English Prose and Verse from Beowulf to Stevenson

Then, from a trunk that stood hard-by,
The Owl in turn made her reply,
O'er it the ivy grew apace;
There made the Owl her dwelling-place.
The Nightingale, who saw her plain,
Surveyed the bird with high disdain,
Filled with contempt she viewed the Owl,
Whom all men loathsome deem and foul.
"Monster," she cried, "take wings and flee,
I am the worse for sight of thee,
Truly, at thy black looks of yore
Full oft my song I've given o'er;
My tongue grows weak, my courage flies
When you appear before mine eyes,
I'm more inclined to spit than sing
At sound of thy harsh sputtering."
The Owl abode till it grew late.
Eve came, she could no longer wait;
Her heart began to swell and strain
Till scarce she could her breath contain.
Half choked with rage, these words she flung:
"What think'st thou now about my song?
Think'st thou in song I have no skill

Merely because I cannot trill?

Often to wrath thou movest me,

And dost abuse me shamefully.

If in my claws I held thee fast,

And so, mayhap, I shall at last,-
And thou wert down from off thy spray
Then should'st thou sing another way."
Then made the Nightingale reply:

"If I avoid the open sky,
And shield myself in places bare,
Nothing for all thy threats I care;
While in my hedge secure I sit,

I reck not of your threats a whit.
I know you cruel to devour
All helpless things within your power,
Wreaking your wrath in evil way
On smaller birds where'er you may.
Hated of all the feathered rout,
The birds combine to drive you out;
Shrieking and scolding after you,
They hard upon your flight pursue.
The tit-mouse, if she had her will,
Would tease you and would work you ill.
Hateful to look upon thou art

In many ways, and every part;

Thy body's short, thy neck is small,

For thee consuming envy burns

When to the land our bliss returns.

420

Who turns black looks on each delight,

If men are happy for an hour;

Each heart is gladder for my sake,

All live in joy when I am here,

All wait for me to reappear.

As though with woad they had been dyed;
You stare as though you'd like to bite

Each thing your cruel claws could smite;
Just like an awl that has been crooked,

Your bill is stiff and sharp and hooked,

He wishes rather to espy

The blossom 'gins to spring and sprede
Upon the tree and on the mede,
The lily, with her face of snow,
Welcometh me, as well you know,
And bids me, with her aspect fair,
To fly to her, and greet her there.
So too, with ruddy face, the rose,
That from the thorny briar grows,
Bids me to sing in bush and grove,
A joyous carol for her love."

435

440

445

The poem is a controversial dialogue between the body and the soul, the warring parts of man's nature which St. Paul speaks of as "the flesh" and "the spirit." In Prof. Kittredge's opinion this poem is incomparably the best embodiment of the theme that can be found in any literature.

It said: "Woe! woe! and welawoe!
Woe worth thy flesh, thy foule blood,
Wretched body, why liest thou so
That wert but now so wild and wode??

"Thou that once wert wont to ride High on horse with head un-bowed, Famed for prowess far and wide, As a lion fierce and proud, Where is all thy mighty pride, And thy voice that rang so loud, Why dost thou there all naked bide, Stitched within that wretched shroud?

"Where is now thy broidered weed, Thy sumpters, bearing thy rich bed? Thy palfreys and thy battle-steed Which at thy side thy Squire led? Thy crying hawks of chosen breed, And the hounds that thou hast fed? Methinks, God recks not of thy need, For all thy friends are from thee fled.

"Where are thy castles and thy towers,
Thy chambers and thy stately halls,
Painted with many-coloured flowers,
And thy riché robės all?

Thy downy quilts and covertures,
Thy sendals and thy purple palls?
Wretch! full dark is now thy bower,
To-morrow thou therein shalt fall!"

Now when the ghost with gruesome cheer5 49 Thus had made his mournful moan, The corpse, stretched stark upon the bier,A ghastly thing thus left alone,

Its head and neck did strait uprear;

As a sick thing it 'gan to groan,

And said: "Where art thou now, my fere, 55
My ghost, that quite art from me gone?

