FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[14]The more I study the songs of love and wine in this codex, the more convinced am I that they have their origin for the most part in South-Western Germany, Bavaria, the Bodensee, and Elsass.

[14]The more I study the songs of love and wine in this codex, the more convinced am I that they have their origin for the most part in South-Western Germany, Bavaria, the Bodensee, and Elsass.

It is easier to say what the Goliardi wrote about than who the writers were, and what they felt and thought than by what names they were baptised. The mass of their literature, as it is at present known to us, dividesinto two broad classes. The one division includes poems on the themes of vagabond existence, the truant life of these capricious students; on spring-time and its rural pleasure; on love in many phases and for divers kinds of women; lastly, on wine and on the dice-box. The other division is devoted to graver topics; to satires on society, touching especially the Roman Court, and criticising eminent ecclesiastics in all countries; to moral dissertations, and to discourses on the brevity of life.

Of the two divisions, the former yields by far the livelier image of the men we have to deal with. It will therefore form the staple of my argument. The latter blends at so many points with medieval literature of the monastic kind, that it is chiefly distinguished by boldness of censure and sincerity of invective. In these qualities the serious poems of the Goliardi, emanating from a class of men who moved behind the scenes and yet were free to speak their thoughts, are unique. Written with the satirist's eye upon the object of his sarcasm, tinged with the license of his vagabondage, throbbing with the passionate and nonchalant afflatus of the wine-cup, they wing their flight like poisoned arrows or plumed serpents with unerring straightness at abuses in high places.

The wide space occupied by Nature in the secular poems of the Goliardi is remarkable. As a background to their love-songs we always find the woods and fields of May, abundant flowers and gushing rivulets, lime-trees and pines and olive-trees, through which soft winds are blowing. There are rose-bowers and nightingales; fauns,nymphs, and satyrs dancing on the sward. Choirs of mortal maidens emerge in the midst of this Claude-landscape. The scene, meanwhile, has been painted from experience, and felt with the enthusiasm of affection. It breathes of healthy open air, of life upon the road, of casual joys and wayside pleasure, snatched with careless heart by men whose tastes are natural. There is very little of the alcove or the closet in this verse; and the touch upon the world is so infantine, so tender, that we are indulgent to the generalities with which the poets deal.

What has been said about popular poetry applies also to popular painting. In the landscapes of Goliardic literature there is nothing specific to a single locality—no name like Vaucluse, no pregnant touch that indicates one scene selected from a thousand. The landscape is always a background, more northern or more southern as the case may be, but penetrated with the feeling of the man who has been happy or has suffered there. This feeling, broadly, sensuously diffused, as in a masterpiece of Titian, prepares us for the human element to be exhibited.

The foreground of these pictures is occupied by a pair of lovers meeting after the long winter's separation, a dance upon the village green, a young man gazing on the mistress he adores, a disconsolate exile from his home, the courtship of a student and a rustic beauty, or perhaps the grieved and melancholy figure of one whose sweetheart has proved faithless. Such actors in the comedy of life are defined with fervent intensity oftouch against the leafy vistas of the scene. The lyrical cry emerges clear and sharp in all that concerns their humanity.

The quality of love expressed is far from being either platonic or chivalrous. It is love of the sensuous, impulsive, appetitive kind, to which we give the name of Pagan. The finest outbursts of passion are emanations from a potent sexual desire. Meanwhile, nothing indicates the character or moral quality of either man or woman. The student and the girl are alwaysvis-à-vis, fixed characters in this lyrical love-drama. He calls her Phyllis, Flora, Lydia, Glycerion, Caecilia. He remains unnamed, his physical emotion sufficing for personal description. The divinity presiding over them is Venus. Jove and Danae, Cupid and the Graces, Paris and Helen, follow in her train. All the current classical mythology is laid under cheap contribution. Yet the central emotion, the young man's heart's desire, is so vividly portrayed, that we seem to be overhearing the triumphant ebullition or the melancholy love-lament of a real soul.

The sentiment of love is so important in the songs of the Wandering Students, that it may not be superfluous at this point to cull a few emphatic phrases which illustrate the core of their emotion, and to present these in the original Latin.

I may first observe to what a large extent the ideas ofspring and of female society were connected at that epoch. Winter was a dreary period, during which a man bore his fate and suffered. He emerged from it into sunshine, brightened by the intercourse with women, which was then made possible. This is how the winter is described:[15]—

"In omni loco congruoSermonis oblectatioCum sexu femineoEvanuit omni modo."

Of the true love-songs, only one refers expressly to the winter season. That, however, is the lyric upon Flora, which contains a detailed study of plastic form in the bold spirit of the Goliardic style.[16]

The particularity with which the personal charms of women are described deserves attention. The portrait of Flora, to which I have just alluded, might be cited as one of the best specimens. But the slightest shades are discriminated, as in this touch:[17]—

"LabellulisCastigate tumentibus."

One girl has long tawny tresses:Caesaries subrubea. Another is praised for the masses of her dark hair:Frons nimirum coronata, supercilium nigrata. Roses and lilies vie, of course, upon the cheeks of all; and sometimes theirsweetness surpasses the lily of the valley. From time to time a touch of truer poetry occurs; as, for instance[18]—

"O decora super oraBelli Absalonis!"

Or take again the outburst of passion in this stanza, where both the rhythm and the ponderous Latin words, together with the abrupt transition from the third to the fourth line, express a fine exaltation:[19]—

"Frons et gula, labra, mentumDant amoris alimentum;Crines ejus adamavi,Quoniam fuere flavi."

The same kind of enthusiasm is more elaborately worked out in the following comparisons:[20]—

"Matutini siderisJubar praeis,Et liliumRosaque periere:Micat ebur dentiumPer labium,Ut SiriumCredat quis enitere."

As might be expected, such lovers were not satisfied with contemplative pleasures:[21]—

"Visu, colloquio,Contactu, basio,Frui virgo dederat;Sed aberatLinea posteriorEt melior amori,Quam nisi transiero,De ceteroSunt quae dantur aliaMateria furori."

The conclusion of this song, which, taken in its integrity, deserves to be regarded as typical of what is pagan in this erotic literature, may be studied in the Appendix toCarmina Burana.

Occasionally the lover's desire touches a higher point of spirituality:[22]—

"Non tactu sanabor labiorum,Nisi cor unum fiat duorumEt idem velle. Vale, flos florum!"

Occasionally, the sensuous fervour assumes a passionate intensity:[23]—

"Nocte cum ea si dormiero,Si sua labra semel suxero,Mortem subire, placenter obire, vitamque finire,Libens potero."

Very rarely there is a strong desire expressed for fidelity,as in a beautiful lyric of absence, which I hope to give translated in full in my 17th Section.

But the end to be attained is always such as is summed up in these brief words placed upon a girl's lips:[24]—

"Dulcissime,Totam tibi subdo me."

And the motto of both sexes is this:[25]—

"Quicquid agant alii,Juvenes amemus."

It may be added, in conclusion, that the sweethearts of our students seem to have been mostly girls of the working and rustic classes, sometimes women of bad fame, rarely married women. In no case that has come beneath my notice is there any hint that one of them aspired to such amours with noble ladies as distinguished the Troubadours. A democratic tone, a tone of the proletariate, is rather strangely blent with the display of learning, and with the more than common literary skill apparent in their work.

FOOTNOTES:[15]Carm. Bur., p. 174.[16]Ibid., p. 149, translated below in Sectionxvii.[17]Ibid., p. 130.[18]Carm. Bur., p. 200.[19]Ibid., p. 231.[20]Ibid., p. 121.[21]Ibid., p. 135.[22]Carm. Bur., p. 145.[23]Ibid., p. 230.

[15]Carm. Bur., p. 174.

[16]Ibid., p. 149, translated below in Sectionxvii.

[17]Ibid., p. 130.

[18]Carm. Bur., p. 200.

[19]Ibid., p. 231.

[20]Ibid., p. 121.

[21]Ibid., p. 135.

[22]Carm. Bur., p. 145.

[23]Ibid., p. 230.

The drinking-songs are equally spontaneous and fresh. Anacreon pales before the brilliancy of the Archipoeta when wine is in his veins, and the fountain of the Bacchic chant swells with gushes of strongly emphasised bolddouble rhymes, each throbbing like a man's firm stroke upon the strings of lyres. A fine audacity breathes through the praises of the wine-god, sometimes rising to lyric rapture, sometimes sinking to parody and innuendo, but always carrying the bard on rolling wheels along the paths of song. The reality of the inspiration is indubitable. These Bacchanalian choruses have been indited in the tavern, with a crowd of topers round the poet, with the rattle of the dice-box ringing in his ears, and with the facile maidens of his volatile amours draining the wine-cup at his elbow.

Wine is celebrated as the source of pleasure in social life, provocative of love, parent of poetry:[26]—

"Bacchus forte superansPectora virorumIn amorem concitatAnimos eorum."Bacchus saepe visitansMulierum genusFacit eas subditasTibi, O tu Venus!"

"Bacchus forte superansPectora virorumIn amorem concitatAnimos eorum.

"Bacchus saepe visitansMulierum genusFacit eas subditasTibi, O tu Venus!"

From his temple, the tavern, water-drinkers and fastidious persons are peremptorily warned:[27]—

"Qui potare non potestis,Ite procul ab his festis;Non est hic locus modestis:Devitantur plus quam pestis."

The tavern is loved better than the church, and a bowl of wine than the sacramental chalice:[28]—

"Magis quam ecclesiamDiligo tabernam.""Mihi sapit dulciusVinum de taberna,Quam quod aqua miscuitPraesulis pincerna."

"Magis quam ecclesiamDiligo tabernam."

"Mihi sapit dulciusVinum de taberna,Quam quod aqua miscuitPraesulis pincerna."

As in the love-songs, so in these drinking-songs we find no lack of mythological allusions. Nor are the grammatical quibbles, which might also have been indicated as a defect of the erotic poetry, conspicuous by absence. But both alike are impotent to break the spell of evident sincerity. We discount them as belonging to the euphuism of a certain epoch, and are rather surprised than otherwise that they should not be more apparent. The real and serious defect of Goliardic literature is not affectation, but something very different, which I shall try to indicate in the last Section of this treatise. Venus and Helen, Liber and Lyaeus, are but the current coin of poetic diction common to the whole student class. These Olympian deities merge without a note of discord into the dim background of a medieval pothouse or the sylvan shades of some ephemeral amour, leaving the realism of natural appetite in either case untouched.

It is by no means the thin and conventional sprinkling of classical erudition which makes these poems of theGoliardi pagan, and reminds the student of Renaissance art. Conversely, the scholastic plays on words which they contain do not stamp them out as medieval. Both of these qualities arerococoand superficial rather than essential and distinctive in their style. After making due allowances for either element of oddity, a true connoisseur will gratefully appreciate the spontaneous note of enjoyment, the disengagement from ties and duties imposed by temporal respectability, the frank animalism, which connects these vivid hymns to Bacchus and Venus with past Aristophanes and future Rabelais. They celebrate the eternal presence of mirth-making powers in hearts of men, apart from time and place and varying dogmas which do not concern deities of Nature.

FOOTNOTES:[24]Carm. Bur., p. 133.[25]Ibid., p. 251.[26]Carm. Bur., p. 238.[27]Ibid., p. 240.[28]Wright'sWalter Mapes, p. xlv.;Carm. Bur., p. 69.

[24]Carm. Bur., p. 133.

[25]Ibid., p. 251.

[26]Carm. Bur., p. 238.

[27]Ibid., p. 240.

[28]Wright'sWalter Mapes, p. xlv.;Carm. Bur., p. 69.

The time has now come for me to introduce my reader to the versions I have made from the songs of Wandering Students. I must remind him that, while the majority of these translations aim at literal exactness and close imitation of the originals in rhyme and structure, others are more paraphrastic. It has always been my creed that a good translation should resemble a plaster-cast; the English beingplaquèupon the original, so as to reproduce its exact form, although it cannot convey the effects of bronze or marble, which belong to the material of the work of art. But this method has not always seemed tome the most desirable for rendering poems, an eminent quality of which is facility and spontaneity. In order to obtain that quality in our language, the form has occasionally to be sacrificed.

What Coleridge has reported to have said of Southey may be applied to a translator. He too "is in some sort like an elegant setter of jewels; the stones are not his own: he gives them all the advantage of his art, but not their native brilliancy." I feel even more than this when I attempt translation, and reflect that, unlike the jeweller, it is my doom to reduce the lustre of the gems I handle, even if I do not substitute paste and pebbles. Yet I am frequently enticed to repeat experiments, which afterwards I regard in the light of failures. What allures me first is the pleasure of passing into that intimate familiarity with art which only a copyist or a translator enjoys. I am next impelled by the desire to fix the attention of readers on things which I admire, and which are possibly beyond their scope of view. Lastly comes thatignis fatuusof the hope, for ever renewed, if also for ever disappointed, that some addition may be made in this way to the wealth of English poetry. A few exquisite pieces in Latin literature, the CatullianIlle mi par, for example, a few in our own, such as Jonson'sDrink to me only with thine eyes, are translations. Possibly the miracle of such poetic transmutation may be repeated for me; possibly an English song may come to birth by my means also. With this hope in view, the translator is strongly tempted to engraft upon his versions elegancesin the spirit of his native language, or to use the motives of the original for improvisations in his own manner. I must plead guilty to having here and there yielded to this temptation, as may appear upon comparison of my English with the Latin. All translation is a compromise; and while being conscious of having to sacrifice much, the translator finds himself often seeking to add something as a makeweight.

I shall divide my specimens into nine Sections. The first will include those which deal with the Order of Wandering Students in general, winding up with theConfessionascribed to Golias, the father of the family. The second, third, fourth, and fifth are closely connected, since they contain spring-songs, pastorals, descriptive poems touching upon love, and erotic lyrics. The sixth Section will be devoted to a few songs of exile, doubt, and sorrow. In the seventh we shall reach anacreontics on the theme of wine, passing in the eighth to parodies and comic pieces. Four or five serious compositions will close the list in the ninth Section.

At the end of the book I mean to print a table containing detailed references to the originals of the songs I have chosen for translation, together with an index of the principal works that have been published on this subject.

The first song which concerns the Order of Wandering Students in general has been attributed to the Archipoeta or head-bard of the guild. Whoever this poet may have been, it is to him that we owe theConfession of Golias, by far the most spirited composition of the whole Goliardic species. I do not think the style of the poem on the Order, though it belongs to a good period, justifies our ascribing it to so inspired and genial a lyrist.

The argument runs as follows. Just as commission was given to the Apostles to go forth and preach in the whole world, so have the Wandering Students a vocation to travel, and to test the hearts of men wherever they may sojourn. A burlesque turn is given to this function of theVagi. Yet their consciousness of a satiric mission, their willingness to pose as critics of society from the independent vantage-ground of vagabondage, seems seriously hinted at.

The chief part of the song is devoted to a description of the comprehensive nature of the Order, which receives all sorts and conditions of men, and makes no distinction of nationality. The habitual poverty of its members, their favourite pastimes and vices, their love of gaming and hatred of early rising, are set forth with some humour.

