ladie, " draweth toward night ;

And well I wote, that of your later fight

Ye all forwearied be ; for what so strong.

But, wanting rest, will also want of might t

The sunne, that measures heaven all day long.

At night doth baite his steedes the ocean waves emong.

EDMUXD SPEiXSER. 43

XXXIII.

" Then with the sunne take, Sir, your timely rest. And with new day new worke at once begin : Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell best." " Right well, Sir Knight, ye have advised bin," Quoth then that aged man ; *' the way to win Is wisely to advise. Now day is spent : Therefore with me ye may take up your in For this same night." The knight was well content So with that godly father to his home they went.

xxxiv.

A little lowly hermitage it was,

Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side.

Far from resort of people, that did pas

In traveill to and fro : a little wyde

There was an holy chappell edifyde,

Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say

His holy things each morne and eventyde :

Thereby a christall streame did gently play.

Which from a sacred fountaine welled forth alway,

XXXV.

Arrived there, the litle house they fill, Ne looke for entertainement, where none was ; Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their will. The noblest mind the best contentment has. With faire discourse the evening so they pas ; For that olde man of pleasing wordes had store,

And well could file his tongue, as smooth as glas : He told of saintes and popes, and evermore He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before.

Canto III. I

Nought is there under heavn's wide hollownesse, That moves more deare compassion of mind. Then beautie brought t'unworthie wretchednesse Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind. I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd, Or through alleageance, and fast fealty. Which I do owe unto all womankynd, Feele my hart perst with so great agony. When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy.

II.

And now it is empassioned so deepe. For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing, That my frayle eies these lines with teares do steepe. To thinke how she through guyleful handeling. Though true as touch, though daughter of a king. Though faire as ever living wight was fayre. Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, Is from her knight divorced in despayre. And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre.

III.

Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while

Far from all peoples preace, as in exile,

In wildernesse and wastfuU deserts strayd.

To seeke her knight ; who, sabtily betrayd [wrought,

Through that late vision which th' enchaunter

Had her abandond ; she of nought afrayd.

Through woods and wastnes wide him daily sought,

Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her brought.

IV.

One day, nigh wearie of the yrkesome way.

From her unhastie beast she did alight ;

And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay

In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight ;

From her fayre head her fillet she undight,

And layd her stole aside ; Her angels face,

As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,

And made a sunshine in the shady place ;

Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.

v.

It fortuned, out of the thickest wood A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly.

Hunting full greedy after salvage blood ; Soone as the royall virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have attonce devourd her tender corse ;

But to the pray when as he drew more ny,

His bloody rage aswaged with remorse,

And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse.

VI.

Instead thereof, he kist her wearie feet.

And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong ;

As he her wronged innocence did weet.

O how can beautie maister the most strong,

And simple truth subdue avenging wrong !

Whose yielded pryde and proud submission,

Still dreading death, when she had marked long,

Her hart gan melt in great compassion ;

And drizling teares did shed for pure affection.

VII.

*'The lyon, lord of everie beast in field,"

Quoth she, " his princely puissance doth abate,

And mightie proud to humble weake does yield,

Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late

Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate : —

But he, my lyon, and my noble lord,

How does he find in cruell hart to hate

Her, that him lov'd, and ever most adord

As the god of my life ? why hath he me abhord ?"

VIII

Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint. Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood ; And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint.

The kingly beast upon her gazing stood ;

With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.

At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,

Arose the virgin, borne of heavenly brood,

And to her snowy palfrey got agayne,

To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne.