Materia: Estudios Socioculturales y Literarios Profesora: María Andrea Morales

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INSTITUTO NEUQUINO DEL PROFESORADO EN INGLÉS

CUADERNILLO DE MATERIAL

Materia: Estudios socioculturales y literarios

Profesora: María Andrea Morales

Materia: Estudios Socioculturales y Literarios Profesora: María Andrea Morales

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The Anglo-Saxon Period

Meter

Metrical versification is easy for us, Spanish speakers, to understand, because it is the system of

versification which we are used to in Spanish. It was not so easy to the Anglo-Saxon language, though,

to adapt to a system based on French, a romance language with very different phonological

characteristics:

Rather than relying on stress rhythm, which is the way the alliterative system of versification

works, the French poets counted syllables as the unit to measure lines.

Rather than paying attention to initial, consonant sounds to create a pattern within a line, they

looked at the vowel sounds at the end of a line, linking that line to the ones above and below.

Consider the following examples and try to find these differences in two samples of poetry:

Here are some lines from “The Battle of Maldon”, an Anglo-Saxon poem probably written at the end of

the tenth century and one of the most famous writings in Old English which have survived. In the battle,

the Vikings, under their leader Anlaf, try to land at Maldon after a series of raids along the Essex coast.

Here they are confronted by a substantial Anglo-Saxon force, led by Earl Byrhtnoth. The Vikings demand

payment as the price of their withdrawal, but Brithnoth scorns the idea of Danegeld, and rejects the

offer with contempt.

The battle has to wait because of the rising tide. When the tide ebbs, Brithnoth allows the Vikings to

cross the river in order to fight on the surrounding land. The Essex men at first stand firm against the

invaders, but when Brithnoth is killed by a poisoned spear, some of the defenders panic and flee. The

others stand by Brithnoth's body, and fight to the last.

Then went forth the proud thanes,

Brave men - hastened eagerly,

And willed they all - for one of two things:

Their lives to lose, or their loved lord to avenge.

Materia: Estudios Socioculturales y Literarios Profesora: María Andrea Morales

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Thus urged them forth the son of Aelfric,

A warrior young in winters - with words he spake,

Aelfwin thus said - boldly he spoke,

"Think ye of the times when we oft spake at mead

When we on the benches did raise up our boast,

Henchmen in the hall - about hard strife,

Now may each one make trial of how bold he be.

(source: http://www.battleofmaldon.org.uk/)

Now look at the following example of metrical poetry in Spanish (since we don’t speak French). This is a

poem by Cuban poet José Martí, who lived in the 19th century.

Cultivo una rosa blanca

Cultivo una rosa blanca

en junio como en enero

para el amigo sincero

que me da su mano franca.

Y para el cruel que me arranca

el corazón con que vivo,

cardo ni ortiga cultivo;

cultivo la rosa blanca.

(Source: Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca - Poemas de José Martí http://www.poemas-del-alma.com/jose-

marti-cultivo-una-rosa-blanca.htm#ixzz3072Tg7sF)

Now that it is clear that the two systems are quite different, let’s see the way they combined to

end up producing a new, original system of versification in England.

Find the following concepts in your glossary of literary terms, read the explanations, and check that you

have understood by trying to explain to yourself what they are:

-meter

-foot

-dactyl

-iambic pentameter

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And here is a short poem for you to analyse:

The Tiger

William Blake

Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears

And watered heaven with their tears:

Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

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Image source http://transcriptions.english.ucsb.edu/curriculum/courses/overview.asp?CourseID=248

xeter Book, the largest extant collection of Old English poetry. Copied c. 975, the manuscript was given to Exeter Cathedral by Bishop Leofric (died 1072). It begins with some long religious poems: the Christ, in three parts; two poems on St. Guthlac; the fragmentary “Azarius”; and the

allegorical Phoenix. Following these are a number of shorter religious verses intermingled with poems of types that have survived only in this codex. All the extant Anglo-Saxon lyrics, or elegies, as they are usually called—“The Wanderer,” “The Seafarer,” “The Wife’s Lament,” “The Husband’s Message,” and “The Ruin”—are found here. These are secular poems evoking a poignant sense of desolation and loneliness in their descriptions of the separation of lovers, the sorrows of exile, or the terrors and attractions of the sea, although some of them—e.g., “The Wanderer” and “The Seafarer”—also carry the weight of religious allegory. In addition, the Exeter Book preserves 95 riddles, a genre that would otherwise have been represented by a solitary example. The remaining part of the Exeter Book includes “The Rhyming Poem,” which is the only example of its kind; the gnomic verses; “Widsith,” the heroic narrative of a fictitious bard; and the two refrain poems, “Deor” and “Wulf and Eadwacer.” The arrangement of the poems appears to be haphazard, and the book is believed to be copied from an earlier collection.

(From the Encyclopaedia Britannica, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/198020/Exeter-Book)

The description and picture above refer to one of the four manuscripts that have been

found with Anglo-Saxon literature around the world. The elegies in this unit all come from

the Exeter book. This is particularly interesting in order to analyse The Husband’s

message, since this poem appears immediately after a series of riddles, the last of which

is riddle 60, which seems to be connected to the poem because of its possible answer

and the content of the ensuing text. However, we are going to start with the poem “The

Wife’s Lament”. It is important to remember that these manuscripts contained texts with

no titles or paragraphing, so the names that we use to call them are just arbitrary decisions

which were many years after the poems were actually written, which makes the distance

with the actual moment of composition greater.

Here is a version of this text:

E

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A translation of “The Wife’s Lament”, by John Daniel Thieme (source: academia.edu)

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Read it and try to interpret the following:

1. What is the persona’s situation in life?

2. What events have led to this situation?

3. How does (s)he try to deal with fate?

4. Trace the elements in the elegy that help us see what the persona is going through.

5. If you think the persona is a woman, does this poem shed any light into the difference

between being a woman and a man in Anglo-Saxon England? How do you read this

poem if you think the persona is a man?

ANGLO-SAXON RIDDLES OF THE EXETER BOOK

translated by PAULL F. BAUM - DUKE UNIVERSITY PRESS Durham, North Carolina,1963

PREFACE

THE ninety-odd riddles in Anglo-Saxon which have come down to us in a single manuscript are

naturally a miscellaneous collection of varying merit. A few of them are poetical in the best sense of

Anglo-Saxon poetic style, as good as anything outside the heroic style of the Beowulf. Many of them

are interesting as riddles: intentional ambiguities to be solved by the reader or hearer. Some of them

are learned, turning on the interpretation of runic letters or dealing with subjects only the monkish mind

would care about. Some of them are neat and clever and well versified; others are not so good.

In the manuscript the riddles appear in no particular order. The following translations have been

grouped according to subject. It was not feasible to arrange them by types, because the typical forms

of the riddle are not clearly fixed and the Anglo-Saxon riddles are too few to illustrate many types.

The language of the Anglo-Saxon riddles is often difficult, and even those who are fairly familiar with

Old English cannot read them readily. Though some of the best have been translated in scattered

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places, and there is a prose line-for-line translation in the E.E.T.S. edition of the Exeter Book, not

readily accessible to the common reader, it has seemed worthwhile to render them all in similar verse

form, with brief explanations, for any who may be interested in the riddles as such and for the glimpses

they afford of monkish diversion and of daily life in England of the eighth and ninth centuries—in

modern terms, for their psychological and sociological values.

I am deeply indebted to Professor Elliott V. K. Dobbie for reading my manuscript with great care and

suggesting many improvements.

P.F.B.

74 (K-D 25)

I’m a wonderful thing, a joy to women,

to neighbors useful. I injure no one

who lives in a village save only my slayer.

I stand up high and steep over the bed;

underneath I’m shaggy. Sometimes

ventures

a young and handsome peasant’s

daughter,

a maiden proud, to lay hold on me.

She seizes me, red, plunders my head,

fixes on me fast, feels straightway

what meeting me means when she thus

approaches,

a curly-haired woman. Wet is that eye.

10

Ic eom wunderlicu wiht wifum on hyhte

neahbuendū nyt nængum sceþþe

burgsittendra nymþe bonan anum

staþol min is steapheah stonde ic on bedde

neoþan ruh nathwær neþeð · hwilum

ful cyrtenu · ceorles dohtor

modwlonc meowle ꝥ heo on mec gripeð

ræseð mec on reodne reafað min heafod

fegeð mec on fæsten feleþ sona

mines gemotes seþe mec nearwað

wif wundēn locc wæt bið þæt eage.

Compare to:

39 (K-D 65)

I was alive but said nothing; even so I

die.

Back I came before I was. Everyone

Cwico wæs ic ne cwæð ic wiht cwele ic efne

seþeah

ær ic wæs eft ic cwom æghwa mec reafað

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plunders me,

keeps me confined, and shears my

head,

bites my bare body, breaks my sprouts.

No man I bite unless he bites me;

many there are who do bite me.

hafað mec on headre ⁊ min heafod scireþ

biteð mec on bær lic briceð mine wisan

monnan ic ne bite nympþe he me bite

sindan þara monige þe mec bitað

75 (K-D 44)

Splendidly it hangs by a man’s thigh,

under the master’s cloak. In front is a hole.

It is stiff and hard; it has a goodly place.

When the young man his own garment

lifts over his knee, he wishes to visit

with the head of what hangs the familiar

hole

he had often filled with its equal length.

Wrætlic hongað bi weres þeo

frean under sceate foran is þyrel

bið stiþ ⁊ heard stede hafað godne ·

þonne se esne his agen hrægl

ofer cneo hefeð wile þæt cuþe hol

mid his hangellan heafde gretan

þæt he efe lang ær oft gefylde

Compare to:

33 (K-D 91)

My head is forged with the hammer,

hurt with sharp tools, smoothed by files.

I take in my mouth what is set before me

when girded with rings I am forced to strike,

hard against hard, pierced from behind,

must draw forth what protects at midnight

the heart’s delight of my own lord.

Sometimes I turn backwards my beak,

when, protector of treasure, my lord wishes

to hold the leavings of those he had driven

from life by battle-craft for his own desire.

10

Min heafod is homere geþuren

searopila wund sworfen feole

oft ic begine þæt me ongean sticað

þōn ic hnitan sceal hringum gyrded

hearde wið heardū hindan þyrel

forð ascufan þæt mīnes frean

mod · ᚹ · freoþað middel nihtum ·

hwilum ic under bæc bregde · nebbe ·

hyrde þæs hordes þōn min hlaford wile

lafe þicgan þara þe he of life het

wælcræf awrecan willū sinū

Key. (Cf. also 75 [K-D 44], which is Key with a difference.) “Delight” is represented in the manuscript

by W, the rune wyn (‘joy,’ ‘pride’). Ll. 8 ff., “open the door so that the lord can stow the plunder of

battle.”

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76 (K-D 45)

I have heard of something wax in a corner,

swell and pop, lift up the covers.

A proud-minded woman seized with her

hands

that boneless thing, a prince’s daughter;

covered with her dress the swelling thing.

Ic on wincle gefrægn weax nathwæt

þindan ⁊ þunian þecene hebban

on þæt banlease bryd grapode

hygewlonc hondum hrægle þeahte

þrindende þing þeodnes dohtor.

The answer is Dough. The first line contains a primitive pun (Wyatt); the scribe wrote weax, the

noun, ‘wax,’ for weaxan, the infinitive, ‘to increase.’

57 (K-D 16)

I war oft against wave and fight against

wind,

do battle with both, when I reach to the

ground,

covered by the waters. The land is strange

to me.

I am strong in the strife if I stay at rest.

If I fail at that, they are stronger than I

and forthwith they wrench me and put me

to rout.

They would carry away what I ought to

defend.

I withstand them then if my tail endures

and the stones hold me fast. Ask what my

name is.

59 (K-D 27)

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Oft ic sceal wiþ wæge winnan ⁊ wiþ winde

feohtan

somod wið þā sæcce þōn Ic secan gewite

eorþan yþum þeaht me biþ se eþel fremde

Ic beom strong þæs gewinnes gif ic stille

weorþe

gif me þæs tosæleð hi beoð swiþran þōn ic

⁊ mec slitende sona flymað

willað oþfergan þæt ic friþian sceal

ic him ꝥ forstonde gif min steort þolað

⁊ mec stiþne wiþ stanas moton

fæste gehabban frige hwæt ic hatte

I am honored among men both near and

far;

brought from the groves and inhabited

hills,

from vales and from downs. By day I was

borne

Ic eom weorð werum wide funden

brungen of bearwum ⁊ of burghleoþū

of denum ⁊ of dunum dæges mec wægun

feþre on lifte feredon mid liste

under hrofes hleo hæleð mec siþþan

baþedan In bydene · Nu ic eom bindere

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on wings through the air and happily

wafted

to the shelter of roofs. Then they bathed

me in butts.

Now I bind and I scourge and I overthrow

the young to the ground and the elders

sometimes,

and this he soon finds who takes me on

and attacks me with violence; he falls on

his back

unless he flees from his folly. Robbed of

his strength,

though strong in speech, he is deprived of

his powers,

and control of his mind, of his feet and his

hands.

Ask what my name is who bind men to the

ground,

the foolish after fighting, in broad daylight.

10

⁊ swingere sona weorpere

efne to eorþan hwilum ealdne ceorl ·

Sona ꝥ onfindeð se þe mec fehð ongean

⁊ wið mægenþisan minre genæsteð,

þæt he hrycge sceal hrusan secan

gif he unrædes ær ne geswiceð

strengo bistolen strong on spræce

mægene binumen nah his modes geweald

fota ne folma frige hwæt Ic hatte :⁊

Ðe on eorþan swa esnas binde

dole æfter dyntum be dæges leohte

Mead—the blossoming trees, bees, honey, stored to ferment.

49 (K-D 5)

I am a lonely thing, wounded with iron,

switten by sword, sated with battle-work,

weary of blades. Often I see battle,

fierce combat. I foresee no comfort,

no help will come for me from the heat of

battle,

until among men I perish utterly;

but the hammered swords will beat me and

bite me,

hard-edged and sharp, the handiwork of

smiths,

10

Ic eom anhaga iserne wund

bille gebennad beadoweorca sæd

ecgum werig oft ic wig seo

frecne feohtan frofre ne wene

ꝥ mec geoc cyme guðgewinnes

ær ic mid ældum eal for wurde

ac mec hnossiað homera lafe

heardecg heoroscearp ⁊weorc smiþa

bitað In burgū Ic abidan sceal

laþran gemotes næfre læce cynn ·

onfolc stede findan meahte

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in towns among men. Abide I must always

the meeting of foes. Never could I find

among the leeches, where people

foregather,

any who with herbs would heal my wounds;

but the sores from the swords are always

greater

with mortal blows day and night.

þara þe mid wyrtum wunde gehælde,

ac me ecga dolg eacen weorðað

þurh deaðslege dagum ⁊ nihtum

ᛋ

Beneath this the manuscript has the rune for S (scyld or scutum) which gives the answer

6 (K-D 33)

A thing came marvelously moving over

the waves,

comely from the keel up. It called out to

the land,

loudly resounding. Its laughter was

horrible,

awful in its place. Its edges were sharp;

hateful it was, and sluggish to battle,

bitter in its hostile deeds. It dug into

shield-walls,

hard, ravaging. It spread mischievous

spells.

It spoke with cunning craft about its

creation:

“Dearest of women is indeed my mother;

she is my daughter grown big and strong.

It is known to men of old, among all

people,

that she shall stand up

beautifully everywhere in the world.”

10

Wiht cwom æfter wege wrætlico liþan

cymlic frō ceole cleopode to londe

hlinsade hlude— leahtor wæs gryrelic

egesful on earde ecge wæron scearpe

wæs hio hetegrim hilde to sæne

biter beadoweorca bordweallas grof

heardhiþende heterune bond

sægde searocræftig ymb hyre sylfre

gesceaft

is min modor mæg da cynnes

þæs deorestan ꝥ is dohtor min

eacen uploden swa þæt is ældum cuþ

firum on folce ꝥ seo on foldan sceal

on ealra londa gehwam lissum stondan

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Iceberg, slow but deadly as it damages ships. The mother–daughter relationship is simple: water into

ice, ice into water.

The Husband’s Message, Old English lyric preserved in the Exeter

Book, one of the few surviving love lyrics from the Anglo-Saxon period. It is remarkable for its

ingenious form and for its emotive power. The speaker is a wooden staff on which a message from

an exiled husband to his wife has been carved in runic letters. The staff tells how it grew as a

sapling beside the sea, never dreaming it would have the power of speech, until a man carved a

secret message on it. The husband’s message tells of how he was forced to flee because of

a feud but now has wealth and power in a new land and longs for his wife. It implores her to set

sail and join him.

(Source: Encyclopaedia Britannica; http://www.britannica.com/topic/The-Husbands-Message)

Source: http://www.tru-lee.us/llium/runes7.html

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Now we are going to see the Husband’s Message. Before reading this poem, it will be

useful to see Riddle 60, written immediately before it in the Exeter Book. The answer

to this riddle is in the picture above.

W. 58; K.-D. 60

I lived by the shore, near the sea-wall,

at the water's edge-- there I stood,

fixed to my birthplace. Few came

of human kind to where I stood

in that solitary place to see my home.

Every morning dark waves embraced me

in fluid play. I didn't expect

far in the future that I should ever

over benches of lords speak without mouth,

convey many words. It is a mystery,

strange to the mind of those not schooled,

how a knife's point and a right hand

and a lord's thoughts join together,

unite in purpose, so that I to another,

someone far distant, should carry a message,

proclaim it boldly, so no one else

could know the speech of those separated people.

Probable answer: reed pen/rune stave

(Source: Anglo-Saxon Book Riddles Notes and translations by Karl Young http://www.thing.net/~grist/ld/young/ky-bkrid.htm)

Reed-pen or Reed-staff (Runenstab, a piece of wood on which the runes were incised); more

specifically, according to B. Colgrave and B. M. Griffiths (MLR III [1936], 545–47), kelp-

weed (Laminaria digitata), analga with a thick stem, easily incised, which, after being dried, can be

re-wet to make the markings visible. Two facts, however, have given rise to an uncertainty; for

references, see notes in Krapp–Dobbie. First, it is unusual for a riddle to carry a secret message “for

us two alone”; and second, this riddle is followed immediately in the manuscript by a poem of fifty-

five lines called The Lover’s Message, which begins: “Now I will speak to you apart,” and goes on to

tell how he was driven into exile and now is waiting for her to join him in the spring, when they can

renew their vows of love. The poem ends with five runes testifying to his faithfulness; or they may

contain the lover’s name as a signature. Just after this comes in the manuscript a new poem, The

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Ruin, and then the final group of riddles (K-D 61–95). Thus it looks as though the compiler from

whose copy the Exeter scribe worked had rightly or wrongly taken 60 to be an introduction to The

Lover’s Message and perhaps made some adjustments in bringing the two pieces together, chiefly

by omitting the conclusion. If rightly, however, this is not a riddle at all.

How does the riddle work? Explain which elements in this riddle seem to you to be

universal in this kind of creative compositions. One example might be the

dislocation of perspective brought about by the fact that an inanimate object is

made to “talk”, and so it uses the first person point of view.

The Husband’s Message:

See I bring thee a secret message! A sapling once in the woods I grew; I was cut for a stave and covered with writing; Skilled men cunningly carved upon me 5Letters fair, in a farwaway land. Since have I crossed the salt-streams often, Carried in ships to countries strange; Sent by my lord, his speech to deliver In many a towering mead-hall high. 10Hither I’ve sped, the swift keep brought me, Trial to make of thy trust in my master; Look thou shalt find him loyal and true. He told me to come that carved this letter, And bid thee recall, in thy costly array, 15Ye gave to each other in days of old, When still in the land ye lived together, Happily mated, and held in the mead-halls Your home and abode. A bitter feud 20Banished him far. He bids me call thee, Earnestly urge thee overseas. When thou hast heard, from the brow of the hill, The mournful cuckoo call in the wood, Let no man living delay thy departure, 25Hinder thy going, or hold thee at home. Away to the sea, where the gulls are circling! 72Board me a ship that’s bound from the shore: Sail away South, to seek thy own husband:

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Over the water he waits for thee. 30No keener joy could come to his heart, No greater happiness gladden his soul, Than if God who wieldeth the world, should grant That ye together should yet give rings, Treasure of gold to trusty liegemen. 35A home he hath found in a foreign land, Fair abode and followers true, Hardy heroes, though hence he was driven; Shoved his boat from the shore in distress, Steered for the open, sped o’er the ocean, 40Weary wave-tossed wanderer he. Past are his woes, he has won through his perils, He lives in plenty, no pleasure he lacks; Nor horses nor goods nor gold of the mead-hall; All the wealth of earls upon earth 45Belongs to my lord, he lacks but thee.

1. How is this poem similar to a riddle in form?

2. Compare the tone and the mood with what we experience when reading “The

Wife’s Lament”

3. Can you divide this poem into sections? How would you choose the sections?

4. If this poem were to fit within all the elegiac poems we’ve covered, and the

spiritual or personal growing they reflect, where do you think it should be placed?

Why?

5. Analyse the figurative and rhetorical language and imagery, and how they work

to address the poem’s theme.

Materia: Estudios Socioculturales y Literarios Profesora: María Andrea Morales

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This ceremonial helmet is one of the most important finds from Sutton Hoo.

Part of the burial ground at Sutton Hoo

Sutton Hoo from the Deben tideway with Mound 2 visible on the horizon above the farm

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Sutton Hoo, near Woodbridge, in the English county of Suffolk, is the site of two 6th- and early 7th-century

cemeteries. One contained an undisturbed ship burial including a wealth of Anglo-Saxon artefacts of outstanding

art-historical and archaeological significance, now held in the British Museum in London.

Sutton Hoo is of a primary importance to early medieval historians because it sheds light on a period of English

history that is on the margin between myth, legend and historical documentation. Use of the site culminated at a

time when Rædwald, the ruler of the East Angles, held senior power among the English people and played a

dynamic if ambiguous part in the establishment of Christian rulership in England; it is generally thought most

likely that he is the person buried in the ship. The site has been vital in understanding the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom

of East Anglia and the whole early Anglo-Saxon period.

The ship-burial, probably dating from the early 7th century and excavated in 1939, is one of the most magnificent

archaeological finds in England for its size and completeness, far-reaching connections, the quality and beauty

of its contents, and the profound interest of the burial ritual itself. The initial excavation was privately sponsored

by the landowner, but when the significance of the find became apparent, national experts took over. Subsequent

archaeological campaigns, particularly in the late 1960s and late 1980s, have explored the wider site and many

other individual burials. The most significant artefacts from the ship-burial, displayed in the British Museum, are

those found in the burial chamber, including a suite of metalwork dress fittings in gold and gems, a ceremonial

helmet, shield and sword, a lyre, and many pieces of silver plate from the Eastern Roman Empire. The ship-

burial has from the time of its discovery prompted comparisons with the world described in the heroic Old

English poem Beowulf, which is set in southern Sweden. It is in that region, especially at Vendel, that close

archaeological parallels to the ship-burial are found, both in its general form and in details of the military

equipment that the burial contains.

Although it is the ship-burial that commands the greatest attention from tourists, there is also rich historical

meaning in the two separate cemeteries, their position in relation to the Deben estuary and the North Sea, and

their relation to other sites in the immediate neighborhood. Of the two grave fields found at Sutton Hoo, one (the

"Sutton Hoo cemetery") had long been known to exist because it consists of a group of around 20 earthen burial

mounds that rise slightly above the horizon of the hill-spur when viewed from the opposite bank. The other, called

here the "new" burial ground, is situated on a second hill-spur close to the present Exhibition Hall, about 500 m

upstream of the first, and was discovered and partially explored in 2000 during preparations for the construction

of the hall. This also had burials under mounds, but was not known because they had long since been flattened

by agricultural activity. The site has a visitor's centre, with many original and replica artefacts and a reconstruction

of the ship burial chamber, and the burial field can be toured in the summer months.

a. What do you think is the connection between the ship found at Sutton Hoo and those

in Scandinavian Europe?

b. In your opinion, how does this relate to the genre and the race that produced them?

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1. What is an elegy? Look this term up in the glossary of literary terms and try to

explain it using your own words.

2. The first elegy in the unit on lyric poetry in our syllabus is “The Wanderer”. What

does the title suggest? Which melancholy issues could this poem address?

The Wanderer – translated by Siân Echard

(Source: http://faculty.arts.ubc.ca/sechard/oewand.htm)

“Often the solitary one experiences mercy for himself,

the mercy of the Measurer, although he, troubled in spirit,

over the ocean must long

stir with his hands the rime-cold sea,

travel the paths of exile – Fate is inexorable.”

So said the wanderer, mindful of hardships,

of cruel deadly combats, the fall of dear kinsmen –

“Often alone each morning I must

Bewail my sorrow; there is now none living

to whom I dare tell clearly my inmost thoughts.

I know indeed

that it is a noble custom in a man

to bind fast his thoughts with restraint,

hold his treasure-chest, think what he will.

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The man weary in spirit cannot withstand fate,

nor may the troubled mind offer help.

Therefore those eager for praise often bind a sad mind

in their breast-coffer with restraint.

So I, miserably sad, separated from homeland,

far from my noble kin, had to bind my thoughts with

fetters,

since that long ago the darkness of the earth

covered my gold-friend, and I, abject,

proceeded thence, winter-sad, over the binding of the

waves.

Sad, I sought the hall of a giver of treasure,

Where I might find, far or near,

one who in the meadhall might know about my people,

or might wish to comfort me, friendless,

entertain with delights. He knows who experiences it

how cruel care is as a companion,

to him who has few beloved protectors.

The path of exile awaits him, not twisted gold,

frozen feelings, not earth’s glory.

he remembers retainers and the receiving of treasure,

how in youth his gold-friend

accustomed him to the feast. But all pleasure has failed.

Indeed he knows who must for a long time do without

the counsels of his beloved lord

when sorrow and sleep together

often bind the wretched solitary man–

he thinks in his heart that he

embraces and kisses his lord, and lays

hands and head on his knee, just as he once at times

in former days, enjoyed the gift-giving.

Then the friendless man awakes again,

sees before him the dusky waves,

the seabirds bathing, spreading their wings,

frost and snow fall, mingled with hail.

Then are his heart’s wounds the heavier because of that,

sore with longing for a loved one. Sorrow is renewed

when the memory of kinsmen passes through his mind;

he greets with signs of joy, eagerly surveys

his companions, warriors. They swim away again.

The spirit of the floating ones never brings there many

familiar utterances. Care is renewed

for the one who must very often send

his weary spirit over the binding of the waves,

Therefore I cannot think why throughout the world

my mind should not grow dark

when I contemplate all the life of men,

how they suddenly left the hall floor,

brave young retainers. So this middle-earth

fails and falls each day;

therefore a man may not become wise before he owns

a share of winters in the kingdom of this world. A wise

man must be patient,

nor must he ever be too hot tempered, nor too hasty of

speech

nor too weak in battles, nor too heedless,

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nor too fearful, nor too cheerful, nor too greedy for wealth

nor ever too eager for boasting before he knows for

certain.

A man must wait, when he speaks a boast,

until, stout-hearted, he knows for certain

whither the thought of the heart may wish to turn.

The prudent man must realize how ghastly it will be

when all the wealth of this world stands waste,

as now variously throughout this middle-earth

walls stand beaten by the wind,

covered with rime, snow-covered the dwellings.

The wine-halls go to ruin, the rulers lie

deprived of joy, the host has all perished

proud by the wall. Some war took,

carried on the way forth; one a bird carried off

over the high sea; one the gray wolf shared

with Death; one a sad-faced nobleman

buried in an earth-pit.

So the Creator of men laid waste this region,

until the ancient world of giants, lacking the noises

of the citizens, stood idle.

He who deeply contemplates this wall-stead,

and this dark life with wise thought,

old in spirit, often remembers long ago,

a multitude of battles, and speaks these words:

“Where is the horse? Where is the young warrior? Where

is the giver of treasure?

Where are the seats of the banquets? Where are the joys

in the hall?

Alas the bright cup! Alas the mailed warrior!

Alas the glory of the prince! How the time has gone,

vanished under night’s helm, as if it never were!

Now in place of a beloved host stands

a wall wondrously high, decorated with the likenesses of

serpents.

The powers of spears took the noblemen,

weapons greedy for slaughter; fate the renowned,

and storms beat against these rocky slopes,

falling snowstorm binds the earth,

the noise of winter, then the dark comes.

The shadow of night grows dark, sends from the north

a rough shower of hail in enmity to the warriors.

All the kingdom of earth is full of trouble,

the operation of the fates changes the world under the

heavens.

Here wealth is transitory, here friend is transitory,

here man is transitory, here woman is transitory,

this whole foundation of the earth becomes empty.

So spoke the wise in spirit, sat by himself in private

meditation.

He who is good keeps his pledge, nor shall the man ever

manifest

the anger of his breast too quickly, unless he, the man,

should know beforehand how to accomplish the remedy

with courage.

It will be well for him who seeks grace,

comfort from the Father in the heavens, where a fastness

stands for us all.

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1. Classical elegies have a series of conventions that make the genre what it is, but

folk poems do not usually adjust to such strict literary forms. After having read The

Wanderer, which elements out of those listed in the glossary definition are still

present in this folk elegy?

2. Many scholars believe there are different “voices” or personae in this poem. Do

you agree? If so, where do you notice a change from one I to another?

3. Another important device in this elegy is the use of contrast. Find examples of

contrasting images, and try to decide what they are used for and how they work.

4. Anglo-Saxon literature is characterised by the inclusion of “gnomic lines” or

“gnomic passages” in between the events of a story or the depiction of emotions

in a poem. Can you find any examples here? What do we learn from them?

5. What figurative or rhetorical language and imagery seems to you peculiar to the

Anglo-Saxon culture? Underline the examples you can find.

6. Scan the poem for the phrase tattooed on the girl’s nape in the picture above.

What does it mean? Do you think it is a good summary of the poem’s theme?

Why/Why not?

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Now look at Burton Raffel’s translation from Old English of the elegy The Seafarer.

Read it and use the questions there and the ones above to contrast it with The

Wanderer. How are the two poems similar or different? Do you think the physical and

spiritual situation of the two personae is the same? Justify your answer with evidence

from both texts.

The Seafarer – Translation: Burton Raffel

(Source: http://genius.com)

This tale is true, and mine. It tells

How the sea took me, swept me back

And forth in sorrow and fear and pain,

Showed me suffering in a hundred ships,

In a thousand ports, and in me. It tells

Of smashing surf when I sweated in the cold

Of an anxious watch, perched in the bow

As it dashed under cliffs. My feet were cast

In icy bands, bound with frost,

With frozen chains, and hardship groaned

Around my heart. Hunger tore

At my sea-weary soul. No man sheltered

On the quiet fairness of earth can feel

How wretched I was, drifting through winter

On an ice-cold sea, whirled in sorrow,

Alone in a world blown clear of love,

Hung with icicles. The hailstorms flew.

The only sound was the roaring sea,

The freezing waves. The song of the swan

Might serve for pleasure, the cry of the sea-

fowl,

The death-noise of birds instead of laughter,

The mewing of gulls instead of mead.

Storms beat on the rocky cliffs and were echoed

By icy-feathered terns and the eagle’s screams;

No kinsman could offer comfort there,

To a soul left drowning in desolation.

And who could believe, knowing but

The passion of cities, swelled proud with wine

And no taste of misfortune, how often, how

wearily,

I put myself back on the paths of the sea.

Night would blacken; it would snow from the

north;

Frost bound the earth and hail would fall,

The coldest seeds. And how my heart

Would begin to beat, knowing once more

The salt waves tossing and the towering sea!

The time for journeys would come and my soul

Called me eagerly out, sent me over

The horizon, seeking foreigners’ homes.

But there isn’t a man on earth so proud,

So born to greatness, so bold with his youth,

Grown so brave, or so graced by God,

That he feels no fear as the sails unfurl,

Wondering what Fate has willed and will do.

No harps ring in his heart, no rewards,

No passion for women, no worldly pleasures,

Nothing, only the ocean’s heave;

But longing wraps itself around him.

Orchards blossom, the towns bloom,

Fields grow lovely as the world springs fresh,

And all these admonish that willing mind

Leaping to journeys, always set

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In thoughts travelling on a quickening tide.

So summer’s sentinel, the cuckoo, sings

In his murmuring voice, and our hearts mourn

As he urges. Who could understand,

In ignorant ease, what we others suffer

As the paths of exile stretch endlessly on?

And yet my heart wanders away,

My soul roams with the sea, the whales’

Home, wandering to the widest corners

Of the world, returning ravenous with desire.

Flying solitary, screaming, exciting me

To the open ocean, breaking oaths

On the curve of a wave.

Thus the joys of God

Are fervent with life, where life itself

Fades quickly into the earth. The wealth

Of the world neither reaches to Heaven nor

remains.

No man has ever faced the dawn

Certain which of Fate’s three threats

Would fall: illness, or age, or an enemy’s

Sword, snatching the life from his soul.

The praise the living pour on the dead

Flowers from reputation: plant

An earthly life of profit reaped

Even from hatred and rancour, of bravery

Flung in the devil’s face, and death

Can only bring you earthly praise

And a song to celebrate a place

With the angels, life eternally blessed

In the hosts of Heaven.

The days are gone

When the kingdoms of earth flourished in glory;

Now there are no rulers, no emperors,

No givers of gold, as once there were,

When wonderful things were worked among

them

And they lived in lordly magnificence.

Those powers have vanished, those pleasures

are dead.

The weakest survives and the world continues,

Kept spinning by toil. All glory is tarnished.

The world’s honor ages and shrinks,

Bent like the men who mould it. Their faces

Blanch as time advances, their beards

Wither and they mourn the memory of friends.

The sons of princes, sown in the dust.

The soul stripped of its flesh knows nothing

Of sweetness or sour, feels no pain,

Bends neither its hand nor its brain. A brother

Opens his palms and pours down gold

On his kinsman’s grave, strewing his coffin

With treasures intended for Heaven, but

nothing

Golden shakes the wrath of God

For a soul overflowing with sin, and nothing

Hidden on earth rises to Heaven.

We all fear God. He turns the earth,

He set it swinging firmly in space,

Gave life to the world and light to the sky.

Death leaps at the fools who forget their God.

He who lives humbly has angels from Heaven

To carry him courage and strength and belief.

A man must conquer pride, not kill it,

Be firm with his fellows, chaste for himself,

Treat all the world as the world deserves,

With love or with hate but never with harm,

Though an enemy seek to scorch him in hell,

Or set the flames of a funeral pyre

Under his lord. Fate is stronger

And God mightier than any man’s mind.

Our thoughts should turn to where our home is,

Consider the ways of coming there,

Then strive for sure permission for us

To rise to that eternal joy,

That life born in the love of God

And the hope of Heaven, Praise the Holy

Grace of Him who honored us,

Eternal, unchanging creator of earth. Amen.

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THE MUSES

In Greek mythology, the nine goddesses known as the Muses were: Clio(history),Calliope(epic poetry), Erato(love

poetry), Euterpe(lyric poetry), Melpomene(tragedy), Polyhymnia(song, rhetoric, and geometry), Thalia(comedy),

Terpsichore(dancing), and Urania(astronomy and astrology).

The Muses are the Greek goddesses who preside over the arts and sciences and inspire those who excel at these

pursuits. Daughters of Zeus, king of the gods, and Mnemosyne ("memory"), they were born at Pieria at the foot of

Mount Olympus. Their nurse, Eupheme, raised them along with her son, Crotus the hunter, who was transported into

the sky as Sagittarius upon his death. Their name (akin to the Latin mens and English mind) denotes 'memory' or 'a

reminder', since in the earliet times poets, having no books to read from, relied on their memories. The Romans

identified the Muses with certain obscure Italian water-goddesses, the Camenae.

The original number of muses and their names varies in earlier times as their evolution blossomed in Greek mythology. At first, three muses were worshipped on Mount Helicon in Boeotia: Melete ("meditation"), Mneme ("memory"), and Aoede ("song"). Another three were worshipped at Delphi and their names represented the names of the strings of a lyre: Nete, Mese, and Hypate. Several other versions were worshipped until the Greeks finally established the nine muses in mythology as: Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania. The Muses had several epithets which usually referred to places where they had settled.

Ephialtes and Otus, who also founded Ascra, were the first to sacrifice on Helicon to the Muses and to call the mountain

sacred to the Muses. Sacrifices to the Muses consisted of libations of water, milk, or honey.

Their companions are the Charities, the Horae, Eros, Dionysus, Apollo, Aphrodite, Harmonia, and Himerus (Desire).

Apollo is the leader of the choir of the Muses and consequently he has the surname Musagetes. Athena caught and

tamed the winged horse Pegasus and gave him to the Muses. Some of their disciples included the Sphinx who learned

her riddle from the Muses, Aristaeus, who learned the arts of healing and prophecy from them, and Echo, who was

taught by them to play music.

In Plato's Phaedrus 259c, Socrates says the locusts used to be men before the birth of the Muses. When song appeared when the Muses were born, some men were so overcome with delight that they sang constantly, forgetting to eat and drink until they eventually died. These dead men became locusts with a gift from the Muses allowing them to sing continuously from their birth until death without the need of sustenance. When they die, the locust go to the Muses and report which men on earth honors each, endearing a worshipper to the Muse he follows.

The Muses could be vindictive like in the story of the contest with Thamyris. Thamyris who excelled in minstrelsy

challenged the Muses to a musical contest at Dorium in Messenia, the agreement being if he won he would take

pleasure from all of them. The Muses won the contest, and bereft Thamyris of his eyes and minstrelsy.

In another story, the king of Emathia (Macedonia) and his wife Euippe had nine daughters and named them after the Muses. The daughters entered a contest with the Muses, were defeated and were metamorphosed by the Muses into birds called Colymbas, Iynx, Cenchris, Cissa, Chloris, Acalanthis, Nessa, Pipo, and Dracontis. These names were taken from actual names of birds such as the wryneck, hawk, jay, duck, goldfinch, and four others with no recognizable modern equivalents.

In yet another myth, it was said Hera, queen of the gods, persuaded the Sirens, who were described in early Greek

mythology as having the bodies of birds and heads of beautiful women, to enter a singing contest with the Muses. The

Muses won the competition and then plucked out all of the Sirens' feathers and made crowns out of them.

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Many places were dedicated to the Muses such as the famous Valley of the Muses - Thespies on the eastern slopes of

Mt. Helikon began it's "Mouseai" festivals in the 6th c. B.C. It was organized every 5 years by the Thespians. Poets and

musicians from all over Greece also participated in various games (epic, poetry, rapsodia, kithara, aulos, satyric poetry,

tragedy and comedy). It was common for ancient schools to have a shrine to the Muses called mouseion, the source of

the modern word 'museum.' The famous Museum of Alexandria, founded by Ptolemy I, was a temple dedicated to the

Muses. Before poets or storytellers recited their work, it was customary for them to invoke the inspiration and

protection of the Muses.

CALLIOPE

Calliope (Calliopeia), the "Fair Voiced" and the eldest Muse, is the muse of epic poetry and is seen holding a writing tablet in hand, sometimes seen with a roll of paper or a book, and crowned in gold. Calliope is known for taking a fancy to Achilles and taught him how to cheer his friends by singing at banquets. She also was called by Zeus to mediate the quarrel between Aphrodite and Persephone over possession of Adonis. She settled the dispute by giving them equal time, providing Adonis some sorely needed free time to himself. By Apollo, she bore Linus, who was slain by Hercules, and Orpheus.

CLIO

Clio the "Proclaimer" is the muse of history and is often seen sitting with a scroll and accompanied by a chest of books. She has been credited with introducing the Phoenician alphabet into Greece. Clio had teased Aphrodite's love of Adonis, and in consequence of her wrath, Clio fell in love with Pierius, the son of Magnes and the king of Macedonia. By Pierus, she bore Hyacinth.

ERATO

Erato the "Lovely" is the muse of love poetry and mimicry, and is seen with a lyre and sometimes wears a crown of roses.

EUTERPE

Euterpe the "Giver of Pleasure" is the muse of music and is represented with a flute. It has been said she is the inventor of the double flute. By the river Strymon, she bore Rhesus who was slain at Troy.

MELPOMENE

Melpomene the "Songstress" is the muse of tragedy in spite of her joyous singing and is represented by the tragic mask. She is sometimes seen with garland, a club and a sword. She is often seen wearing cothurnes, boots traditionally worn by tragic actors, and a crown of cypress.

POLYHYMNIA

Polyhymnia (Polymnia), "She of Many Hymns," is the muse of Sacred Poetry and is seen with a pensive look upon her

face. She brings distinction to writers whose works have won them immortal fame. She has also been called the Muse

of geometry, mime, meditation and agriculture. Polyhymnia is often veiled.

TERPSICHORE

Terpsichore the "Whirler" is the muse of dancing and is often seen dancing with her lyre and a plectrum, an instrument used for plucking stringed instruments. By the river god Achelous, she bore the Sirens.

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THALIA

Thalia (Thaleia) the "Flourishing" is the muse of comedy and of playful and idyllic poetry, and is seen with a comic mask. She is sometimes seen with a crown of ivy and a crook. By Apollo, Thalia had the Corybantes, priests who castrated themselves in identification with the goddess, Cybele.

URANIA

Urania the "Heavenly" is the muse of astronomy and is represented by a staff pointed at a celestial globe. She foretells the future by the position of the stars.

Sir Philip Sidney

Poet (1554–1586)

Elizabethan courtier Philip Sidney served as a Protestant political liaison for Queen Elizabeth I,

but became famous for his poetry and death as a soldier during the English Renaissance.

Synopsis Philip Sidney was born on November 30, 1554, at his family's state at Penshurst in Kent, England. From his youth, Sidney was respected for his high-minded intelligence, and frequently provided diplomatic service to Queen Elizabeth I as a Protestant political liaison. His opposition to her French marriage earned her displeasure, however, and he later left court and began writing his poetical works. In 1586, Sidney accompanied his uncle, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, to the Lowlands to defend the Protestants and was wounded in battle, dying a few weeks later, on October 17. Considered a national hero, Sidney was given a lavish funeral. When his poetry was subsequently published, he became lauded as one of the great Elizabethan writers.

Early Life Philip Sidney was born on November 30, 1554, at the family estate at Penshurst in Kent, England. His father, Sir Henry Sidney, had been a close personal adviser to Edward VI (Henry VIII's son), but when the young king died, he managed to stay in favor with the Catholic Queen Mary, naming his first son after her husband, Philip II of Spain, who also agreed to be the child's godfather. Philip's mother was Lady Mary Dudley, sister to Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who was for his lifetime a close confidant and personal favorite of Queen Elizabeth I.

Three more children were born to the couple, including Mary Sidney (later known as Countess of Pembroke), who adored her elder brother.

Young Philip began his education at the Shrewsbury School, where he proved an apt and eager student and forged a lifelong friendship with Fulke Greville (later Baron Brooke), who would write a laudatory epitaph and biography of his bosom buddy. At the age of 13, Sidney transferred to the University of Oxford's Christ Church College.

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Diplomat Courtier and Poet Three years later, Sidney was sent to the Continent to further his education, and in 1572, he was first enlisted in diplomatic service, functioning as an envoy to King Charles IX of France. While in Paris, Sidney witnessed the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre of Protestant Huguenots by Catholics. He also met Hubert Languet, a politically influential humanist who became a lifelong friend and adviser, in Europe.

Sidney, like his father before him, provided frequent diplomatic service in Europe for Queen Elizabeth. Among his actions, he formed an exploratory alliance with Protestant German princes, and visited his father in Ireland when Henry Sidney was lord deputy there.

Courtier and Poet Sidney joined the fad of Elizabethan courtier poets, penning a play, The Lady of May, that was performed at his uncle, Earl of Leicester's royal entertainment for the queen in 1578. The production included political undertones about Elizabeth's consideration of a Catholic marriage alliance with France.

In 1579, a heated fracas known as the "tennis-court quarrel" between Sidney and Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, was ostensibly about rank and the rights of play, but beneath the facade were tensions between factions for and against the queen's marriage. (The two had also been rivals for the hand of Anne Cecil—William Cecil, Baron Burghley's daughter—and Oxford had married her.)

The queen sternly admonished Sidney for his behavior, and he subsequently left court for his sister Mary's estate at Wilton, where he took up writing a long narrative poem, The Arcadia, for her entertainment. During this time, he also wrote a sonnet cycle, Astrophil and Stella, and his critical treatise, An Apologie for Poetry (also known as A Defence of Poesy). Sidney's compatriots in poetry included Edmund Spenser, Edward Dyer, Samuel Daniel and Gabriel Harvey.

Sidney is lampooned in several Shakespeare plays, including the character Master Slender in The Merry Wives of Windsor, referencing his marriage negotiations with Anne Cecil, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night(Sidney's face was scarred from a bout with smallpox and his birthday is St. Andrew's Day).

Death & Legacy Philip Sidney died at Arnhem in the Netherlands on October 17, 1586, after a gunshot that he'd sustained in a battle at Zutphen against the Spanish Catholic forces turned gangrenous. According to legend, in his pained state, Sidney eschewed a cup of water in favor of another wounded soldier, saying, "Thy necessity is yet greater than mine," underscoring a carefully cultivated persona of nobility. His lavish state funeral, which almost bankrupted his father-in-law, Sir Francis Walsingham, the queen's spymaster, was delayed until February of the following year—just eight days after the beheading ofMary Queen of Scots, drawing attention away from that political powder keg. He is buried at St. Paul's Cathedral in London.

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Forty-two years after Sidney's death, schoolfellow Fulke Greville had engraved on his tombstone: Servant to Queene Elizabeth/ Conceller to King James/ and Frend to Sir Philip Sidney. His biography of Sidney was published in 1652.

Sonnets from “Astrophel and Stella”

I

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,

That she, dear she might take some pleasure of my pain,

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe:

Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,

Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow

Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;

Invention, Nature's child, fled stepdame Study's blows;

And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.

Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite:

"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write."

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XIII

Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Loue,

Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were.

Jove’s golden shield did sable eagles bear,

Whose talons held young Ganimede above:

But in vert field Mars bare a golden spear,

Which through a bleeding heart his point did shove:

Each had his crest; Mars carried Venus glove,

Jove on his helmet the thunderbolt did rear.

Cupid then smiles, for on his crest there lies

Stella’s faire hair; her face he makes his shield,

Where roses gules are borne in silver field.

Phoebus drew wide the curtains of the skies,

To blaze these last, and sware devoutly then,

The first, thus matcht, were scantly gentlemen.

XV

You that do search for every purling spring

Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,

And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows

Near thereabouts into your poesy wring;

You that do dictionary's method bring

Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;

You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes

With new-born sighs and denizened wit do sing;

You take wrong ways, those far-fet helps be such

As do betray a want of inward touch,

And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light.

But if, both for your love and skill, your name

You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,

Stella behold, and then begin to endite.

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XVII

His mother dear, Cupid offended late,

Because that Mars, grown slacker in her love,

With pricking shot he did not thoroughly moue

To keep the place of their first loving state.

The boy refused for fear of Mars’s hate,

Who threatened stripes if he his wrath did prove;

But she, in chafe, him from her lap did shove,

Brake bow, brake shafts, while Cupid weeping sate;

Till that his grandame Nature, pitying it,

Of Stella’s brows made him two better bows,

And in her eyes of arrows infinite.

O how for joy he leaps! O how he crows!

And straight therewith, like wags new got to play,

Falls to shrewd turns!... And I was in his way.

XXXVII

My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell,

My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labour be:

Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me,

For of my life I must a riddle tell.

