O
blissful
God of Love!
William Wordsworth
]
[Footnote F: Chaucer's text is:
'And in a tombe of marble stoones clere
Enclosed they this litel body swete. '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This was erased in the 'Errata' of 1820, but it
may be reproduced here. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE
Translated 1801. [A]--Published 1841 [B]
I The God of Love--_ah, benedicite! _
How mighty and how great a Lord is he!
For he of low hearts can make high, of high
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh;
And hard hearts he can make them kind and free. [1] 5
II Within a little time, as hath been found,
He can make sick folk whole and fresh and sound:
Them who are whole in body and in mind,
He can make sick,--bind can he and unbind
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 10
III To tell his might my wit may not suffice;
Foolish men he can make them out of wise;--
For he may do all that he will devise;
Loose livers he can make abate their vice,
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 15
IV In brief, the whole of what he will, he may;
Against him dare not any wight say nay;
To humble or afflict whome'er he will,
To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill;
But most his might he sheds on the eve of May. 20
V For every true heart, gentle heart and free,
That with him is, or thinketh so to be,
Now against May shall have some stirring--whether
To joy, or be it to some mourning; never
At other time, methinks, in like degree. 25
VI For now when they may hear the small birds' song,
And see the budding leaves the branches throng,
This unto their remembrance doth bring
All kinds of pleasure mix'd with sorrowing;
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 30
VII And of that longing heaviness doth come,
Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home;
Sick are they all for lack of their desire;
And thus in May their hearts are set on fire,
So that they burn forth in great martyrdom. 35
VIII In sooth, I speak from feeling, what though now
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow;
Yet have I felt of sickness through the May,
Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every day,--
How hard, alas! to bear, I only know. 40
IX Such shaking doth the fever in me keep
Through all this May that I have little sleep;
And also 'tis not likely unto me,
That any living heart should sleepy be
In which Love's dart its fiery point doth steep. 45
X But tossing lately on a sleepless bed,
I of a token thought which Lovers heed;
How among them it was a common tale,
That it was good to hear the Nightingale,
Ere the vile Cuckoo's note be uttered. 50
XI And then I thought anon as it was day,
I gladly would go somewhere to essay
If I perchance a Nightingale might hear,
For yet had I heard none, of all that year,
And it was then the third night of the May. 55
XII And soon as I a glimpse of day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide,
But straightway to a wood that was hard by,
Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly,
And held the pathway down by a brook-side; 60
XIII Till to a lawn I came all white and green,
I in so fair a one had never been.
The ground was green, with daisy powdered over;
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. [C] 65
XIV There sate I down among the fair fresh flowers,
And saw the birds come tripping from their bowers,
Where they had rested them all night; and they,
Who were so joyful at the light of day,
Began to honour May with all their powers. 70
XV Well did they know that service all by rote,
And there was many and many a lovely note,
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained;
Some with their notes another manner feigned;
And some did sing all out with the full throat. 75
XVI They pruned themselves, and made themselves right gay,
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray;
And ever two and two together were,
The same as they had chosen for the year,
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 80
XVII Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon,
Was making such a noise as it ran on
Accordant to the sweet Birds' harmony;
Methought that it was the best melody
Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 85
XVIII And for delight, but how I never wot,
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,
Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly;
And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy,
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 90
XIX And that was right upon a tree fast by,
And who was then ill satisfied but I?
Now, God, quoth I, that died upon the rood,
From thee and thy base throat, keep all that's good,
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 95
XX And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide,
In the next bush that was me fast beside,
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made a loud rioting,
Echoing through all the green wood wide. [D] 100
XXI Ah! good sweet Nightingale! for my heart's cheer,
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long;
For we have had [2] the sorry Cuckoo here,
And she hath been before thee with her song;
Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong. 105
XXII But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray;
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay,
Methought I wist right well what these birds meant,
And had good knowing both of their intent,
And of their speech, and all that they would say. 110
XXIII The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake:--
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake,
And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here;
For every wight eschews thy song to hear,
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 115
XXIV What! quoth she then, what is't that ails thee now?
It seems to me I sing as well as thou;
For mine's a song that is both true and plain,--
Although I cannot quaver so in vain
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 120
XXV All men may understanding have of me,
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry:--
Thou say'st, OSEE, OSEE, then how may I
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be? 125
XXVI Ah, fool! quoth she, wist thou not what it is?
Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis,
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain
That shamefully they one and all were slain,
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 130
XXVII And also would I that they all were dead,
Who do not think in love their life to lead;
For who is both the God of Love to obey,
Is only fit to die, I dare well say,
And for that cause OSEE I cry; take heed! 135
XXVIII Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law,
That all must love or die; but I withdraw,
And take my leave of all such company,
For mine intent it neither is to die,
Nor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw. 140
XXIX For lovers of all folk that be alive,
The most disquiet have and least do thrive;
Most feeling have of sorrow [3] woe and care,
And the least welfare cometh to their share;
What need is there against the truth to strive? 145
XXX What! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind,
That in thy churlishness a cause canst find
To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood;
For in this world no service is so good
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 150
XXXI For thereof comes all goodness and all worth;
All gentiless [4] and honour thence come forth;
Thence worship comes, content and true heart's pleasure,
And full-assured trust, joy without measure,
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth; 155
XXXII And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy,
And seemliness, and faithful company,
And dread of shame that will not do amiss;
For he that faithfully Love's servant is,
Rather than be disgraced, would chuse to die. 160
XXXIII And that the very truth it is which I
Now say--in such belief I'll live and die;
And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice.
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss,
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 165
XXXIV Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous fair,
Yet for all that, the truth is found elsewhere;
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis;
And Love in old folk a great dotage is;
Who most it useth, him 'twill most impair. 170
XXXV For thereof come all contraries to gladness;
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness,
Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate,
Dishonour, shame, envy importunate,
Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 175
XXXVI Loving is aye an office of despair,
And one thing is therein which is not fair;
For whoso gets of love a little bliss,
Unless it alway stay with him, I wis
He may full soon go with an old man's hair. 180
XXXVII And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep nigh,
For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry,
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,
Thou'lt be as others that forsaken are;
Then shall thou raise a clamour as do I. 185
XXXVIII Fie, quoth she, on thy name, Bird ill beseen!