At the mandate, Go ye forth,Through the whole world hurry!Priests tramp out toward south and north,Monks and hermits skurry,Levites smooth the gospel leave,Bent on ambulation;Each and all to our sect cleave,Which is life's salvation.In this sect of ours 'tis writ:Prove all things in season;Weigh this life and judge of itBy your riper reason;'Gainst all evil clerks be youSteadfast in resistance,Who refuse large tithe and dueUnto your subsistence.Marquesses, Bavarians,Austrians and Saxons,Noblemen and chiefs of clans,Glorious by your actions!Listen, comrades all, I pray,To these new decretals:Misers they must meet decay,Niggardly gold-beetles.We the laws of charityFound, nor let them crumble;For into our order weTake both high and humble;Rich and poor men we receive,In our bosom cherish;Welcome those the shavelings leaveAt their doors to perish.We receive the tonsured monk,Let him take his pittance;And the parson with his punk,If he craves admittance;Masters with their bands of boys,Priests with high dominion;But the scholar who enjoysJust one coat's our minion!This our sect doth entertainJust men and unjust ones;Halt, lame, weak of limb or brain,Strong men and robust ones;Those who flourish in their pride,Those whom age makes stupid;Frigid folk and hot folk friedIn the fires of Cupid.Tranquil souls and bellicose,Peacemaker and foeman;Czech and Hun, and mixed with thoseGerman, Slav, and Roman;Men of middling size and weight,Dwarfs and giants mighty;Men of modest heart and state,Vain men, proud and flighty.Of the Wanderers' order ITell the Legislature—They whose life is free and high,Gentle too their nature—They who'd rather scrape a fatDish in gravy swimming,Than in sooth to marvel atBarns with barley brimming.Now this order, as I ken,Is called sect or section,Since its sectaries are menDivers in complexion;ThereforehicandhaecandhocSuit it in declension,Since so multiform a flockHere finds comprehension.This our order hath decriedMatins with a warning;For that certain phantoms glideIn the early morning,Whereby pass into man's brainVisions of vain folly;Early risers are insane,Racked by melancholy.This our order doth proscribeAll the year round matins;When they've left their beds, our tribeIn the tap sing latins;There they call for wine for all,Roasted fowl and chicken;Hazard's threats no hearts appal,Though his strokes still thicken.This our order doth forbidDouble clothes with loathing:He whose nakedness is hidWith one vest hath clothing:Soon one throws his cloak asideAt the dice-box calling;Next his girdle is untied,While the cards are falling.What I've said of upper clothesTo the nether reaches;They who own a shirt, let thoseThink no more of breeches;If one boasts big boots to use,Let him leave his gaiters;They who this firm law refuseShall be counted traitors.No one, none shall wander forthFasting from the table;If thou'rt poor, from south and northBeg as thou art able!Hath it not been often seenThat one coin brings many,When a gamester on the greenStakes his lucky penny?No one on the road should walk'Gainst the wind—'tis madness;Nor in poverty shall stalkWith a face of sadness;Let him bear him bravely then,Hope sustain his spirit;After heavy trials menBetter luck inherit!While throughout the world you rove,Thus uphold your banners;Give these reasons why you proveHearts of men and manners:"To reprove the reprobate,Probity approving,Improbate from approbateTo remove, I'm moving."

In this sect of ours 'tis writ:Prove all things in season;Weigh this life and judge of itBy your riper reason;'Gainst all evil clerks be youSteadfast in resistance,Who refuse large tithe and dueUnto your subsistence.

Marquesses, Bavarians,Austrians and Saxons,Noblemen and chiefs of clans,Glorious by your actions!Listen, comrades all, I pray,To these new decretals:Misers they must meet decay,Niggardly gold-beetles.

We the laws of charityFound, nor let them crumble;For into our order weTake both high and humble;Rich and poor men we receive,In our bosom cherish;Welcome those the shavelings leaveAt their doors to perish.

We receive the tonsured monk,Let him take his pittance;And the parson with his punk,If he craves admittance;Masters with their bands of boys,Priests with high dominion;But the scholar who enjoysJust one coat's our minion!