Toward Auroras Court a nymph doth dwell,

Rich in all beauties which mans eye can see;

Beauties so farre from reach of words that we

Abase her praise saying she doth excell;

Rich in the treasure of deseru'd renowne,

Rich in the riches of a royall heart,

Rich in those gifts which giue th'eternall crowne;

Who, though most rich in these and eu'ry part

Which make the patents of true worldy blisse,

Hath no misfortune but that Rich she is.

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XXXIX

Come, Sleep, O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,

The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,

Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;

With shield of proof shield me from out the prease

of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw:

O make in me those civil wars to cease;

I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.

Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,

A rosy garland, and a weary head:

And if these things, as being thine by right,

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.

XLI

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance

Guided so well that I obtained the prize,

Both by the judgment of the English eyes

And of some sent from that sweet enemy, France;

Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance,

Town-folks my strength; a daintier judge applies

His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise;

Some lucky wits impute it but to chance;

Others, because of both sides I do take

My blood from them who did excel in this,

Think nature me a man of arms did make.

How far they shot awry! The true cause is,

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Stella looked on, and from her heav'nly face

Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.

Sonnet LXIII

O grammar-rules, O now your virtues show;

So children still read you with awful eyes,

As my young dove may, in your precepts wise,

Her grant to me by her own virtue know;

For late, with heart most high, with eyes most low,

I craved the thing which ever she denies;

She, lightning Love displaying Venus' skies,

Lest once should not be heard, twice said, No, No!

Sing then, my muse, now Io Paean sing;

Heav'ns envy not at my high triumphing,

But grammar's force with sweet success confirm;

For grammar says,--oh this, dear Stella, weigh,

For grammar says,--to grammar who says nay?

That in one speech two negatives affirm!

William Shakespeare was baptized on April 26, 1564, in Stratford-upon-Avon, England.

From roughly 1594 onward he was an important member of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men

company of theatrical players. Written records give little indication of the way in which

Shakespeare’s professional life molded his artistry. All that can be deduced is that over the

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course of 20 years, Shakespeare wrote plays that capture the complete range of human emotion

and conflict.

Mysterious Origins Known throughout the world, the works of William Shakespeare have been performed in

countless hamlets, villages, cities and metropolises for more than 400 years. And yet, the

personal history of William Shakespeare is somewhat a mystery. There are two primary sources

that provide historians with a basic outline of his life. One source is his work—the plays, poems

and sonnets—and the other is official documentation such as church and court records. However,

these only provide brief sketches of specific events in his life and provide little on the person

who experienced those events.

Early Life Though no birth records exist, church records indicate that a William Shakespeare was baptized

at Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon on April 26, 1564. From this, it is believed he

was born on or near April 23, 1564, and this is the date scholars acknowledge as William

Shakespeare's birthday.

Located 103 miles west of London, during Shakespeare's time Stratford-upon-Avon was a

market town bisected with a country road and the River Avon. William was the third child of

John Shakespeare, a leather merchant, and Mary Arden, a local landed heiress. William had two

older sisters, Joan and Judith, and three younger brothers, Gilbert, Richard and Edmund. Before

William's birth, his father became a successful merchant and held official positions as alderman

and bailiff, an office resembling a mayor. However, records indicate John's fortunes declined

sometime in the late 1570s.

Scant records exist of William's childhood, and virtually none regarding his education. Scholars

have surmised that he most likely attended the King's New School, in Stratford, which taught

reading, writing and the classics. Being a public official's child, William would have

undoubtedly qualified for free tuition. But this uncertainty regarding his education has led some

to raise questions about the authorship of his work and even about whether or not William

Shakespeare ever existed.

Married Life William Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway on November 28, 1582, in Worcester, in

Canterbury Province. Hathaway was from Shottery, a small village a mile west of Stratford.

William was 18 and Anne was 26, and, as it turns out, pregnant. Their first child, a daughter they

named Susanna, was born on May 26, 1583. Two years later, on February 2, 1585, twins Hamnet

and Judith were born. Hamnet later died of unknown causes at age 11.

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After the birth of the twins, there are seven years of William Shakespeare's life where no records

exist. Scholars call this period the "lost years," and there is wide speculation on what he was

doing during this period. One theory is that he might have gone into hiding for poaching game

from the local landlord, Sir Thomas Lucy. Another possibility is that he might have been

working as an assistant schoolmaster in Lancashire. It is generally believed he arrived in London

in the mid- to late 1580s and may have found work as a horse attendant at some of London's

finer theaters, a scenario updated centuries later by the countless aspiring actors and playwrights

in Hollywood and Broadway.

Theatrical Beginnings By 1592, there is evidence William Shakespeare earned a living as an actor and a playwright in

London and possibly had several plays produced. The September 20, 1592 edition of

the Stationers' Register (a guild publication) includes an article by London playwright Robert

Greene that takes a few jabs at William Shakespeare: "...There is an upstart Crow, beautified

with our feathers, that with his Tiger's heart wrapped in a Player's hide, supposes he is as well

able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is

in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country," Greene wrote of Shakespeare.

Scholars differ on the interpretation of this criticism, but most agree that it was Greene's way of

saying Shakespeare was reaching above his rank, trying to match better known and educated

playwrights like Christopher Marlowe, Thomas Nashe or Greene himself.

By the early 1590s, documents show William Shakespeare was a managing partner in the Lord

Chamberlain's Men, an acting company in London. After the crowning of King James I, in 1603,

the company changed its name to the King's Men. From all accounts, the King's Men company

was very popular, and records show that Shakespeare had works published and sold as popular

literature. The theater culture in 16th century England was not highly admired by people of high

rank. However, many of the nobility were good patrons of the performing arts and friends of the

actors. Early in his career, Shakespeare was able to attract the attention of Henry Wriothesley,

the Earl of Southampton, to whom he dedicated his first- and second-published poems: "Venus

and Adonis" (1593) and "The Rape of Lucrece" (1594).

Establishing Himself By 1597, 15 of the 37 plays written by William Shakespeare were published. Civil records show

that at this time he purchased the second largest house in Stratford, called New House, for his

family. It was a four-day ride by horse from Stratford to London, so it is believed that

Shakespeare spent most of his time in the city writing and acting and came home once a year

during the 40-day Lenten period, when the theaters were closed.

By 1599, William Shakespeare and his business partners built their own theater on the south

bank of the Thames River, which they called the Globe. In 1605, Shakespeare purchased leases

of real estate near Stratford for 440 pounds, which doubled in value and earned him 60 pounds a

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year. This made him an entrepreneur as well as an artist, and scholars believe these investments

gave him the time to write his plays uninterrupted.

Writing Style William Shakespeare's early plays were written in the conventional style of the day, with

elaborate metaphors and rhetorical phrases that didn't always align naturally with the story's plot

or characters. However, Shakespeare was very innovative, adapting the traditional style to his

own purposes and creating a freer flow of words. With only small degrees of variation,

Shakespeare primarily used a metrical pattern consisting of lines of unrhymed iambic

pentameter, or blank verse, to compose his plays. At the same time, there are passages in all the

plays that deviate from this and use forms of poetry or simple prose.

Early Works: Histories and Comedies With the exception of Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare's first plays were mostly histories

written in the early 1590s. Richard II, Henry VI (parts 1, 2 and 3) and Henry V dramatize the

destructive results of weak or corrupt rulers, and have been interpreted by drama historians as

Shakespeare's way of justifying the origins of the Tudor Dynasty.

Shakespeare also wrote several comedies during his early period: the witty romance A

Midsummer Night's Dream, the romantic Merchant of Venice, the wit and wordplay of Much Ado

About Nothing, the charming As You Like Itand Twelfth Night. Other plays, possibly written

before 1600, include Titus Andronicus, The Comedy of Errors, The Taming of the Shrew and The

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Later Works: Tragedies and Tragicomedies It was in William Shakespeare's later period, after 1600, that he wrote the tragedies Hamlet, King

Lear, Othello and Macbeth. In these, Shakespeare's characters present vivid impressions of

human temperament that are timeless and universal. Possibly the best known of these plays

is Hamlet, which explores betrayal, retribution, incest and moral failure. These moral failures

often drive the twists and turns of Shakespeare's plots, destroying the hero and those he loves.

In William Shakespeare's final period, he wrote several tragicomedies. Among these

are Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale and The Tempest. Though graver in tone than the comedies,

they are not the dark tragedies of King Learor Macbeth because they end with reconciliation and

forgiveness.

Death Tradition has it that William Shakespeare died on his birthday, April 23, 1616, though many

scholars believe this is a myth. Church records show he was interred at Trinity Church on April

25, 1616.

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In his will, he left the bulk of his possessions to his eldest daughter, Susanna. Though entitled to

a third of his estate, little seems to have gone to his wife, Anne, whom he bequeathed his

"second-best bed." This has drawn speculation that she had fallen out of favor, or that the couple

was not close. However, there is very little evidence the two had a difficult marriage. Other

scholars note that the term "second-best bed" often refers to the bed belonging to the household's

master and mistres—the marital bed—and the "first-best bed" was reserved for guests.

Controversy and Literary Legacy About 150 years after his death, questions arose about the authorship of William Shakespeare's

plays. Scholars and literary critics began to float names like Christopher Marlowe, Edward de

Vere and Francis Bacon—men of more known backgrounds, literary accreditation, or

inspiration—as the true authors of the plays. Much of this stemmed from the sketchy details of

Shakespeare's life and the dearth of contemporary primary sources. Official records from the

Holy Trinity Church and the Stratford government record the existence of a William

Shakespeare, but none of these attest to him being an actor or playwright.

Skeptics also questioned how anyone of such modest education could write with the intellectual

perceptiveness and poetic power that is displayed in Shakespeare's works. Over the centuries,

several groups have emerged that question the authorship of Shakespeare's plays.