"God shaped thee in His image fair,
And gave to thee both wit and skill;
He trusted me unto thy care
To guide according to thy will.
In witchcrafts foul I had no share,
Nor wist I what was good nor ill,
But like dumb beast thy yoke I bare
And as thou bad'st I must fulfill.

To Court, to take our bitter pay.

"You to my sway did God commit, But when you thought on evil deed, Hard in your teeth you held the bit, And did all things that I forbede. Sin you obeyed, you drew to it, To ease, and shame, and lust, and greed; I fought you hard with strength and wit, But aye you followed your own rede.

"I bade you mind your spirit's need;

105

But matins, mass, and evensong

You put aside for other deed,

And called them vain, with foolish tongue.
To wood and field you chose to speed,
Or run to Court to do men wrong;

110

Except for pride or greater meed

Small good you did your whole life long." . . .112

"Of one woman born and bred, Body, thou and I were twain; Together fostered fair and fed

Till thou couldst walk and speak thee plain; 180

Once more to have my wicked way.

When he the ride had ridden at last,

415

And taught me good that no good knew, When I in evil was so bold,

230

Then, what I learned in youth from you,
I had held fast when I was old;
You let me North and South roam through,
And take my pleasures uncontrolled." .
. . 232

Then wept the ghost most bitterly,
"Body, alas, alas!" (it said).
"That e'er of old I loved thee!
Lost was the love I on thee stayed;
Falsely you feigned a love for me,
And me a house of glass you made;
I gave you pleasures trustfully,
You, traitor, still my trust betrayed.

"No longer, Body, may I dwell,
No longer stand to speak with thee;
Now I hear the hell-hounds yell,
And fiendės more than man may see;

...

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255

352

355

Fast to that fearful saddle bound,
As hunted fox he down was cast,
The worrying hell-hounds close him round,
They rend him, trembling and aghast,

And harry him towards hell's dark bound; 420
A man might trace the way they passed
By blood-stains on the trampled ground.

They bid him then his horn to blow,
To urge on Bauston and Bevis,
His hounds, well wont his call to know,
For they would shortly sound the pris.
A hundred devils, in a row,

Drag him with ropes toward the abyss,
The loathly flames are seen below,
The mouth of hell it was, I wis.

425

430

When once that dread abode is won, The fiends set up so loud a yell

7 Heckle. An instrument consisting of a board in which are inserted sharp spikes used for dressing flax or hemp, by splitting and straightening the fibres. See Burns' Address to the Toothache.

The note of the horn blown at the taking of the deer; used in hunting. French prendre.

How that Joséph was bought and sold;
How Moses 'midst the Jews arose,
That Goddes folk to lead them chose;
How God the law to him did give
By which the Jewish folk should live.
Of Saul the king, and David too
How he Goliath fought and slew;
And next of Solomon the Wise,

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How craftily he did justice;

150

How Christ came down through prophecy, And how He came His folk to buy.

How Charles and Roland waged their fight, 15
With Sarcens they no troth would plight;
Of Tristrem and his dear Ysote
How he for her became a sote;4
Of Joneck and of Ysambrase,
Of Ydoine and of Amadase,
Stories alsó of sundry things,
Of princes, prelates, and of kings,
Many songs of storied rime,
English, Frankish, and Latine.
To read and hear each one is prest
Of whatsoe'er he likes the best;
The wise man will of wisdom hear,
The fool to folly draws him near;
The wrong to hear of right is loath,
And pride with buxomness is wroth.

But by the fruit the wise may see
Of what vertú is every tree.
All sorts of fruit that man shall find
Must draw from out the root their kind;
From goodly pear-trees come good pears,
Worse tree, the worse the fruit it bears.
That I should speak from this same tree
Betokens, man, both me and thee;
This fruit betokens all our deeds,
Both good and ill who rightly reads.
Our dedes in our hearts take root,
Whether they be for bale or boot;
For by the thing man draweth untó
For good or ill men shall him know.

The Englishmen in common hold;
The speech that man with most may speed
Without an equal.

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