* * * * *
And suffereth the unwise with you for to live,And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25]Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's crossIs hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell;A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wickedThat waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28]And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordainedTo crown one to be king, to rule them boeth,That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest,Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons,And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever.Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobestë the third,Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all,And to rule the realmë by their three wittës,And none otherwise but as they three assented.'I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught,And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learnHow Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people.'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell,Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.'Thought and I thus, three dayës we yeden[30]Disputing upon Dowell, dayë after other.And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet.He was long and leanë, like to none other,Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither;Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer;I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh,But as I bade Thought then be mean between,And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits,What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both?Then Thought in that timë said these wordës;'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land,Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him,And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy,And work as they three would, this is his intent.''Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence,In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things;Of earth and air is it made, mingled togetherWith wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined;Kindë hath closed therein, craftily withal,A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself,Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth,A proud pricker of France,princeps hujus mundi,And would win her away with wiles and he might;And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better.And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches;Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter,To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35]Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere;That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all.Anima, that lady, is led by his learning,And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch,Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight,And hath five fair sonnës by his first wife,Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end,Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength,And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordës forsooth.These five be set to save this lady Anima,Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.''What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'—'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things,Father and former of all that ever was maked,And that is the great God that 'ginning had never,Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain,Angels and all thing are at his will,And man is him most like, of mark and of shape,For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts,And made Adam, likest to himself one,And Eve of his ribbë bone, without any mean,For he was singular himself, and saidFaciamus,As who say more must hereto, than my wordë one,My might must helpë now with my speech,Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment,Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen,The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked;And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth,There he saidë,Dixit et facta sunt.He must work with his word, and his wit shew;And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty,With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last,And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven,And of his great grace granted him bliss,And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after;And that is the castle that Kindë made, Caro it hight,And is as much to meanë as man with a soul,And that he wrought with work and with word both;Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked.Inwit and Allwits closed been therein,For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37]Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth,And in the heart is her home, and her most rest,And Inwit is in the head, and to the heartë looketh,What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his willThen had Wit a wife, was hotë Dame Study,That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth.She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached,And all staring, Dame Study sternëly said;'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tellTo flatterers or to foolës, that frantic be of wits;'And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still,With such wisë wordës, to wysh any sots,And said, 'Noli mittere, man,margaritae, pearls,Amongë hoggës, that havë hawes at will.They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39]Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40]I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works,That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth,Or riches or rentës, and rest at their will,Than all the sooth sawës that Solomon said ever.Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42]But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool;Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs,And lead forth a lovëday,[43] to let with truth,He that such craftës can is oft cleped to counsel,They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth.Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnessethThat wicked men wielden the wealth of this world;The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil;Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias.Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes?Thilkë that God giveth most, least good they dealeth,And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44]Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c.Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodës,And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestës,And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth,And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles,Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wroughtTo Jesu the gentle, that Jewës to-draw:Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth;Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself,But they that feign they foolës, and with fayting[45] liveth,Against the lawë of our Lord, and lien on themself,Spitten and spewen, and speak foulë wordës,Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape,Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftës,They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad,Than Mundie, the miller, ofmulta fecit Deus.Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth,Shouldë never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul'sGive them to their yearë's gift, nor gift of a groat,And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought;Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' talës,Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth,And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkës and these lewed,And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still,When telleth they of the Trinity a talë or twain,And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness,And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth,Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn,And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen;And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate,Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake,Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend,But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence.Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss,That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needethNe were mercy in mean men, more than in rich;Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed.God is much in the gorge of these greatë masters,And amongës mean men, his mercy and his workës,And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft.Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast,And have him much in the mouth, and meanë men in heart;Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questionsTo please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time,And preachen at St Paulë's, for pure envy of clerks,That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods,Nor sorry for their sinnës, so is pride waxen,In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor;That prayers have no power the pestilence to let,And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other,Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride,Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would,But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself,And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth.And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches,And lordeth in landës, the less good he dealeth.Tobie telleth ye not so, takë heed, ye rich,How the bible book of him beareth witness;Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit,And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter;For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure.Suchë lessons lordës shouldë love to hear,And how he might most meinie, manlich find;Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts,Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own.Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week;There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit,Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themselfIn a privy parlour, for poorë men's sake,Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hallThat was made for mealës men to eat in.'—And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told,He became so confuse he cunneth not look,And as dumb as death, and drew him arear,And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earthI might get no grain of his greatë wits,But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study,In sign that I shouldë beseechen her of grace,And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I loutedAnd said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worthAs long as I live both late and early,For to worken your will, the while my life endureth,With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.''For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech,I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60]He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths,Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name;They two as I hope, after my teaching,Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.'Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow,And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift,And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt.'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.''Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hencë to sufferBoth well and woe, if that thou wilt learn;And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein,For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never,And also the likorous land that Lechery hight,Leave it on thy left half, a largë mile and more,Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongueFrom leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkës,Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech,That each might be in his will, his wit to shew,And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things;Say him this sign, I set him to school,And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books,And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose;Logic I learned her, and many other laws,And all the unisons to music I made her to know;Plato the poet, I put them first to book,Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught,Grammer for girlës, I gard[64] first to write,And beat them with a bales but if they would learn;Of all kindës craftës I contrived toolës,Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons,And learned them level and line, though I look dim;And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score timës;The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth,And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh.