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,
For thou art worse than mad a thousand fold;
For many a one hath virtues manifold,
Who had been nought, if Love had never been. 190
XXXIX For evermore his servants Love amendeth,
And he from every blemish them defendeth;
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire,
In loyalty, and worshipful desire,
And, when it likes him, joy enough them sendeth. 195
XL Thou Nightingale! the Cuckoo said, be still,
For Love no reason hath but his own will;--
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy;
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy,
He lets them perish through that grievous ill. 200
XLI With such a master would I never be; [E]
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see,
And knows not when he hurts and when he heals;
Within this court full seldom Truth avails,
So diverse in his wilfulness is he. 205
XLII Then of the Nightingale did I take note,
How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought,
And said, Alas! that ever I was born,
Not one word have I now, I am so forlorn,--
And with that word, she into tears burst out. 210
XLIII Alas, alas! my very heart will break,
Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus speak
Of Love, and of his holy services;
Now, God of Love! thou help me in some wise,
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 215
XLIV And so methought I started up anon,
And to the brook I ran and got a stone,
Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast,
And he for dread did fly away full fast;
And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 220
XLV And as he flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye,
Kept crying, "Farewell! --farewell, Popinjay! "
As if in scornful mockery of me;
And on I hunted him from tree to tree,
Till he was far, all out of sight, away. 225
XLVI Then straightway came the Nightingale to me,
And said, Forsooth, my friend, do I thank thee,
That thou wert near to rescue me; and now
Unto the God of Love I make a vow,
That all this May I will thy songstress be. 230
XLVII Well satisfied, I thanked her, and she said,
By this mishap no longer be dismayed,
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou heard'st me;
Yet if I live it shall amended be,
When next May comes, if I am not afraid. 235
XLVIII And one thing will I counsel thee also,
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw;
All that she said is an outrageous lie.
Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I,
For Love, and it hath done me mighty woe. 240
XLIX Yea, hath it? use, quoth she, this medicine;
This May-time, every day before thou dine,
Go look on the fresh daisy; then say I,
Although for pain thou may'st be like to die,
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and pine. 245
L And mind always that thou be good and true,
And I will sing one song, of many new,
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry;
And then did she begin this song full high,
"Beshrew all them that are in love untrue. " 250
LI And soon as she had sung it to the end,
Now farewell, quoth she, for I hence must wend;
And, God of Love, that can right well and may,
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day,
As ever he to Lover yet did send. 255
LII Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me;
I pray to God with her always to be,
And joy of love to send her evermore;
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore,
For there is not so false a bird as she. 260
LIII Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale,
To all the Birds that lodged within that dale,
And gathered each and all into one place;
And them besought to hear her doleful case,
And thus it was that she began her tale. 265
LIV The Cuckoo--'tis not well that I should hide
How she and I did each the other chide,
And without ceasing, since it was daylight;
And now I pray you all to do me right
Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide. 270
LV Then spake one Bird, and full assent all gave;
This matter asketh counsel good as grave,
For birds we are--all here together brought;
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not;
And therefore we a Parliament will have. 275
LVI And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,
And other Peers whose names are on record;
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,
And judgment there be given; or that intent
Failing, we finally shall make accord. 280
LVII And all this shall be done, without a nay,
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day,
Under a maple that is well beseen,
Before the chamber-window of the Queen,
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay. 285
LVIII She thanked them; and then her leave she took,
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;
And there she sate and sung--upon that tree--
"For term of life Love shall have hold of me"--
So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 290
Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence, 295
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings writ
In winning words, since through her gentiless, [5] 300
Thee she accepts as for her service fit!
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Beseech her meekly with all lowliness, 305
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and stedfastness,
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking proof to me would give; 310
For of all good she is the best alive.
L'ENVOY Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!
Luna by night, with heavenly influence
Illumined! root of beauty and goodnesse,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence, 315
My sighs breathed forth in silence,--comfort give!
Since of all good, you are the best alive.
EXPLICIT
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1: In 1819 Wordsworth wrote the opening stanza of his version
of 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale', in the album of Mrs. Calvert at
Keswick, thus:
'The God of Love--ah, benedicite! '
How mighty and how great a Lord is He!
High can he make the heart that's low and poor,
And high hearts low--through pains that they endure,
And hard hearts, He can make them kind and free.
W. W. , Nov. 27, 1819. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . have heard . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842
. . . sorrow's . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . gentleness . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
. . . gentleness, . . . 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The following extracts from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal
show the date of the composition of this poem.
"Sunday, 6th December 1801. A very fine beautiful sun-shiny morning.
William worked a while at Chaucer; then he set forward to walk into
Easdale. . . . In the afternoon I read Chaucer aloud. "
"Monday, 7th. . . . William at work with Chaucer, 'The God of Love'. . . . "
"8th November . . . William worked at 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale'
till he was tired. "
"Wednesday, December 9th. I read 'Palemon and Arcite', William writing
out his alterations of Chaucer's 'Cuckoo and Nightingale'. "
The question as to whether 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale' was written
by Chaucer or not, may be solved either way without affecting the
literary value of Wordsworth's "modernisation" of it. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"In 'The Cuckoo and Nightingale', a poem of the third of May--a date
corresponding to the mid-May, the very heart of May according to our
modern reckoning--the poet after a wakeful night rises, and goes forth
at dawn, and comes to a 'laund' or plain 'of white and green. '
'So feire oon had I nevere in bene,
The grounde was grene, y poudred with dayse,
The floures and the gras ilike al hie,
Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene. '
Nothing seen but the short green grass and the white daisies,--grass
and daisies being of equal height. Unfortunately in Tyrwhitt's text
the description is nonsensical,
'The flowres and the greves like hie. '
The daisy flowers are as high as the _groves_! Wordsworth retained the
groves, but refused to make daisies of equal height with them.
'Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society'. No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D:
"In Chaucer's poem, after 'the cuckoo, bird unholy,' has said his evil
say, the Nightingale breaks forth 'so lustily,'
'That with her clere voys she made rynge
Thro out alle the grene wode wide,'
Wordsworth has taken a poet's licence with these lines:
'I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made 'a loud rioting',
Echoing through all the green wood wide. '
This 'loud rioting' is Wordsworth's, not Chaucer's; and it belongs, as
it were, to that other passage of his:
'O Nightingale, thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart,
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote E: From a manuscript in the Bodleian, as are also stanzas 44
and 45--W. W.
(1841), which are necessary to complete the sense--W. W. (added in
1842). ]
* * * * *
TROILUS AND CRESIDA
Translated 1801. --Published 1841 [A]
Next morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida; 5
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go, [B]
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went; 10
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break [1] in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
For which, with changed, pale, and deadly face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20
That no wight his continuance espied. [C]
Then said he thus,--O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light; 25
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast!
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss; 30
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has [2] been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out! 35
Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, [3]
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old, 40
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.
Forth from the spot he rideth up and down,
And everything to his rememberance
Came as he rode by places of the town 45
Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once.
Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance,
And in that Temple she with her bright eyes,
My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise.
And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 50
Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play
I yonder saw her eke full blissfully;
And yonder once she unto me 'gan say--
Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray!
And there so graciously did me behold, 55
That hers unto the death my heart I hold.
And at the corner of that self-same house
Heard I my most beloved Lady dear,
So womanly, with voice melodious
Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60
That in my soul methinks I yet do hear
The blissful sound; and in that very place
My Lady first me took unto her grace.
O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried,
When I the process have in memory, 65
How thou hast wearied [D] me on every side,
Men thence a book might make, a history;
What need to seek a conquest over me,
Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy
Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy? 70
Dread Lord! so fearful when provoked, thine ire
Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief;
Now mercy, Lord! thou know'st well I desire
Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief;
And live and die I will in thy belief; 75
For which I ask for guerdon but one boon,
That Cresida again thou send me soon.
Constrain her heart as quickly to return,
As thou dost mine with longing her to see,
Then know I well that she would not sojourn. 80
Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee,
As Juno was unto the Theban blood,
From whence to Thebes came griefs in multitude.
And after this he to the gate did go 85
Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was;
And up and down there went, and to and fro,
And to himself full oft he said, alas!
From hence my hope, and solace forth did pass.
O would the blissful God now for his joy, 90
I might her see again coming to Troy!
And up to yonder hill was I her guide;
Alas, and there I took of her my leave;
Yonder I saw her to her Father ride,
For very grief of which my heart shall cleave;--95
And hither home I came when it was eve;
And here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy.
And of himself did he imagine oft,
That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less 100
Than he was wont; and that in whispers soft
Men said, what may it be, can no one guess
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?
All which he of himself conceited wholly
Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 105
Another time he took into his head,
That every wight, who in the way passed by,
Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said,
I am right sorry Troilus will die:
And thus a day or two drove wearily; 110
As ye have heard; such life 'gan he to lead
As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread.
For which it pleased him in his songs to show
The occasion of his woe, as best he might;
And made a fitting song, of words [4] but few, 115
Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;
And when he was removed from all men's sight,
With a soft night voice, [5] he of his Lady dear,
That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear.
O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120
With a sore heart well ought I to bewail,
That ever dark in torment, night by night,
Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; [E]
For which upon the tenth night if thou fail
With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.
As soon as he this song had thus sung through,
He fell again into his sorrows old;
And every night, as was his wont to do,
Troilus stood the bright moon to behold; 130
And all his trouble to the moon he told,
And said; I wis, when thou art horn'd anew,
I shall be glad if all the world be true.
Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow,
When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135
That cause is of my torment and my sorrow;
For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear,
For love of God, run fast above [F] thy sphere;
For when thy horns begin once more to spring,
Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140
The day is more, and longer every night
Than they were wont to be--for he thought so;
And that the sun did take his course not right,
By longer way than he was wont to go;
And said, I am in constant dread I trow, 145
That Phaeton his son is yet alive,
His too fond father's car amiss to drive.
Upon the walls fast also would he walk,
To the end that he the Grecian host might see;
And ever thus he to himself would talk:--150
Lo! yonder is my [6] own bright Lady free;
Or yonder is it that the tents must be;
And thence does come this air which is so sweet,
That in my soul I feel the joy of it.
And certainly this wind, that more and more 155
By moments thus increaseth in my face,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain; 160
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
Till fully past and gone was the ninth night;
And ever [7] at his side stood Pandarus,
Who busily made use of all his might 165
To comfort him, and make his heart more light; [8]
Giving him always hope, that she the morrow
Of the tenth day will come, and end his sorrow.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1842.
. . . burst 1841. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . hast . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842.
. . . his eye, 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . whose words . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
With a soft voice, . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 6:
1842.
. . . mine . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 7: The "even" of 1841 is evidently a misprint. ]
[Variant 8:
1842.
. . . too light; 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. It is an
extract from 'Troilus and Cressida', book v. ll. 518-686. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B:
"Chaucer's text is:
'And therwithalle his meynye for to blende
A cause he fonde in toune for to go. '
'His meynye for to blende,' i. e. to keep his household or his
domestics in the dark. But Wordsworth writes:
'And therewithal to cover his _intent_,'
possibly mistaking 'meynye' for 'meaning'. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"When Troilus sees the shut windows and desolate aspect of his lady's
house, his face grows blanched, and he rides past in haste, so fast,
says Wordsworth,
'That no wight his continuance espied. '
But in Chaucer he rides fast that his white face may not be noticed:
'And as God wolde he gan so faste ride
That no wight of his countenance espied. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D: In Chaucer "werreyed" = warred on = fought against. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E:
"'Toward my death with wind I steer and sail. '
This is Urry's version, but Chaucer's text is,
'Toward my death, with wind _in stern_ I sail,'
Troilus' bark careering towards death, with all sails set, before a
fierce stern-wind. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: In Chaucer "aboute" = around. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
1802
The Lyrical Ballads and Sonnets which follow were written
in 1802; but during that year Wordsworth continued mainly to
work at 'The Excursion', as the following extracts from his sister's
Journal indicate:
"Feb. 1, 1802. --William worked hard at 'The Pedlar,' and tired
himself.
