Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub
[ocr errors]

But the nightingale answers:

'No, Ju havest wel scharpe clawe,
Ne kepich no3t dat du me clawe;

Du havest clivers swide stronge,
Du twengst dar-mid so doð a tonge.'

ful.

'No, thou hast very sharp claws,

I have no wish that thou shouldst claw me;

Thou hast claws very strong,

Thou pinchest with them as with
a tongs.'

Each in turn contends that her singing is most use-
The owl says :—

37 'Mi stefne is bold and no3t unorne,

Heo is i-lich one grete horne ;
And din is i-lich one pipe
Of one smale weode unripe.
Ich singe bet dan du dest;

Du chaterest so doo on Irish prest.
Ich singe an eve arizte time
And seodde won hit is bed-time,
De dridde side at middelnizte.
And so ich mine song adizte
Wone ich i-seo arise veoure
Oder dai-rim oder dai-sterre.
Ich do god mid mine drote
And warni men to heore note.'

'My voice is bold, and not unpleas-
ing,

It is like a great horn;
And thine is like a pipe
Of a small unripe weed.
I sing better than thou dost;
Thou chatterest like an Irish priest.
I sing at eve at a right time
And later when it is bed time,
The third time at midnight.

And so I order my song
When I see arise afar

Either the daybreak or the day-star.

I do good with my throat

And warn men in their need.'

The nightingale replies that the owl's song is dismal, and fit to make men weep.

> Ac ich alle blisse mid me bringe,
Ech wit is glad for mine dinge.

De blostme ginned springe and
sprede

Beode ine treo and ek on mede
De lilie mid hire faire wlite
Welcumed me, dat du hit wite,
Bit me mid hire faire bleo
Dat ich schulle to hire fleo.

[ocr errors]

But I bring all bliss with me, Each wight is glad on account of

me.

The blossoms begin to spring and
spread

Both in the tree and in the mead
The lily with her fair splendour
Welcomes me, as you well know,
Invites me with her fair colour
That I should fly to her.

De rose also mid hire rude
Dat cume ut of de dorne wude
Bit me dat ich shulle singe

Vor hire luve one skentinge.'

Also the rose with her red
That comes out of the thorny wood
Invites me that I shall sing

For her love some pleasant thing.'

The dispute will not end, and they are persuaded to submit it to Maister Nichole,' and so,-

177 To Portesham do heo bi-come, Ah hu heo spedde of heore dome

Ne can ich en namore telle;
Her is na more of disse spelle.

To Portesham then they come,

But how they sped with their
judgment

I cannot tell you any more;
Here is no more of this story.

'KING HORN.'

[ocr errors]

In the latter half of the thirteenth century we meet with two metrical romances, King Horn' and 'Havelok the Dane,' which appear to have been favourites. The next century produced a great number of such works, as we shall find, and these two are interesting as being the earliest. They are both translations from French originals, but these French originals are in their turn thought to be based on old English stories.

The poets no longer make use of the Old English ornament of alliteration, but they use instead the French device of end rhymes. The versification is sprightly and pleasing (in King Horn' especially), and the poem was probably sung to the harp.

6

The poem of King Horn' consists of nearly 1,600 short verses, and it opens thus :

Alle beon he bliðe

Dat to my songe lyde;

May they all be blithe
That listen to my song;

A sang ihc schal zou singe
Of Murri de kinge.

A
song
Of Murry the king.

I shall sing you

King he was biweste

So longe so hit laste;
Godhild het his quen,
Fairer ne mişte non ben.

He hadde a sone dat het Horn
Fairer ne miste non beo born.
He was whit so de flur
Rose red was his colur,
In none kinge-riche
Nas non his iliche.

But sore trouble fell upon

Hit was upon a someres day
Also ihc zou telle may
Murri de gode king

Rod on his pleing
Bi de se side

Ase he was woned ride.

He fond by the stronde
Arived on his londe
Schipes fiftene

Wið Sarazins kene.

King he was towards the west
As far as it reached;
Godhild was named his queen
Fairer there might none be.
He had a son named Horn
Fairer might none be born.
He was white as the flower)
Rose red was his colour,
In no kingdom

Was there his like.

these happy ones.

It was upon a summer's day
As I may tell you
Murry the good king
Rode on his playing
By the sea side

As he was wont to ride.
He found by the strand
Arrived on his land

Ships fifteen

With Saracens bold.

The fierce heathens slew the king, seized the land,

and destroyed the churches.

Of all wymmane

Wurst was Godhild Janne;
For Murri heo weop sore
And for Horn zute more.
Heo wenten ut of halle
Fram hire maidenes alle
Under a roche of stone
Der heo livede alone.

The Saracens spared sake, but set him and his and sent it forth to sea.

De se bigan to flowe
And Horn child to rowe;
De se dat schup so faste drof
De hildren dradde derof,

Of all women

Most wretched was Godhild then;
For Murry she wept sore
And for Horn yet more.
She went out of hall
From her maidens all
Under a rock of stone
There she lived alone.

Horn's life for his beauty's
twelve companions in a boat

The sea began to flow
And Horn child to row;
The sea that ship drove so fast
The children had dread thereof,

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

They have reached the land of Westernesse, and the good King Aylmar makes them welcome, and gives Horn in charge to his steward.

Stiwarde tak nu here
Mi fundlyng for to lere
Of dine mestere

Of wude and of rivere;
And tech him to harpe
Wis his nayles scharpe,
Bivore me to kerve

And of de cupe serve.

Steward take now here
My foundling to learn
Of thy mastery

Of wood and of river;
And teach him to harp
With his nails sharp,
Before me to carve

And with the cup serve.

Horn gives good heed to all, and soon becomes a

great favourite.

Luvede men Horn child,

And mest him lovede Rymenhild,
De kynges ozene dozter;

He was mest in dozte,

Heo lovede so Horn child

Dat nez heo gan wexe wild.

Men loved Horn child,

And Rymenhild loved him most,
The king's own daughter;
He was most in her thought,
She loved so much Horn child
That nearly she waxed wild.

By means of the steward she sent for Horn, and he came to her bower.

On knes he him sette

And sweteliche hure grette;

Of his feire sizte

Al de bur gan lizte.

On his knees he set himself

And sweetly greeted her;

Of his fair sight

All the bower became light.

He spoke to her with reverence, and asked her will.

Rymenhild up gan stonde
And tok him bi de honde;
Heo sette him on pelle
Of wyn to drinke his fulle;
Heo makede him faire chere
And tok him abute de swere;
Ofte heo him custe

So wel so hire luste.
'Horn' heo sede, wiðute strif
Du schalt have me to Xi wif.'

Rymenhild up did stand
And took him by the hand
She set him on the dais
Of wine to drink his fill;
She made him fine cheer
And took him about the neck;
Oft she kissed him

So well he pleased her.

Horn,' she said, without strife Thou shalt have me for thy wife.'

Horn declares himself unworthy of such honour, seeing that he is not yet a knight; but by the lady's contrivance he is knighted by the king next day. She gives him a ring, which will ever ensure him victory, and that very day he slays a hundred Saracens newly landed from their ships and intent on plunder. But the course of true love never did run smooth; new troubles arise which we have not space to follow, and for seven years Horn becomes a wanderer. At last he overcomes every difficulty, recovers his father's kingdom, rescues his mother, and returns to Rymenhild, who is nearly dead with despair.

Her ended de tale of Horn
Dat fair was and nost unorn;
Make we us glade eure among,
For dus him ended Hornes song.
Jesus dat is of hevene king
zeve us alle his suete blessing.

Here endeth the tale of Horn
That fair was and naught uncomely,
Make we us glad among you,
For thus endeth Horn's song.
Jesus that is of heaven king
Give us all his sweet blessing.

ROBERT OF GLOUCESTER.

THERE exists a long rhyming Chronicle of England of over 12,000 lines, which is ascribed to a Robert of Gloucester, but nothing certain is known of him. The eight

« ПредишнаНапред »