[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. [2] 'Wysh:' inform. [3] 'Lenged:' lived. [4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. [5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. [6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. [7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. [8] 'Sythes:' times. [9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. [10] 'Saddë:' sober, good. [11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. [12] 'Raght:' reach. [13] 'Latches:' laziness. [14] 'Drenchë:' drown. [15] 'Beken:' confess. [16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. [17] 'A stound:' a while. [18] 'Lyth:' listen. [19] 'Mettë:' dreamed. [20] 'Kinde:' own. [21] 'Sued:' sought. [22] 'Wyssh:' inform. [23] 'Tayling:' dealing. [24] 'Rend'red:' translated. [25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. [26] 'Halve:' draw. [27] 'Potent:' staff. [28] 'Tene:' grieve. [29] 'Wish:' inform. [30] 'Yeden:' went. [31] 'Kind:' nature. [32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. [33] 'Leman:' paramour. [34] 'Lelly:' fair. [35] 'Rathe:' early. [36] 'Ghost:' spirit. [37] 'Nempned:' named. [38] 'Loth:' willing. [39] 'Lever:' rather. [40] 'Waxeth: grow. [41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. [42] 'Kerse:' curse. [43] 'Lovëday:'lady. [44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. [45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. [46] 'Can:' know. [47] 'Losenchery:' lying. [48] 'Carpen:' speak. [49] 'Dais:' table. [50] 'Gorge:' throat. [51] 'Careful:' poor. [52] 'Chill:' cold. [53] 'Nymen:' take. [54] 'Noye:' trouble. [55] 'Hoten:' order. [56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. [57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. [58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. [59] 'Rule:' custom. [60] 'Hoten:' named. [61] 'Syb:' mother. [62] 'Clergy:' learning. [63] 'Lyther:' wanton. [64] 'Gard:' made. [65] 'Tened:' grieved.
And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive,So hungerly and hollow, so sternëly he looked,He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also;With two bleared eyen as a blindë hag,And as a leathern pursë lolled his cheekës,Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold:And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled,With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above.And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age,Allë torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping;But that if a louse could have leapen the better,She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare.'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff,'For sometime I served Symmë at style,And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait.First I learned to lie, a leef other twainWickedly to weigh, was my first lesson:To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fairWith many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.—Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn.To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemedAmong the rich rays,' &c.
[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. [2] 'Donet:' lesson.
And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street,A leader of lovëdays,[1] and a loudë[2] beggar,A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor,An heap of houndës at his arse as he a lord were.And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring,He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy.
[1] 'Lovëdays:' ladies. [2] 'Loudë:' lewd.
Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought,Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked;Mercy hight that maidë, a meek thing withal,A full benign birdë, and buxom of speech;Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking,Even out of the east, and westward she looked,A full comely creature, Truth she hight,For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never.When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth,Either asked other of this great marvel,Of the din and of the darkness, &c.
Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets,And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes,Coughës and Cardiacles, Crampës and Toothaches,Rheumës, and Radgondes, and raynous Scallës,Boilës, and Botches, and burning Agues,Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind!There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind,With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!'The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried.Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward,And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed.Kindë came after, with many keenë sorës,As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent.So Kind through corruptions, killed full many:Death came driving after, and all to dust pashedKings and Kaisers, knightës and popës.Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights,Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints.Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besoughtTo cease and sufire, and see where they wouldLeave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian,And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend.
'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman'sCrede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander theGreat; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision ofDeath and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's'History of English Poetry.'
We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative poetry.
Hail be you, Mary, mother and may,Mild, and meek, and merciable;Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay,Against each strife steadfast and stable;Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say,Under the sun is none so able;Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay,The foremost that never was founden in fable;Hail, true, truthful, and tretable,Hail, chief ychosen of chastity,Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable:To pray for us to thy Sonë so free!AVE.
Hail, star that never stinteth light;Hail, bush burning that never was brent;Hail, rightful ruler of every right,Shadow to shield that should be shent;Hail, blessed be you blossom bright,To truth and trust was thine intent;Hail, maiden and mother, most of might,Of all mischiefs an amendëment;Hail, spice sprung that never was spent;Hail, throne of the Trinity;Hail, scion that God us soon to sent,You pray for us thy Sonë free!AVE.
Hail, heartily in holiness;Hail, hope of help to high and low;Hail, strength and stel of stableness;Hail, window of heaven wowe;Hail, reason of righteousness,To each a caitiff comfort to know;Hail, innocent of angerness,Our takel, our tol, that we on trow;Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow;Hail, light of love, and of beauty,Hail, brighter than the blood on snow:You pray for us thy Sonë free!AVE.
Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew;Hail, kindly yknow confessour;Hail, evenere of old law and new;Hail, builder bold of Christë's bower;Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue;Of all fruitë's fairest flower;Hail, turtle trustiest and true,Of all truth thou art treasour;Hail, pured princess of paramour;Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble;Hail, owner of earthly honour:You pray for us thy Sonë so free!AVE, &c.
Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess;Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind;Hail, destroyer of every strife;Hail, mender of every man's mind;Hail, body that we ought to bless,So faithful friend may never man find;Hail, lever and lover of largëness,Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde;Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind;Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty,Hail, trewore then the wode bynd:You pray for us thy Sonë so free!AVE.
Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen;Hail, gatus of paradise;Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen;Hail, rich, royal, and righteous;Hail, burde yblessed may you bene;Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris;Hail, shadow in each a shower shene;Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis,Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis;Hail, chief chamber of charity;Hail, in woe that ever was wis:You pray for us thy Sonë so free!AVE, &c. &c.
[1] 'Botenere:' helper.
It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser.
On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three volumes to thisrésumé, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose popularity and importance have in a great measure passed.
It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British Poets—from Chaucer to Cowper—which will be acceptable and satisfactory to the general reader.
Edinburgh, July 1860.
* * * * *
JOHN GOWERThe Chariot of the SunThe Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c.Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives fromthe Sense of Hearing
JOHN BARBOURApostrophe to FreedomDeath of Sir Henry de Bohun
BLIND HARRYBattle of Black-EarnsideThe Death of Wallace
JAMES I. OF SCOTLANDDescription of the King's Mistress
JOHN LYDGATECanace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guiltyBrother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy PassionThe London Lyckpenny
HARDING, KAY, &c.
ROBERT HENRYSONDinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country MouseThe Garment of Good Ladies
WILLIAM DUNBARThe Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through HellThe Merle and Nightingale
GAVIN DOUGLASMorning in May
HAWES, BARCLAY, &c.
SKELTONTo Miss Margaret Hussey
SIR DAVID LYNDSAYMeldrum's Duel with the English Champion TalbartSupplication in Contemption of Side Tails
THOMAS TUSSERDirections for Cultivating a Hop-gardenHousewifely PhysicMoral Reflections on the Wind
VAUX, EDWARDS, &c.