2nd Feb. --Wm. worked at 'The Pedlar. ' I read aloud the 11th book of
'Paradise Lost'.
Thursday, 4th. --William thought a little about 'The Pedlar. '
5th. --Wm. sate up late at 'The Pedlar. '
7th. --W. was working at his poem. Wm. read 'The Pedlar,' thinking it
was done. But lo! . . . it was uninteresting, and must be altered. "
Similar records occur each day in the Journal from the 10th to the 14th
Feb. 1802. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER
Composed March 11th and 12th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written in Town-end, Grasmere. I met this woman near the Wishing-gate,
on the high road that then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her
appearance was exactly as here described, and such was her account,
nearly to the letter. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
One morning (raw it was and wet--
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on [1] the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight; 5
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
"What is it," said I, "that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak, 15
Protected from this cold damp air? " [2]
She answered, soon as she the question heard,
"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird. "
And, thus continuing, she said,
"I had a Son, who many a day 20
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead; [3]
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. [4]
"The bird and cage they both were his: 25
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone [5] with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. [6] 30
"He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;--there [7]
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit! 35
I bear [8] it with me, Sir;--he took so much delight in it. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
. . . in . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . I woke,
With the first word I had to spare
I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
What's that which on your arm you bear? " 1807.
"What treasure," said I,"do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak
Protected from the cold damp air? " 1820. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
"I had a Son,--the waves might roar,
He feared them not, a Sailor gay!
But he will cross the waves no more: 1820.
. . . cross the deep . . . 1827.
The text of 1832 returns to that of 1807. [a]]
[Variant 4:
1827.
And I have been as far as Hull, to see
What clothes he might have left, or other property. 1807.
And I have travelled far as Hull, to see 1815.
And I have travelled many miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. 1820. ]
[Variant 5:
1845.
This Singing-bird hath gone . . . 1807.
. . . had gone . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
Till he came back again; and there 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
I trail . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This return, in 1832, to the original text of the poem
was due to Barren Field's criticism, the justice of which Wordsworth
admitted. --Ed. ]
In the Wordsworth household this poem went by the name
of "The Singing Bird" as well as 'The Sailor's Mother'.
"Thursday (March 11th). --A fine morning. William worked at the poem of
'The Singing Bird. ' . . .
[Footnote F: Chaucer's text is:
'And in a tombe of marble stoones clere
Enclosed they this litel body swete. '
Ed. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This was erased in the 'Errata' of 1820, but it
may be reproduced here. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
THE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE
Translated 1801. [A]--Published 1841 [B]
I The God of Love--_ah, benedicite! _
How mighty and how great a Lord is he!
For he of low hearts can make high, of high
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh;
And hard hearts he can make them kind and free. [1] 5
II Within a little time, as hath been found,
He can make sick folk whole and fresh and sound:
Them who are whole in body and in mind,
He can make sick,--bind can he and unbind
All that he will have bound, or have unbound. 10
III To tell his might my wit may not suffice;
Foolish men he can make them out of wise;--
For he may do all that he will devise;
Loose livers he can make abate their vice,
And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. 15
IV In brief, the whole of what he will, he may;
Against him dare not any wight say nay;
To humble or afflict whome'er he will,
To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill;
But most his might he sheds on the eve of May. 20
V For every true heart, gentle heart and free,
That with him is, or thinketh so to be,
Now against May shall have some stirring--whether
To joy, or be it to some mourning; never
At other time, methinks, in like degree. 25
VI For now when they may hear the small birds' song,
And see the budding leaves the branches throng,
This unto their remembrance doth bring
All kinds of pleasure mix'd with sorrowing;
And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. 30
VII And of that longing heaviness doth come,
Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home;
Sick are they all for lack of their desire;
And thus in May their hearts are set on fire,
So that they burn forth in great martyrdom. 35
VIII In sooth, I speak from feeling, what though now
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow;
Yet have I felt of sickness through the May,
Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every day,--
How hard, alas! to bear, I only know. 40
IX Such shaking doth the fever in me keep
Through all this May that I have little sleep;
And also 'tis not likely unto me,
That any living heart should sleepy be
In which Love's dart its fiery point doth steep. 45
X But tossing lately on a sleepless bed,
I of a token thought which Lovers heed;
How among them it was a common tale,
That it was good to hear the Nightingale,
Ere the vile Cuckoo's note be uttered. 50
XI And then I thought anon as it was day,
I gladly would go somewhere to essay
If I perchance a Nightingale might hear,
For yet had I heard none, of all that year,
And it was then the third night of the May. 55
XII And soon as I a glimpse of day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide,
But straightway to a wood that was hard by,
Forth did I go, alone and fearlessly,
And held the pathway down by a brook-side; 60
XIII Till to a lawn I came all white and green,
I in so fair a one had never been.
The ground was green, with daisy powdered over;
Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. [C] 65
XIV There sate I down among the fair fresh flowers,
And saw the birds come tripping from their bowers,
Where they had rested them all night; and they,
Who were so joyful at the light of day,
Began to honour May with all their powers. 70
XV Well did they know that service all by rote,
And there was many and many a lovely note,
Some, singing loud, as if they had complained;
Some with their notes another manner feigned;
And some did sing all out with the full throat. 75
XVI They pruned themselves, and made themselves right gay,
Dancing and leaping light upon the spray;
And ever two and two together were,
The same as they had chosen for the year,
Upon Saint Valentine's returning day. 80
XVII Meanwhile the stream, whose bank I sate upon,
Was making such a noise as it ran on
Accordant to the sweet Birds' harmony;
Methought that it was the best melody
Which ever to man's ear a passage won. 85
XVIII And for delight, but how I never wot,
I in a slumber and a swoon was caught,
Not all asleep and yet not waking wholly;
And as I lay, the Cuckoo, bird unholy,
Broke silence, or I heard him in my thought. 90
XIX And that was right upon a tree fast by,
And who was then ill satisfied but I?