The most serious and intense skepticism began in the 19th century when adoration for

Shakespeare was at its highest. The detractors believed that the only hard evidence surrounding

William Shakespeare from Stratford-upon-Avon described a man from modest beginnings who

married young and became successful in real estate. Members of the Shakespeare Oxford Society

(founded in 1957) put forth arguments that English aristocrat Edward de Vere, the 17th Earl of

Oxford, was the true author of the poems and plays of "William Shakespeare." The Oxfordians

cite de Vere's extensive knowledge of aristocratic society, his education, and the structural

similarities between his poetry and that found in the works attributed to Shakespeare. They

contend that William Shakespeare had neither the education nor the literary training to write such

eloquent prose and create such rich characters.

However, the vast majority of Shakespearean scholars contend that William Shakespeare wrote

all his own plays. They point out that other playwrights of the time also had sketchy histories and

came from modest backgrounds. They contend that Stratford's New Grammar School curriculum

of Latin and the classics could have provided a good foundation for literary writers. Supporters

of Shakespeare's authorship argue that the lack of evidence about Shakespeare's life doesn't mean

his life didn't exist. They point to evidence that displays his name on the title pages of published

poems and plays. Examples exist of authors and critics of the time acknowledging William

Shakespeare as author of plays such as The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Comedy of

Errors and King John. Royal records from 1601 show that William Shakespeare was recognized

as a member of the King's Men theater company (formally known as the Chamberlain's Men)

and a Groom of the Chamber by the court of King James I, where the company performed seven

of Shakespeare's plays. There is also strong circumstantial evidence of personal relationships by

contemporaries who interacted with Shakespeare as an actor and a playwright.

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What seems to be true is that William Shakespeare was a respected man of the dramatic arts who

wrote plays and acted in some in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. But his reputation as a

dramatic genius wasn't recognized until the 19th century. Beginning with the Romantic period of

the early 1800s and continuing through the Victorian period, acclaim and reverence for William

Shakespeare and his work reached its height. In the 20th century, new movements in scholarship

and performance have rediscovered and adopted his works.

Today, his plays are highly popular and constantly studied and reinterpreted in performances

with diverse cultural and political contexts. The genius of Shakespeare's characters and plots are

that they present real human beings in a wide range of emotions and conflicts that transcend their

origins in Elizabethan England.

Sonnets by William Shakespeare

XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

XXIX.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee,—and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste: Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

LX.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

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LXXIII

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more

strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be

taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go,— My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

CXXXI.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan: To say they err I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

CXXXII.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O, let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

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A term used to group together certain 17th-century poets, usually DONNE, MARVELL, VAUGHAN and TRAHERNE, though other figures likeABRAHAM COWLEY are sometimes included in the list. Although in no sense a school or movement proper, they share common characteristics of wit, inventiveness, and a love of elaborate stylistic manoeuvres.

Metaphysical concerns are the common subject of their poetry, which investigates the world by rational discussion of its phenomena rather than by intuition or mysticism. DRYDEN was the first to apply the term to 17th-century poetry when, in 1693, he criticized Donne: 'He affects the Metaphysics... in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts.' He disapproved of Donne's stylistic excesses, particularly his extravagant conceits (or witty comparisons) and his tendency towards hyperbolic abstractions. JOHNSON consolidated the argument in THE LIVES OF

THEPOETS, where he noted (with reference to Cowley) that 'about the beginning of the seventeenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the metaphysical poets'. He went on to describe the far-fetched nature of their comparisons as 'a kind of discordia concors; a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike'. Examples of the practice Johnson condemned would include the extended comparison of love with astrology (by Donne) and of the soul with a drop of dew (by Marvell).

Reacting against the deliberately smooth and sweet tones of much 16th-century verse, the metaphysical poets adopted a style that is energetic, uneven, and rigorous. (Johnson decried its roughness and violation of decorum, the deliberate mixture of different styles.) It has also been labelled the 'poetry of strong lines'. In his important essay, 'The Metaphysical Poets' (1921), which helped bring the poetry of Donne and his contemporaries back into favour, T. S. ELIOT argued that their work fuses reason with passion; it shows a unification of thought and feeling which later became separated into a 'dissociation of sensibility'.

Text excerpted from:

The Cambridge Guide to Literature in English. Ian Ousby, Ed.

Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998. 623.

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JOHN DONNE (1572-1631)

A VALEDICTION: FORBIDDING MOURNING

1 As virtuous men pass mildly away,

2 And whisper to their souls, to go,

3 Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

4 "The breath goes now," and some say, "No:"

5 So let us melt, and make no noise,

6 No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

7 'Twere profanation of our joys

8 To tell the laity our love.

9 Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;

10 Men reckon what it did, and meant;

11 But trepidation of the spheres,

12 Though greater far, is innocent.

13 Dull sublunary lovers' love

14 (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

15 Absence, because it doth remove

16 Those things which elemented it.

17 But we by a love so much refin'd,

18 That ourselves know not what it is,

19 Inter-assured of the mind,

20 Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

21 Our two souls therefore, which are one,

22 Though I must go, endure not yet

23 A breach, but an expansion,

24 Like gold to airy thinness beat.

25 If they be two, they are two so

26 As stiff twin compasses are two;

27 Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

28 To move, but doth, if the' other do.

29 And though it in the centre sit,

30 Yet when the other far doth roam,

31 It leans, and hearkens after it,

32 And grows erect, as that comes home.

33 Such wilt thou be to me, who must

34 Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

35 Thy firmness makes my circle just,

36 And makes me end, where I begun.

NOTES

Form: ababcdcd

1.According to Izaak Walton, addressed by Donne to his wife when he was about to set out for France in 1612.

9. Moving of th' earth: earthquake.

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11. trepidation of the spheres. The precession of the equinoxes under the Ptolemaic system was explained as

caused by the shaking or trepidation of the outermost, crystalline sphere of the universe.

12. innocent: harmless.

13. sublunary: earthly; everything below the moon was thought subject to change; above it was "unchangeable

firmament,'' as Donne says in "The Fever," playing with the same metaphor.

14. Whose soul is sense: see note on "The Ecstasy," lines 53-56.

16. elemented: were the elements of, composed.

19. Inter-assured of the mind. "For we consist of three parts, a Soul and Body, and Minde: which [mind] I call

those affections and thoughts and passions which neither soul nor body hath alone but have been begotten by

their communication, as Musique results out of our breath and a cornet" (Donne).

THE SUN RISING

1 Busy old fool, unruly Sun,

2 Why dost thou thus,

3 Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

4 Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

5 Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

6 Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,

7 Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,

8 Call country ants to harvest offices,

9 Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,

10 Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

11 Thy beams, so reverend and strong

12 Why shouldst thou think? 13 I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

14 But that I would not lose her sight so long:

15 If her eyes have not blinded thine,

16 Look, and tomorrow late, tell me

17 Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine

18 Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.

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19 Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,

20 And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."

21 She'is all states, and all princes I,

22 Nothing else is.

23 Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,

24 All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.

25 Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,

26 In that the world's contracted thus;

27 Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

28 To warm the world, that's done in warming us.

29 Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

30 This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

NOTES

Form: abbacdcdee

9. all alike: unchanging.

17. both the'Indias: the East Indies and the West Indies, one famous for perfumes and spices, the other for gold

and mines.

24. alchemy: here means counterfeit gold.

THE APPARITION

1 When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead

2 And that thou think'st thee free

3 From all solicitation from me,

4 Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

5 And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see;

6 Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,

7 And he, whose thou art then, being tir'd before,

8 Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think

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9 Thou call'st for more,

10 And in false sleep will from thee shrink;

11 And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou

12 Bath'd in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie

13 A verier ghost than I.

14 What I will say, I will not tell thee now,

15 Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,

16 I'had rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

17 Than by my threat'nings rest still innocent.

NOTES

Form: abbabcdcdceffeggg

6. It was a common belief that candles burned dim and blue in the presence of ghosts.

SONG: SWEETEST LOVE, I DO NOT GOE

1 Sweetest love, I do not goe,

2 For wearinesse of thee,

3 Nor in hope the world can show

4 A fitter Love for mee;

5 But since that I

6 Must dye at last, 'tis best

7 To use my selfe in jest

8 Thus by fain'd deaths to dye.

9 Yesternight the Sunne went hence,

10 And yet is here to day;

11 He hath no desire nor sense,

12 Nor halfe so short a way:

13 Then feare not mee,

14 But beleeve that I shall make

15 Speedier journeyes, since I take

16 More wings and spurres than hee.

17 O how feeble is mans power,

18 That if good fortune fall,

19 Cannot adde another houre,

20 Nor a lost houre recall!

21 But come bad chance,

22 And wee joyne to'it our strength,

23 And wee teach it art and length,

24 It selfe o'r us to'advance.

25 When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not winde,

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26 But sigh'st my soule away;

27 When thou weep'st, unkindly kinde,

28 My lifes blood doth decay.

29 It cannot bee

30 That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st,

31 If in thine my life thou waste,

32 That art the best of mee.

33 Let not thy divining heart

34 Forethinke me any ill;

35 Destiny may take thy part,

36 And may thy feares fulfill;

37 But thinke that wee

38 Are but turn'd aside to sleepe;

39 They who one another keepe

40 Alive, ne'er parted bee.

NOTES

Composition Date: 1612?