GEORGE GASCOIGNEGood-morrowGood-night
THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSETAllegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates'Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions
JOHN HARRINGTONSonnet on Isabella MarkhamVerses on a most stony-hearted Maiden
SIR PHILIP SIDNEYTo SleepSonnets
ROBERT SOUTHWELLLook HomeThe Image of DeathLove's Servile LotTimes go by Turns
THOMAS WATSONThe Nymphs to their May-QueenSonnet
THOMAS TURBERVILLEIn praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick
UNKNOWNHarpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who lovedher not, and denied him that loved herA Praise of his LadyThat all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the LoverFrom 'The Phoenix' Nest'From the sameThe Soul's Errand
* * * * *
FRANCIS BEAUMONTTo Ben JonsonOn the Tombs in WestminsterAn Epitaph
SIR WALTER RALEIGHThe Country's RecreationsThe Silent LoverA Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen'Love admits no Rival
JOSHUA SYLVESTERTo ReligionOn Man's Resemblance to GodThe Chariot of the Sun
RICHARD BARNFIELDAddress to the Nightingale
ALEXANDER HUMEThanks for a Summer's Day
SAMUEL DANIELRichard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret CastleEarly LoveSelections from Sonnets
SIR JOHN DAVIESIntroduction to the Poem on the Soul of ManThe Self-subsistence of the SoulSpirituality of the Soul
GILES FLETCHERThe NativitySong of Sorceress seeking to tempt ChristClose of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph'
JOHN DONNEHoly SonnetsThe Progress of the Soul
MICHAEL DRAYTONDescription of Morning
EDWARD FAIRFAXRinaldo at Mount Olivet
SIR HENRY WOTTONFarewell to the Vanities of the WorldA Meditation
RICHARD CORBETDr Corbet's Journey into France
BEN JONSONEpitaph on the Countess of PembrokeThe Picture of the BodyTo PenshurstTo the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and whathe hath left usOn the Portrait of Shakspeare
VERE, STORBER, &c
THOMAS RANDOLPHThe Praise of WomanTo my PictureTo a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass
ROBERT BURTONOn Melancholy
THOMAS CAREWPersuasions to LoveSongTo my Mistress sitting by a River's SideSongA Pastoral DialogueSong
SIR JOHN SUCKLINGSongA Ballad upon a WeddingSong
WILLIAM CARTWRIGHTLove's DartsOn the Death of Sir Bevil GrenvilleA Valediction
WILLIAM BROWNESongSongPower of Genius over EnvyEveningFrom 'Britannia's Pastorals'A Descriptive Sketch
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLINGSonnet
WILLIAM DRUMMONDThe River of Forth FeastingSonnetsSpiritual Poems
PHINEAS FLETCHERDescription of PartheniaInstability of Human GreatnessHappiness of the Shepherd's LifeMarriage of Christ and the Church
* * * * *
Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between—like a few stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his 'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:—
'O moral Gower, this bookë I direct,To thee and the philosophical Strood,To vouchsafe where need is to correct,Of your benignities and zealës good.'
Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:—
'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet,As my disciple and my poët;For 'in the flower of his youth,In sundry wise, as he well couth,Of ditties and of songës glad,The whichë for my sake he made,The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c.
The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses isJohn Gowerwho on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a century later, to be 'Sr John Gower the Poet'. Whatever may be thought of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the moral Gower?'
From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the cyrcle or garlande itself.'
It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, being his senior, must have been 'graver' still.
There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, —Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated,
'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides,And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'—
was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, with the significant request 'ut orent pro me'—a request which, for the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme,
'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John,Who died in the year one thousand and one;You may if you please, or let it alone,For it's all oneTo Gabriel John,Who died in the year one thousand and one.'
There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name was Agnes, and he leaves to her £100 in legacy, besides his valuable goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet.
In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misitsenex et cecusJohannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepö.' &c. Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos egobis denoRicardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years at least before his death Gower had beensenex et cecus, helpless through old age and blindness.
The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the 'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him tobook some new thing. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' 'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already alluded to—a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day.
The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, Memoriae Seculorum,'—a kind of universal history, more studious of effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded—namely, chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and create in the minds of their readers a love for literature.
Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close—
'Forthy, now in his daies old,Thou shalt him tell this message,That he upon his later ageTo set an end of all his work,As he which is mine owen clerk,Do make his Testament of Love,As thou hast done thy shrift above,So that my court it may record'—
the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The CanterburyTales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower—'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.'
After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius.
Of goldë glist'ring spoke and wheelThe Sun his cart hath fair and wele,In which he sitteth, and is croned[1]With bright stonës environed:Of which if that I speakë shall,There be before in specialSet in the front of his coroneThree stones, whichë no personHath upon earth; and the first isBy name cleped Leucachatis.That other two cleped thusAstroites and Ceraunus;In his corone, and also behind,By oldë bookës as I find,There be of worthy stonës three,Set each of them in his degree.Whereof a crystal is that one,Which that corone is set upon:The second is an adamant:The third is noble and evenant,Which cleped is Idriades.And over this yet natheless,Upon the sidës of the werk,After the writing of the clerk,There sitten fivë stones mo.[2]The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3]Jaspis, and Eltropius,And Vendides, and Jacinctus.Lo thus the corone is beset,Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4]And in such wise his light to spread,Sits with his diadem on head,The Sunnë shining in his cart:And for to lead him swith[5] and smart,After the bright dayë's law,There be ordained for to draw,Four horse his chare, and him withal,Whereof the namës tell I shall.Eritheus the first is hote,[6]The which is red, and shineth hot;The second Acteos the bright;Lampes the thirdë courser hight;And Philogens is the ferth,That bringen light unto this earth,And go so swift upon the heaven,In four and twenty hourës even,The cartë with the brightë sunThey drawen, so that over runThey have under the circles high,All middë earth in such an hie.[7]
And thus the sun is over allThe chief planet imperial,Above him and beneath him three.And thus between them runneth he,As he that hath the middle placeAmong the seven: and of his faceBe glad all earthly creatures,And taken after the naturesTheir ease and recreation.And in his constellationWho that is born in special,Of good-will and of liberalHe shall be found in allë place,And also stand in muchel graceToward the lordës for to serve,And great profit and thank deserve.
And over that it causeth yetA man to be subtil of wit,To work in gold, and to be wiseIn everything, which is of prise.[8]But for to speaken in what coastOf all this earth he reigneth most,As for wisdom it is in Greece,Where is appropred thilk spece.[9]
[1] 'Croned:' crowned. [2] 'Mo:' more. [3] 'Tho:' those. [4] 'Bet:' better. [5] 'Swith:' swift. [6] 'Hot:' named. [7] 'Hie:' haste. [8] 'Prise:' value. [9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind.
THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c.
In a chroniquë thus I read:About a kingë, as must need,There was of knightës and squiersGreat rout, and ekë officers:Some of long timë him had served,And thoughten that they have deservedAdvancëment, and gone without:And some also been of the rout,That comen but a while agon,And they advanced were anon.
These oldë men upon this thing,So as they durst, against the kingAmong themselves complainen oft:But there is nothing said so soft,That it ne cometh out at last:The king it wist, anon as fast,As he which was of high prudence:He shope[1] therefore an evidenceOf them that 'plainen in the caseTo know in whose default it was:And all within his own intent,That none more wistë what it meant.Anon he let two coffers make,Of one semblànce, and of one make,So like, that no life thilkë throw,[2]The one may from that other know:They were into his chamber brought,But no man wot why they be wrought,And natheless the king hath bedeThat they be set in privy stede,[3]As he that was of wisdom sly;When he thereto his timë sih,[4]All privily that none it wist,His ownë handës that one chestOf fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5]The which out of his treasuryWas take, anon he filled full;That other coffer of straw and mull,[6]With stonës meynd[7] he fill'd also:Thus be they full bothë two.So that erliche[8] upon a dayHe bade within, where he lay,There should be before his bedA board up set and fairë spread:And then he let the coffers fet[9]Upon the board, and did them set,He knew the namës well of tho,[10]The which against him grutched[11] so,Both of his chamber, and of his hall,Anon and sent for them all;And saidë to them in this wise:
'There shall no man his hap despise:I wot well ye have longë served,And God wot what ye have deserved;But if it is along[12] on meOf that ye unadvanced be,Or else if it be long on yow,The soothë shall be proved now:To stoppë with your evil word,Lo! here two coffers on the board;Choose which you list of bothë two;And witteth well that one of thoIs with treasure so full begon,That if he happë thereuponYe shall be richë men for ever:Now choose and take which you is lever,[13]But be well 'ware ere that ye take,For of that one I undertakeThere is no manner good therein,Whereof ye mighten profit win.Now go together of one assent,And taketh your advisëment;For but I you this day advance,It stands upon your ownë chance,All only in default of grace;So shall be shewed in this placeUpon you all well afine,[14]That no defaultë shall be mine.'