Now, God, quoth I, that died upon the rood,
From thee and thy base throat, keep all that's good,
Full little joy have I now of thy cry. 95
XX And, as I with the Cuckoo thus 'gan chide,
In the next bush that was me fast beside,
I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made a loud rioting,
Echoing through all the green wood wide. [D] 100
XXI Ah! good sweet Nightingale! for my heart's cheer,
Hence hast thou stayed a little while too long;
For we have had [2] the sorry Cuckoo here,
And she hath been before thee with her song;
Evil light on her! she hath done me wrong. 105
XXII But hear you now a wondrous thing, I pray;
As long as in that swooning-fit I lay,
Methought I wist right well what these birds meant,
And had good knowing both of their intent,
And of their speech, and all that they would say. 110
XXIII The Nightingale thus in my hearing spake:--
Good Cuckoo, seek some other bush or brake,
And, prithee, let us that can sing dwell here;
For every wight eschews thy song to hear,
Such uncouth singing verily dost thou make. 115
XXIV What! quoth she then, what is't that ails thee now?
It seems to me I sing as well as thou;
For mine's a song that is both true and plain,--
Although I cannot quaver so in vain
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot not how. 120
XXV All men may understanding have of me,
But, Nightingale, so may they not of thee;
For thou hast many a foolish and quaint cry:--
Thou say'st, OSEE, OSEE, then how may I
Have knowledge, I thee pray, what this may be? 125
XXVI Ah, fool! quoth she, wist thou not what it is?
Oft as I say OSEE, OSEE, I wis,
Then mean I, that I should be wondrous fain
That shamefully they one and all were slain,
Whoever against Love mean aught amiss. 130
XXVII And also would I that they all were dead,
Who do not think in love their life to lead;
For who is both the God of Love to obey,
Is only fit to die, I dare well say,
And for that cause OSEE I cry; take heed! 135
XXVIII Ay, quoth the Cuckoo, that is a quaint law,
That all must love or die; but I withdraw,
And take my leave of all such company,
For mine intent it neither is to die,
Nor ever while I live Love's yoke to draw. 140
XXIX For lovers of all folk that be alive,
The most disquiet have and least do thrive;
Most feeling have of sorrow [3] woe and care,
And the least welfare cometh to their share;
What need is there against the truth to strive? 145
XXX What! quoth she, thou art all out of thy mind,
That in thy churlishness a cause canst find
To speak of Love's true Servants in this mood;
For in this world no service is so good
To every wight that gentle is of kind. 150
XXXI For thereof comes all goodness and all worth;
All gentiless [4] and honour thence come forth;
Thence worship comes, content and true heart's pleasure,
And full-assured trust, joy without measure,
And jollity, fresh cheerfulness, and mirth; 155
XXXII And bounty, lowliness, and courtesy,
And seemliness, and faithful company,
And dread of shame that will not do amiss;
For he that faithfully Love's servant is,
Rather than be disgraced, would chuse to die. 160
XXXIII And that the very truth it is which I
Now say--in such belief I'll live and die;
And Cuckoo, do thou so, by my advice.
Then, quoth she, let me never hope for bliss,
If with that counsel I do e'er comply. 165
XXXIV Good Nightingale! thou speakest wondrous fair,
Yet for all that, the truth is found elsewhere;
For Love in young folk is but rage, I wis;
And Love in old folk a great dotage is;
Who most it useth, him 'twill most impair. 170
XXXV For thereof come all contraries to gladness;
Thence sickness comes, and overwhelming sadness,
Mistrust and jealousy, despite, debate,
Dishonour, shame, envy importunate,
Pride, anger, mischief, poverty, and madness. 175
XXXVI Loving is aye an office of despair,
And one thing is therein which is not fair;
For whoso gets of love a little bliss,
Unless it alway stay with him, I wis
He may full soon go with an old man's hair. 180
XXXVII And, therefore, Nightingale! do thou keep nigh,
For trust me well, in spite of thy quaint cry,
If long time from thy mate thou be, or far,
Thou'lt be as others that forsaken are;
Then shall thou raise a clamour as do I. 185
XXXVIII Fie, quoth she, on thy name, Bird ill beseen!
The God of Love afflict thee with all teen,
For thou art worse than mad a thousand fold;
For many a one hath virtues manifold,
Who had been nought, if Love had never been. 190
XXXIX For evermore his servants Love amendeth,
And he from every blemish them defendeth;
And maketh them to burn, as in a fire,
In loyalty, and worshipful desire,
And, when it likes him, joy enough them sendeth. 195
XL Thou Nightingale! the Cuckoo said, be still,
For Love no reason hath but his own will;--
For to th' untrue he oft gives ease and joy;
True lovers doth so bitterly annoy,
He lets them perish through that grievous ill. 200
XLI With such a master would I never be; [E]
For he, in sooth, is blind, and may not see,
And knows not when he hurts and when he heals;
Within this court full seldom Truth avails,
So diverse in his wilfulness is he. 205
XLII Then of the Nightingale did I take note,
How from her inmost heart a sigh she brought,
And said, Alas! that ever I was born,
Not one word have I now, I am so forlorn,--
And with that word, she into tears burst out. 210
XLIII Alas, alas! my very heart will break,
Quoth she, to hear this churlish bird thus speak
Of Love, and of his holy services;
Now, God of Love! thou help me in some wise,
That vengeance on this Cuckoo I may wreak. 215
XLIV And so methought I started up anon,
And to the brook I ran and got a stone,
Which at the Cuckoo hardily I cast,
And he for dread did fly away full fast;
And glad, in sooth, was I when he was gone. 220
XLV And as he flew, the Cuckoo, ever and aye,
Kept crying, "Farewell! --farewell, Popinjay! "
As if in scornful mockery of me;
And on I hunted him from tree to tree,
Till he was far, all out of sight, away. 225
XLVI Then straightway came the Nightingale to me,
And said, Forsooth, my friend, do I thank thee,
That thou wert near to rescue me; and now
Unto the God of Love I make a vow,
That all this May I will thy songstress be. 230
XLVII Well satisfied, I thanked her, and she said,
By this mishap no longer be dismayed,
Though thou the Cuckoo heard, ere thou heard'st me;
Yet if I live it shall amended be,
When next May comes, if I am not afraid. 235
XLVIII And one thing will I counsel thee also,
The Cuckoo trust not thou, nor his Love's saw;
All that she said is an outrageous lie.