This our sect doth entertainJust men and unjust ones;Halt, lame, weak of limb or brain,Strong men and robust ones;Those who flourish in their pride,Those whom age makes stupid;Frigid folk and hot folk friedIn the fires of Cupid.

Tranquil souls and bellicose,Peacemaker and foeman;Czech and Hun, and mixed with thoseGerman, Slav, and Roman;Men of middling size and weight,Dwarfs and giants mighty;Men of modest heart and state,Vain men, proud and flighty.

Of the Wanderers' order ITell the Legislature—They whose life is free and high,Gentle too their nature—They who'd rather scrape a fatDish in gravy swimming,Than in sooth to marvel atBarns with barley brimming.

Now this order, as I ken,Is called sect or section,Since its sectaries are menDivers in complexion;ThereforehicandhaecandhocSuit it in declension,Since so multiform a flockHere finds comprehension.

This our order hath decriedMatins with a warning;For that certain phantoms glideIn the early morning,Whereby pass into man's brainVisions of vain folly;Early risers are insane,Racked by melancholy.

This our order doth proscribeAll the year round matins;When they've left their beds, our tribeIn the tap sing latins;There they call for wine for all,Roasted fowl and chicken;Hazard's threats no hearts appal,Though his strokes still thicken.

This our order doth forbidDouble clothes with loathing:He whose nakedness is hidWith one vest hath clothing:Soon one throws his cloak asideAt the dice-box calling;Next his girdle is untied,While the cards are falling.

What I've said of upper clothesTo the nether reaches;They who own a shirt, let thoseThink no more of breeches;If one boasts big boots to use,Let him leave his gaiters;They who this firm law refuseShall be counted traitors.

No one, none shall wander forthFasting from the table;If thou'rt poor, from south and northBeg as thou art able!Hath it not been often seenThat one coin brings many,When a gamester on the greenStakes his lucky penny?

No one on the road should walk'Gainst the wind—'tis madness;Nor in poverty shall stalkWith a face of sadness;Let him bear him bravely then,Hope sustain his spirit;After heavy trials menBetter luck inherit!

While throughout the world you rove,Thus uphold your banners;Give these reasons why you proveHearts of men and manners:"To reprove the reprobate,Probity approving,Improbate from approbateTo remove, I'm moving."

The next song is a lament for the decay of the Order and the suppression of its privileges. It was written, to all appearances, at a later date, and is inferior in style. The Goliardi had already, we learn from it, exchanged poverty for luxury. Instead of tramping on the hard hoof, they moved with a retinue of mounted servants. We seem to trace in the lament a change from habits of simple vagabondage to professional dependence, as minstrels and secretaries, upon men of rank in Church and State, which came over the Goliardic class. This poem, it may be mentioned, does not occur in theCarmina Burana, nor is it included among those which bear the name of Walter Mapes or Map.

Once (it was in days of yore)This our order flourished;Popes, whom Cardinals adore,It with honours nourished;Licences desirableThey gave, nought desiring;While our prayers, the beads we tell,Served us for our hiring.Now this order (so time runs)Is made tributary;With the ruck of Adam's sonsWe must draw and carry;Ground by common serfdom down,By our debts confounded,Debts to market-place and townWith the Jews compounded.Once ('twas when the simple stateOf our order lasted)All men praised us, no man's hateHarried us or wasted;Rates and taxes on our crewThere was none to levy;But the sect, douce men and true,Served God in a bevy.Now some envious folks, who spySumptuous equipages,Horses, litters passing by,And a host of pages,Say, "Unless their purses wereQuite with wealth o'erflowing,They could never thus, I swear,Round about be going!"Such men do not think nor ownHow with toil we bend us,Not to feed ourselves alone,But the folk who tend us:On all comers, all who come,We our substance lavish,Therefore 'tis a trifling sumFor ourselves we ravish.On this subject, at this time,What we've said suffices:Let us leave it, lead the rhymeBack to our devices:We the miseries of this lifeBear with cheerful spirit,That Heaven's bounty after strifeWe may duly merit.'Tis a sign that God the LordWill not let us perish,Since with scourge and rod and swordHe our souls doth cherish;He amid this vale of woesMakes us bear the burden,That true joys in heaven's reposeMay be ours for guerdon.