They kneelen all, and with one voiceThe king they thanken of this choice:And after that they up arise,And go aside and them advise,And at lastë they accord(Whereof their talë to recordTo what issue they be fall)A knight shall speakë for them all:He kneeleth down unto the king,And saith that they upon this thing,Or for to win, or for to lose,Be all advised for to choose.
Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand,And go'th there as the coffers stand,And with assent of every oneHe lay'th his yardë upon one,And saith the king[16] how thilkë sameThey chose in reguerdon[17] by name,And pray'th him that they might it have.
The king, which would his honour save,When he had heard the common voice,Hath granted them their ownë choice,And took them thereupon the key;But for he wouldë it were seeWhat good they have as they suppose,He bade anon the coffer unclose,Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones:Thus be they served all at ones.
This king then in the samë stede,Anon that other coffer undede,Where as they sawen great richés,Well morë than they couthen [18] guess.
'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye seeThat there is no default in me;Forthy[19] myself I will acquite,And beareth ye your ownë wite[20]Of that fortune hath you refused.'
Thus was this wisë king excused:And they left off their evil speech.And mercy of their king beseech.
[1] 'Shope:' contrived. [2] 'Thilkë throw:' at that time. [3] 'Stede:' place. [4] 'Sih:' saw. [5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. [6] 'Mull:' rubbish. [7] 'Meynd:' mingled. [8] 'Erlich:' early. [9] 'Fet:' fetched. [10] 'Tho:' those. [11] 'Grutched:' murmured. [12] 'Along:' because of. [13] 'Lever:' preferable. [14] 'Afine:' at last. [15] 'Yard:' rod. [16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. [17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. [18] 'Couthen:' could. [19] 'Forthy:' therefore. [20] 'Wite:' blame.
Right as mine eyë with his lookIs to mine heart a lusty cookOf lovë's foodë delicate;Right so mine ear in his estate,Where as mine eyë may nought serve,Can well mine heartë's thank deserve;And feeden him, from day to day,With such dainties as he may.
For thus it is that, over allWhere as I come in special,I may hear of my lady price:[1]I hear one say that she is wise;Another saith that she is good;And some men say of worthy bloodThat she is come; and is alsoSo fair that nowhere is none so:And some men praise her goodly chere.[2]Thus everything that I may hear,Which soundeth to my lady good,Is to mine ear a lusty food.And eke mine ear hath, over this,A dainty feastë when so isThat I may hear herselvë speak;For then anon my fast I breakOn suchë wordës as she saith,That full of truth and full of faithThey be, and of so good disport,That to mine earë great comfórtThey do, as they that be delicesFor all the meats, and all the spices,That any Lombard couthë[3] make,Nor be so lusty for to take,Nor so far forth restoratif,(I say as for mine ownë life,)As be the wordës of her mouthFor as the windës of the southBe most of allë debonaire;[4]So, when her list to speakë fair,The virtue of her goodly speechIs verily mine heartë's leech.
And if it so befall among,That she carol upon a song,When I it hear, I am so fed,That I am from myself so ledAs though I were in Paradise;For, certes, as to mine avìs,[5]When I hear of her voice the steven,[6]Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven.
And eke in other wise also,Full oftë time it falleth so,Mine carë with a good pitànce[7]Is fed of reading of romanceOf Ydoine and of Amadas,That whilom weren in my case;And eke of other many a score,That loveden long ere I was bore.For when I of their lovës read,Mine eare with the tale I feed,And with the lust of their histoireSometime I draw into memoire,How sorrow may not ever last;And so hope cometh in at last.