Nay, nothing shall me bring thereto, quoth I,
For Love, and it hath done me mighty woe. 240
XLIX Yea, hath it? use, quoth she, this medicine;
This May-time, every day before thou dine,
Go look on the fresh daisy; then say I,
Although for pain thou may'st be like to die,
Thou wilt be eased, and less wilt droop and pine. 245
L And mind always that thou be good and true,
And I will sing one song, of many new,
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry;
And then did she begin this song full high,
"Beshrew all them that are in love untrue. " 250
LI And soon as she had sung it to the end,
Now farewell, quoth she, for I hence must wend;
And, God of Love, that can right well and may,
Send unto thee as mickle joy this day,
As ever he to Lover yet did send. 255
LII Thus takes the Nightingale her leave of me;
I pray to God with her always to be,
And joy of love to send her evermore;
And shield us from the Cuckoo and her lore,
For there is not so false a bird as she. 260
LIII Forth then she flew, the gentle Nightingale,
To all the Birds that lodged within that dale,
And gathered each and all into one place;
And them besought to hear her doleful case,
And thus it was that she began her tale. 265
LIV The Cuckoo--'tis not well that I should hide
How she and I did each the other chide,
And without ceasing, since it was daylight;
And now I pray you all to do me right
Of that false Bird whom Love can not abide. 270
LV Then spake one Bird, and full assent all gave;
This matter asketh counsel good as grave,
For birds we are--all here together brought;
And, in good sooth, the Cuckoo here is not;
And therefore we a Parliament will have. 275
LVI And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,
And other Peers whose names are on record;
A summons to the Cuckoo shall be sent,
And judgment there be given; or that intent
Failing, we finally shall make accord. 280
LVII And all this shall be done, without a nay,
The morrow after Saint Valentine's day,
Under a maple that is well beseen,
Before the chamber-window of the Queen,
At Woodstock, on the meadow green and gay. 285
LVIII She thanked them; and then her leave she took,
And flew into a hawthorn by that brook;
And there she sate and sung--upon that tree--
"For term of life Love shall have hold of me"--
So loudly, that I with that song awoke. 290
Unlearned Book and rude, as well I know,
For beauty thou hast none, nor eloquence,
Who did on thee the hardiness bestow
To appear before my Lady? but a sense
Thou surely hast of her benevolence, 295
Whereof her hourly bearing proof doth give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Alas, poor Book! for thy unworthiness,
To show to her some pleasant meanings writ
In winning words, since through her gentiless, [5] 300
Thee she accepts as for her service fit!
Oh! it repents me I have neither wit
Nor leisure unto thee more worth to give;
For of all good she is the best alive.
Beseech her meekly with all lowliness, 305
Though I be far from her I reverence,
To think upon my truth and stedfastness,
And to abridge my sorrow's violence,
Caused by the wish, as knows your sapience,
She of her liking proof to me would give; 310
For of all good she is the best alive.
L'ENVOY Pleasure's Aurora, Day of gladsomeness!
Luna by night, with heavenly influence
Illumined! root of beauty and goodnesse,
Write, and allay, by your beneficence, 315
My sighs breathed forth in silence,--comfort give!
Since of all good, you are the best alive.
EXPLICIT
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1: In 1819 Wordsworth wrote the opening stanza of his version
of 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale', in the album of Mrs. Calvert at
Keswick, thus:
'The God of Love--ah, benedicite! '
How mighty and how great a Lord is He!
High can he make the heart that's low and poor,
And high hearts low--through pains that they endure,
And hard hearts, He can make them kind and free.
W. W. , Nov. 27, 1819. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . have heard . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842
. . . sorrow's . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . gentleness . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
. . . gentleness, . . . 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: The following extracts from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal
show the date of the composition of this poem.
"Sunday, 6th December 1801. A very fine beautiful sun-shiny morning.
William worked a while at Chaucer; then he set forward to walk into
Easdale. . . . In the afternoon I read Chaucer aloud. "
"Monday, 7th. . . . William at work with Chaucer, 'The God of Love'. . . . "
"8th November . . . William worked at 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale'
till he was tired. "
"Wednesday, December 9th. I read 'Palemon and Arcite', William writing
out his alterations of Chaucer's 'Cuckoo and Nightingale'. "
The question as to whether 'The Cuckoo and the Nightingale' was written
by Chaucer or not, may be solved either way without affecting the
literary value of Wordsworth's "modernisation" of it. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. --Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"In 'The Cuckoo and Nightingale', a poem of the third of May--a date
corresponding to the mid-May, the very heart of May according to our
modern reckoning--the poet after a wakeful night rises, and goes forth
at dawn, and comes to a 'laund' or plain 'of white and green. '
'So feire oon had I nevere in bene,
The grounde was grene, y poudred with dayse,
The floures and the gras ilike al hie,
Al grene and white, was nothing elles sene. '
Nothing seen but the short green grass and the white daisies,--grass
and daisies being of equal height. Unfortunately in Tyrwhitt's text
the description is nonsensical,
'The flowres and the greves like hie. '
The daisy flowers are as high as the _groves_! Wordsworth retained the
groves, but refused to make daisies of equal height with them.
'Tall were the flowers, the grove a lofty cover,
All green and white; and nothing else was seen. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society'. No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D:
"In Chaucer's poem, after 'the cuckoo, bird unholy,' has said his evil
say, the Nightingale breaks forth 'so lustily,'
'That with her clere voys she made rynge
Thro out alle the grene wode wide,'
Wordsworth has taken a poet's licence with these lines:
'I heard the lusty Nightingale so sing,
That her clear voice made 'a loud rioting',
Echoing through all the green wood wide. '
This 'loud rioting' is Wordsworth's, not Chaucer's; and it belongs, as
it were, to that other passage of his:
'O Nightingale, thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart,
These notes of thine--they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote E: From a manuscript in the Bodleian, as are also stanzas 44
and 45--W. W.