Now this order (so time runs)Is made tributary;With the ruck of Adam's sonsWe must draw and carry;Ground by common serfdom down,By our debts confounded,Debts to market-place and townWith the Jews compounded.

Once ('twas when the simple stateOf our order lasted)All men praised us, no man's hateHarried us or wasted;Rates and taxes on our crewThere was none to levy;But the sect, douce men and true,Served God in a bevy.

Now some envious folks, who spySumptuous equipages,Horses, litters passing by,And a host of pages,Say, "Unless their purses wereQuite with wealth o'erflowing,They could never thus, I swear,Round about be going!"

Such men do not think nor ownHow with toil we bend us,Not to feed ourselves alone,But the folk who tend us:On all comers, all who come,We our substance lavish,Therefore 'tis a trifling sumFor ourselves we ravish.

On this subject, at this time,What we've said suffices:Let us leave it, lead the rhymeBack to our devices:We the miseries of this lifeBear with cheerful spirit,That Heaven's bounty after strifeWe may duly merit.

'Tis a sign that God the LordWill not let us perish,Since with scourge and rod and swordHe our souls doth cherish;He amid this vale of woesMakes us bear the burden,That true joys in heaven's reposeMay be ours for guerdon.

Next in order to these poems, which display the Wandering Students as a class, I will produce two that exhibit their mode of life in detail. The first is a begging petition, addressed by a scholar on the tramp to the great man of the place where he is staying. The name of the place, as I have already noticed, is only indicated by an N. The nasal whine of a suppliant for alms, begging, as Erasmus begged, not in the name of charity,but of learning, makes itself heard both in the rhyme and rhythm of the original Latin. I have tried to follow the sing-song doggerel.

I, a wandering scholar lad,Born for toil and sadness,Oftentimes am driven byPoverty to madness.Literature and knowledge IFain would still be earning,Were it not that want of pelfMakes me cease from learning.These torn clothes that cover meAre too thin and rotten;Oft I have to suffer cold,By the warmth forgotten.Scarce I can attend at church,Sing God's praises duly;Mass and vespers both I miss,Though I love them truly.Oh, thou pride of N——,By thy worth I pray theeGive the suppliant help in need,Heaven will sure repay thee.Take a mind unto thee nowLike unto St. Martin;Clothe the pilgrim's nakedness,Wish him well at parting.So may God translate your soulInto peace eternal,And the bliss of saints be yoursIn His realm supernal.

I, a wandering scholar lad,Born for toil and sadness,Oftentimes am driven byPoverty to madness.

Literature and knowledge IFain would still be earning,Were it not that want of pelfMakes me cease from learning.

These torn clothes that cover meAre too thin and rotten;Oft I have to suffer cold,By the warmth forgotten.

Scarce I can attend at church,Sing God's praises duly;Mass and vespers both I miss,Though I love them truly.

Oh, thou pride of N——,By thy worth I pray theeGive the suppliant help in need,Heaven will sure repay thee.

Take a mind unto thee nowLike unto St. Martin;Clothe the pilgrim's nakedness,Wish him well at parting.

So may God translate your soulInto peace eternal,And the bliss of saints be yoursIn His realm supernal.

The second is a jovialSong of the Open Road, throbbing with the exhilaration of young life and madcap impudence. We must imagine that two vagabond students are drinking together before they part upon their several ways. One addresses the other asfrater catholice, vir apostolice, vows to befriend him, and expounds the laws of loyalty which bind the brotherhood together. To the rest of the world they are a terror and a nuisance. Honest folk are jeeringly forbidden to beware of thequadrivium, which is apt to form a fourfold rogue instead of a scholar in four branches of knowledge.