[1] 'Price:' praise. [2] 'Chere:' mien. [3] 'Couthë:' knows to. [4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. [5] 'Avis:' opinion. [6] 'Steven:' sound. [7] 'Pitance:' allowance.
The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in 1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316.
In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions.
A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer.
Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is supposed that David II.—who died in 1370—had urged Barbour to engage in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this endowment reverted to the Crown.'
Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas—came over from Italy, the land of his birth—landed at Totness, in Devonshire—destroyed the giants who then inhabited Albion—called the island 'Britain' from his own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in Latin.
Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of 'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.'
His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till 1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and Edinburgh, 1670—all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven 'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes.
In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert Bruce. The incidents in his history,—the escape he made from English bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his glory for ever secured,—not to speak of the beautiful legends which have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower—of the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart—of the strange signal-light upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to land, while
'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd,Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd,Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim,In blood-red light her islets swim,Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave,Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave,The deer to distant covert drew,The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;'
and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, when, in the hand of Douglas,—meet casket for such a gem!—it marched onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy Land;—all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which 'no stranger can intermeddle.'
Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of Scotland's greatest poets,—Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of poetry.
Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, are characteristic of the writer's own genius.
Ah! freedom is a noble thing!Freedom makes man to have liking!Freedom all solace to man gives:He lives at ease that freely lives!A noble heart may have none ease,Nor nought else that may him please,If freedom fail; for free likingIs yearned o'er all other thing.Nay, he that aye has lived free,May not know well the property,The anger, nor the wretched doom,That is coupled to foul thirldom.But if he had assayed it,Then all perquier[1] he should it wit:And should think freedom more to prizeThan all the gold in world that is.
[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly.
And when the king wist that they wereIn hale[1] battle, coming so near,His battle gart[2] he well array.He rode upon a little palfrey,Laughed and jolly, arrayandHis battle, with an axe in hand.And on his bassinet he bareA hat of tyre above aye where;And, thereupon, into tok'ning,An high crown, that he was king.And when Gloster and Hereford wereWith their battle approaching near,Before them all there came ridand,With helm on head and spear in hand,Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy,That was a wight knight, and a hardy,And to the Earl of Hereford cousin;Armed in armis good and fine;Came on a steed a bowshot near,Before all other that there were:And knew the king, for that he sawHim so range his men on raw,[3]And by the crown that was setAlso upon his bassinet.And toward him he went in hy.[4]And the king so apertly[5]Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7]In hy till him the horse he steers.And when Sir Henry saw the kingCome on, forouten[8] abasing,To him he rode in full great hy.He thought that he should well lightlyWin him, and have him at his will,Since he him horsed saw so ill.Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9]Sir Henry miss'd the noble king;And he that in his stirrups stood,With the axe, that was hard and good,With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint,That neither hat nor helm might stintThe heavy dush that he him gave,The head near to the harns[11] he clave.The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two;And he down to the yird[13] 'gan goAll flatlings, for him failed might.This was the first stroke of the fight,That was performed doughtily.And when the king's men so stoutlySaw him, right at the first meeting,Forouten doubt or abasing,Have slain a knight so at a straik,Such hardment thereat 'gan they take,That they come on right hardily.When Englishmen saw them so stoutlyCome on, they had great abasing;And specially for that the kingSo smartly that good knight has slain,That they withdrew them everilk ane,And durst not one abide to fight:So dread they for the king his might.When that the king repaired was,That gart his men all leave the chase,The lordis of his companyBlamed him, as they durst, greatumly,That be him put in aventure,To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour,In such point as he then was seen.For they said, well it might have beenCause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane.The king answer has made them nane,But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft soWas with the stroke broken in two.
[1] 'Hale:' whole. [2] 'Gart:' caused. [3] 'Haw:' row [4] 'Hy:' haste [5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. [6] 'Forouth:' beyond. [7] 'Feres:' companions. [8] 'Forouten:' without. [9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, against each other, in a line. [10] 'Raucht:' reached. [11] 'Harns:' brains. [12] 'Frushit:' broke. [13] 'Yird:' earth. [14] 'Stith:' strong. [15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. [16] 'Mainit:' lamented.