(1841), which are necessary to complete the sense--W. W. (added in
1842). ]
* * * * *
TROILUS AND CRESIDA
Translated 1801. --Published 1841 [A]
Next morning Troilus began to clear
His eyes from sleep, at the first break of day,
And unto Pandarus, his own Brother dear,
For love of God, full piteously did say,
We must the Palace see of Cresida; 5
For since we yet may have no other feast,
Let us behold her Palace at the least!
And therewithal to cover his intent
A cause he found into the Town to go, [B]
And they right forth to Cresid's Palace went; 10
But, Lord, this simple Troilus was woe,
Him thought his sorrowful heart would break [1] in two;
For when he saw her doors fast bolted all,
Well nigh for sorrow down he 'gan to fall.
Therewith when this true Lover 'gan behold, 15
How shut was every window of the place,
Like frost he thought his heart was icy cold;
For which, with changed, pale, and deadly face,
Without word uttered, forth he 'gan to pace;
And on his purpose bent so fast to ride, 20
That no wight his continuance espied. [C]
Then said he thus,--O Palace desolate!
O house of houses, once so richly dight!
O Palace empty and disconsolate!
Thou lamp of which extinguished is the light; 25
O Palace whilom day that now art night,
Thou ought'st to fall and I to die; since she
Is gone who held us both in sovereignty.
O, of all houses once the crowned boast!
Palace illumined with the sun of bliss; 30
O ring of which the ruby now is lost,
O cause of woe, that cause has [2] been of bliss:
Yet, since I may no better, would I kiss
Thy cold doors; but I dare not for this rout;
Farewell, thou shrine of which the Saint is out! 35
Therewith he cast on Pandarus an eye, [3]
With changed face, and piteous to behold;
And when he might his time aright espy,
Aye as he rode, to Pandarus he told
Both his new sorrow and his joys of old, 40
So piteously, and with so dead a hue,
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.
Forth from the spot he rideth up and down,
And everything to his rememberance
Came as he rode by places of the town 45
Where he had felt such perfect pleasure once.
Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance,
And in that Temple she with her bright eyes,
My Lady dear, first bound me captive-wise.
And yonder with joy-smitten heart have I 50
Heard my own Cresid's laugh; and once at play
I yonder saw her eke full blissfully;
And yonder once she unto me 'gan say--
Now, my sweet Troilus, love me well, I pray!
And there so graciously did me behold, 55
That hers unto the death my heart I hold.
And at the corner of that self-same house
Heard I my most beloved Lady dear,
So womanly, with voice melodious
Singing so well, so goodly, and so clear, 60
That in my soul methinks I yet do hear
The blissful sound; and in that very place
My Lady first me took unto her grace.
O blissful God of Love! then thus he cried,
When I the process have in memory, 65
How thou hast wearied [D] me on every side,
Men thence a book might make, a history;
What need to seek a conquest over me,
Since I am wholly at thy will? what joy
Hast thou thy own liege subjects to destroy? 70
Dread Lord! so fearful when provoked, thine ire
Well hast thou wreaked on me by pain and grief;
Now mercy, Lord! thou know'st well I desire
Thy grace above all pleasures first and chief;
And live and die I will in thy belief; 75
For which I ask for guerdon but one boon,
That Cresida again thou send me soon.
Constrain her heart as quickly to return,
As thou dost mine with longing her to see,
Then know I well that she would not sojourn. 80
Now, blissful Lord, so cruel do not be
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray of thee,
As Juno was unto the Theban blood,
From whence to Thebes came griefs in multitude.
And after this he to the gate did go 85
Whence Cresid rode, as if in haste she was;
And up and down there went, and to and fro,
And to himself full oft he said, alas!
From hence my hope, and solace forth did pass.
O would the blissful God now for his joy, 90
I might her see again coming to Troy!
And up to yonder hill was I her guide;
Alas, and there I took of her my leave;
Yonder I saw her to her Father ride,
For very grief of which my heart shall cleave;--95
And hither home I came when it was eve;
And here I dwell an outcast from all joy,
And shall, unless I see her soon in Troy.
And of himself did he imagine oft,
That he was blighted, pale, and waxen less 100
Than he was wont; and that in whispers soft
Men said, what may it be, can no one guess
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?
All which he of himself conceited wholly
Out of his weakness and his melancholy. 105
Another time he took into his head,
That every wight, who in the way passed by,
Had of him ruth, and fancied that they said,
I am right sorry Troilus will die:
And thus a day or two drove wearily; 110
As ye have heard; such life 'gan he to lead
As one that standeth betwixt hope and dread.
For which it pleased him in his songs to show
The occasion of his woe, as best he might;
And made a fitting song, of words [4] but few, 115
Somewhat his woeful heart to make more light;
And when he was removed from all men's sight,
With a soft night voice, [5] he of his Lady dear,
That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may hear.
O star, of which I lost have all the light, 120
With a sore heart well ought I to bewail,
That ever dark in torment, night by night,
Toward my death with wind I steer and sail; [E]
For which upon the tenth night if thou fail
With thy bright beams to guide me but one hour, 125
My ship and me Charybdis will devour.
As soon as he this song had thus sung through,
He fell again into his sorrows old;
And every night, as was his wont to do,
Troilus stood the bright moon to behold; 130
And all his trouble to the moon he told,
And said; I wis, when thou art horn'd anew,
I shall be glad if all the world be true.
Thy horns were old as now upon that morrow,
When hence did journey my bright Lady dear, 135
That cause is of my torment and my sorrow;
For which, oh, gentle Luna, bright and clear,
For love of God, run fast above [F] thy sphere;
For when thy horns begin once more to spring,
Then shall she come, that with her bliss may bring. 140
The day is more, and longer every night
Than they were wont to be--for he thought so;
And that the sun did take his course not right,
By longer way than he was wont to go;
And said, I am in constant dread I trow, 145
That Phaeton his son is yet alive,
His too fond father's car amiss to drive.