The Latin metre is so light, careless, and airy, that I must admit an almost complete failure to do it justice in my English version. The refrain appears intended to imitate a bugle-call.

We in our wandering,Blithesome and squandering,Tara, tantara, teino!Eat to satiety,Drink with propriety;Tara, tantara, teino!Laugh till our sides we split,Rags on our hides we fit;Tara, tantara, teino!Jesting eternally,Quaffing infernally:Tara, tantara, teino!Craft's in the bone of us,Fear 'tis unknown of us:Tara, tantara, teino!When we're in neediness,Thieve we with greediness:Tara, tantara, teino!Brother catholical,Man apostolical,Tara, tantara, teino!Say what you will have done,What you ask 'twill be done!Tara, tantara, teino!Folk, fear the toss of theHorns of philosophy!Tara, tantara, teino!Here comes a quadrupleSpoiler and prodigal!Tara, tantara, teino!License and vanityPamper insanity:Tara, tantara, teino!As the Pope bade us do,Brother to brother's true:Tara, tantara, teino!Brother, best friend, adieu!Now, I must part from you!Tara, tantara, teino!When will our meeting be?Glad shall our greeting be!Tara, tantara, teino!Vows valedictoryNow have the victory;Tara, tantara, teino!Clasped on each other's breast,Brother to brother pressed,Tara, tantara, teino!

We in our wandering,Blithesome and squandering,Tara, tantara, teino!

Eat to satiety,Drink with propriety;Tara, tantara, teino!

Laugh till our sides we split,Rags on our hides we fit;Tara, tantara, teino!

Jesting eternally,Quaffing infernally:Tara, tantara, teino!

Craft's in the bone of us,Fear 'tis unknown of us:Tara, tantara, teino!

When we're in neediness,Thieve we with greediness:Tara, tantara, teino!

Brother catholical,Man apostolical,Tara, tantara, teino!

Say what you will have done,What you ask 'twill be done!Tara, tantara, teino!

Folk, fear the toss of theHorns of philosophy!Tara, tantara, teino!

Here comes a quadrupleSpoiler and prodigal!Tara, tantara, teino!

License and vanityPamper insanity:Tara, tantara, teino!

As the Pope bade us do,Brother to brother's true:Tara, tantara, teino!

Brother, best friend, adieu!Now, I must part from you!Tara, tantara, teino!

When will our meeting be?Glad shall our greeting be!Tara, tantara, teino!

Vows valedictoryNow have the victory;Tara, tantara, teino!

Clasped on each other's breast,Brother to brother pressed,Tara, tantara, teino!

In the fourth place I insert theConfession of Golias. This important composition lays bare the inner nature of a Wandering Student, describing his vagrant habits, his volatile and indiscriminate amours, his passion for the dice-box, his devotion to wine, and the poetic inspiration he was wont to draw from it.

In England thisConfessionwas attributed to Walter Map; and the famous drinking-song, on which the Archdeacon of Oxford's reputation principally rests in modern times, was extracted from the stanzas IIet seq.[29]But, though Wright is unwilling to refuse Map such honour as may accrue to his fame from the composition, we have little reason to regard it as his work. The song was clearly written at Pavia—a point inexplicably overlooked by Wright in the note appended to stanza 9—and the Archbishop-elect of Cologne, who is appealed to by name in stanza 24, was Reinald von Dassel, a minister of Frederick Barbarossa. This circumstance enables us to determine the date of the poem between 1162 and 1165. When theConfessionwas manipulated for English readers,Praesul Coventrensium, Praesul mibi cognite, andO pastor ecclesiaewere in several MS. redactions substituted forElecte Coloniae. Instead ofPapiae, in stanza 8, we readin mundo; but in stanza 9, where the rhyme required it,Papiaewas left standing—a sufficient indication of literary rehandling by a clumsy scribe. In the text of theCarmina Burana, theConfessionwinds up with a petition that Reinald von Dassel should employ the poet as a secretary, or should bestow some mark of his bounty upon him.

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