Upon the walls fast also would he walk,
To the end that he the Grecian host might see;
And ever thus he to himself would talk:--150
Lo! yonder is my [6] own bright Lady free;
Or yonder is it that the tents must be;
And thence does come this air which is so sweet,
That in my soul I feel the joy of it.
And certainly this wind, that more and more 155
By moments thus increaseth in my face,
Is of my Lady's sighs heavy and sore;
I prove it thus; for in no other space
Of all this town, save only in this place,
Feel I a wind, that soundeth so like pain; 160
It saith, Alas, why severed are we twain?
A weary while in pain he tosseth thus,
Till fully past and gone was the ninth night;
And ever [7] at his side stood Pandarus,
Who busily made use of all his might 165
To comfort him, and make his heart more light; [8]
Giving him always hope, that she the morrow
Of the tenth day will come, and end his sorrow.
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1842.
. . . burst 1841. ]
[Variant 2:
1842.
. . . hast . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 3:
1842.
. . . his eye, 1841. ]
[Variant 4:
1842.
. . . whose words . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 5:
1842.
With a soft voice, . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 6:
1842.
. . . mine . . . 1841. ]
[Variant 7: The "even" of 1841 is evidently a misprint. ]
[Variant 8:
1842.
. . . too light; 1841. ]
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: In 'The Poems of Geoffrey Chaucer Modernised'. It is an
extract from 'Troilus and Cressida', book v. ll. 518-686. --Ed. ]
[Footnote B:
"Chaucer's text is:
'And therwithalle his meynye for to blende
A cause he fonde in toune for to go. '
'His meynye for to blende,' i. e. to keep his household or his
domestics in the dark. But Wordsworth writes:
'And therewithal to cover his _intent_,'
possibly mistaking 'meynye' for 'meaning'. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote C:
"When Troilus sees the shut windows and desolate aspect of his lady's
house, his face grows blanched, and he rides past in haste, so fast,
says Wordsworth,
'That no wight his continuance espied. '
But in Chaucer he rides fast that his white face may not be noticed:
'And as God wolde he gan so faste ride
That no wight of his countenance espied. '"
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote D: In Chaucer "werreyed" = warred on = fought against. --Ed. ]
[Footnote E:
"'Toward my death with wind I steer and sail. '
This is Urry's version, but Chaucer's text is,
'Toward my death, with wind _in stern_ I sail,'
Troilus' bark careering towards death, with all sails set, before a
fierce stern-wind. "
(Professor Dowden, in the 'Transactions of the Wordsworth Society', No.
III. )--Ed. ]
[Footnote F: In Chaucer "aboute" = around. --Ed. ]
* * * * *
1802
The Lyrical Ballads and Sonnets which follow were written
in 1802; but during that year Wordsworth continued mainly to
work at 'The Excursion', as the following extracts from his sister's
Journal indicate:
"Feb. 1, 1802. --William worked hard at 'The Pedlar,' and tired
himself.
2nd Feb. --Wm. worked at 'The Pedlar. ' I read aloud the 11th book of
'Paradise Lost'.
Thursday, 4th. --William thought a little about 'The Pedlar. '
5th. --Wm. sate up late at 'The Pedlar. '
7th. --W. was working at his poem. Wm. read 'The Pedlar,' thinking it
was done. But lo! . . . it was uninteresting, and must be altered. "
Similar records occur each day in the Journal from the 10th to the 14th
Feb. 1802. --Ed.
* * * * *
THE SAILOR'S MOTHER
Composed March 11th and 12th, 1802. --Published 1807
[Written in Town-end, Grasmere. I met this woman near the Wishing-gate,
on the high road that then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her
appearance was exactly as here described, and such was her account,
nearly to the letter. --I. F. ]
One of the "Poems founded on the Affections. "--Ed.
One morning (raw it was and wet--
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on [1] the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:
Majestic in her person, tall and straight; 5
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.
The ancient spirit is not dead;
Old times, thought I, are breathing there;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair: 10
She begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate.
When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
"What is it," said I, "that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak, 15
Protected from this cold damp air? " [2]
She answered, soon as she the question heard,
"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird. "
And, thus continuing, she said,
"I had a Son, who many a day 20
Sailed on the seas, but he is dead; [3]
In Denmark he was cast away:
And I have travelled weary miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. [4]
"The bird and cage they both were his: 25
'Twas my Son's bird; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
The singing-bird had gone [5] with him;
When last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind. [6] 30
"He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it, to be watched and fed,
And pipe its song in safety;--there [7]
I found it when my Son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit! 35
I bear [8] it with me, Sir;--he took so much delight in it. "
* * * * *
VARIANTS ON THE TEXT
[Variant 1:
1815.
. . . in . . . 1807. ]
[Variant 2:
1836.
. . . I woke,
With the first word I had to spare
I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak
What's that which on your arm you bear? " 1807.
"What treasure," said I,"do you bear,
Beneath the covert of your Cloak
Protected from the cold damp air? " 1820. ]
[Variant 3:
1807.
"I had a Son,--the waves might roar,
He feared them not, a Sailor gay!
But he will cross the waves no more: 1820.
. . . cross the deep . . . 1827.
The text of 1832 returns to that of 1807. [a]]
[Variant 4:
1827.
And I have been as far as Hull, to see
What clothes he might have left, or other property. 1807.
And I have travelled far as Hull, to see 1815.
And I have travelled many miles to see
If aught which he had owned might still remain for me. 1820. ]
[Variant 5:
1845.
This Singing-bird hath gone . . . 1807.
. . . had gone . . . 1820. ]
[Variant 6:
1827.
As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. 1807. ]
[Variant 7:
1827.
Till he came back again; and there 1807. ]
[Variant 8:
1827.
I trail . . . 1807. ]
* * * * *
SUB-FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Sub-Footnote a: This return, in 1832, to the original text of the poem
was due to Barren Field's criticism, the justice of which Wordsworth
admitted. --Ed. ]
In the Wordsworth household this poem went by the name
of "The Singing Bird" as well as 'The Sailor's Mother'.
"Thursday (March 11th). --A fine morning. William worked at the poem of
'The Singing Bird. ' . . .