Form: ababcddc

THE FUNERAL

1 Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm

2 Nor question much

3 That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;

4 The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,

5 For 'tis my outward soul,

6 Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,

7 Will leave this to control

8 And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

9 For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall

10 Through every part

11 Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,

12 Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art

13 Have from a better brain,

14 Can better do'it; except she meant that I

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15 By this should know my pain,

16 As prisoners then are manacled, when they'are condemn'd to die.

17 Whate'er she meant by'it, bury it with me,

18 For since I am

19 Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,

20 If into other hands these relics came;

21 As 'twas humility

22 To afford to it all that a soul can do,

23 So, 'tis some bravery,

24 That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

NOTES

Form: ababcdcd

9. the sinewy thread: the nervous system.

23. bravery: a splendid gesture.

A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW

1 Stand still, and I will read to thee

2 A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.

3 These three hours that we have spent,

4 Walking here, two shadows went

5 Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.

6 But, now the sun is just above our head,

7 We do those shadows tread,

8 And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.

9 So whilst our infant loves did grow,

10 Disguises did, and shadows, flow

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11 From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.

12 That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,

13 Which is still diligent lest others see.

14 Except our loves at this noon stay,

15 We shall new shadows make the other way.

16 As the first were made to blind

17 Others, these which come behind

18 Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.

19 If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,

20 To me thou, falsely, thine,

21 And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.

22 The morning shadows wear away,

23 But these grow longer all the day;

24 But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.

25 Love is a growing, or full constant light,

26 And his first minute, after noon, is night.

NOTES

Form: aabbcddceee

8. brave: splendid.

SONG: GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR

1 Go and catch a falling star,

2 Get with child a mandrake root,

3 Tell me where all past years are,

4 Or who cleft the devil's foot,

5 Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

6 Or to keep off envy's stinging,

7 And find

8 What wind

9 Serves to advance an honest mind.

10 If thou be'st born to strange sights,

11 Things invisible to see,

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12 Ride ten thousand days and nights,

13 Till age snow white hairs on thee,

14 Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,

15 All strange wonders that befell thee,

16 And swear,

17 No where

18 Lives a woman true, and fair.

19 If thou find'st one, let me know,

20 Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

21 Yet do not, I would not go,

22 Though at next door we might meet;

23 Though she were true, when you met her,

24 And last, till you write your letter,

25 Yet she

26 Will be

27 False, ere I come, to two, or three.

NOTES

Form: ababccddd

2.mandrake root: a forked root supposed to resemble the human shape.

A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER

1 Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,

2 Which was my sin, though it were done before?

3 Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,

4 And do run still, though still I do deplore?

5 When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

6 For I have more.

7 Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won

8 Others to sin, and made my sin their door?

9 Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun

10 A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score?

11 When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

12 For I have more.

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13 I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun

14 My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;

15 But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son

16 Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;

17 And, having done that, thou hast done;

18 I fear no more.

NOTES

Composition Date: 1623?

Form: ababab

1.According to Izaak Walton, written during a dangerous illness of 1623.

5. thou hast not done: here and elsewhere a pun on his name.

HOLY SONNET I

1 Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?

2 Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,

3 I run to death, and death meets me as fast,

4 And all my pleasures are like yesterday;

5 I dare not move my dim eyes any way,

6 Despair behind, and death before doth cast

7 Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste

8 By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh.

9 Only thou art above, and when towards thee

10 By thy leave I can look, I rise again;

11 But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,

12 That not one hour I can myself sustain;

13 Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art,

14 And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart.

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HOLY SONNET X

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,

For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee;

From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure; then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,

And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,

And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.

HOLY SONNET XIV

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow mee,’and bend

Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt towne, to’another due,

Labour to’admit you, but Oh, to no end,

Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,

But is captiv’d, and proves weake or untrue,

Yet dearely’I love you, and would be lov’d faine,

But am betroth’d unto your enemie,

Divorce mee,’untie, or breake that knot againe,

Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I

Except you’enthrall mee, never shall be free,

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Nor ever chast, except you ravish me.

HOLY SONNET XVIII

Show me, dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.

What! is it she which on the other shore

Goes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore,

Laments and mourns in Germany and here?

Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?

Is she self-truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?

Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore

On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?

Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights

First travel we to seek, and then make love?

Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,

And let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove,

Who is most true and pleasing to thee then

When she is embraced and open to most men.

Andrew Marvell (1621-1678)

Due to the inconsistencies and ambiguities within his work and the scarcity of information about his personal life, Andrew

Marvell has been a source of fascination for scholars and readers since his work found recognition in the early decades

of the twentieth century. Born on March 31, 1621, Marvell grew up in the Yorkshire town of Hull, England, where his

father, Rev. Andrew Marvell, was a lecturer at Holy Trinity Church and master of the Charterhouse. At age twelve

Marvell began his studies at Trinity College, Cambridge. Four years later, two of Marvell’s poems, one in Latin and one

in Greek, were published in an anthology of Cambridge poets. After receiving his bachelor’s degree in 1639, Marvell

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stayed on at Trinity, apparently to complete a master’s degree. In 1641, however, his father drowned in the Hull estuary

and Marvell abandoned his studies. During the 1640’s Marvell traveled extensively on the continent, adding Dutch,

French, Spanish, and Italian to his Latin and Greek—missing the English civil wars entirely.

Marvell spent most of the 1650s working as a tutor, first for Mary Fairfax, daughter of a retired Cromwellian general,

then for one of Oliver Cromwell’s wards. Scholars believe that Marvell’s greatest lyrics were written during this time. In

1657, due to John Milton’s efforts on his behalf, Marvell was appointed Milton’s Latin secretary, a post Marvell held

until his election to Parliament in 1660.

A well-known politician, Marvell held office in Cromwell’s government and represented Hull to Parliament during the

Restoration. His very public position—in a time of tremendous political turmoil and upheaval—almost certainly led

Marvell away from publication. No faction escaped Marvell’s satirical eye; he criticized and lampooned both the court

and Parliament. Indeed, had they been published during his lifetime, many of Marvell’s more famous poems—in

particular, “Tom May’s Death," an attack on the famous Cromwellian—would have made him rather unpopular with

royalists and republicans alike.

Marvell used his political status to free Milton, who was jailed during the Restoration, and quite possibly saved the elder

poet’s life. In the early years of his tenure, Marvell made two extraordinary diplomatic journeys: to Holland (1662-1663)

and to Russia, Sweden, and Denmark (1663-1665). In 1678, after 18 years in Parliament, Marvell died rather suddenly

of a fever. Gossip of the time suggested that the Jesuits (a target of Marvell’s satire) had poisoned him. After his death

he was remembered as a fierce and loyal patriot.

Now considered one of the greatest poets of the seventeenth century, Marvell published very little of his scathing political

satire and complex lyric verse in his lifetime. Although he published a handful of poems in anthologies, a collection of

his work did not appear until 1681, three years after his death, when his nephew compiled and found a publisher

forMiscellaneous Poems. The circumstances surrounding the publication of the volume aroused some suspicion: a

person named “Mary Marvell," who claimed to be Marvell’s wife, wrote the preface to the book. “Mary Marvell” was, in

fact, Mary Palmer—Marvell’s housekeeper—who posed as Marvell’s wife, apparently, in order to keep Marvell’s small

estate from the creditors of his business partners. Her ruse, of course, merely contributes to the mystery that surrounds

the life of this great poet. Marvell died on August 16, 1678.

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The Picture of Little T.C. in a Prospect of Flowers

By Andrew Marvell

SEE with what simplicity

This nymph begins her golden days!

In the green grass she loves to lie,

And there with her fair aspect tames

The wilder flowers, and gives them names;

But only with the roses plays,

And them does tell

What colour best becomes them, and what smell.

Who can foretell for what high cause

This darling of the gods was born?

Yet this is she whose chaster laws

The wanton Love shall one day fear,

And, under her command severe,

See his bow broke and ensigns torn.

Happy who can

Appease this virtuous enemy of man!

O then let me in time compound

And parley with those conquering eyes,

Ere they have tried their force to wound;

Ere with their glancing wheels they drive

In triumph over hearts that strive,

And them that yield but more despise:

Let me be laid,

Where I may see the glories from some shade.

Meantime, whilst every verdant thing

Itself does at thy beauty charm,

Reform the errors of the Spring;

Make that the tulips may have share

Of sweetness, seeing they are fair,

And roses of their thorns disarm;

But most procure

That violets may a longer age endure.

But O, young beauty of the woods,

Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers,

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;

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Lest Flora, angry at thy crime

To kill her infants in their prime,

Do quickly make th' example yours;

And ere we see,

Nip in the blossom all our hopes and thee.

To his Coy Mistress

by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime.

We would sit down and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love's day;

Thou by the Indian Ganges' side

Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the Flood;

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow.

An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long preserv'd virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust.

The grave's a fine and private place,

But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may;

And now, like am'rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

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Ballads

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Sir Orfeo

We often read and find set down 1 What scholars tell us of the lays; 2 That those for harp have most renown 3 And tell of themes of highest praise. 4 Of weal and woe these lays may tell, 5 Of joy or jollity as well; 6 Some of treachery, some of guile, 7 In chance events that once befell; 8 Some are jests, some ribald tales, 9 And some there are of Fairy Land. 10 But of all things that men may see, 11 Mostly of love in truth they be. 12 These lays belong to Brittany, 13 Were there composed and after written, 14 Of famous deeds of olden day. 15 Of these the Bretons made their lays. 16 If ever to their ears there came 17 Accounts of any deed of fame, 18 They spiritedly took their harps, 19 Made a song of it, gave it a name. 20 Of mighty deeds that once befell, 21 Not all, but some, I know. 22 Listen, sirs, and I shall tell 23 And sing the lay “Sir Orfeo”. 24 25 Sir Orfeo was a king of might 26 In England and a noble lord, 27 Bold and valiant in the fight 28 A generous and a courteous knight. 29 His father came of Pluto’s line, 30 His mother of Juno’s, both divine 31 (Or so men called them for a time 32 For feats they did, much spoken of). 33 For Orfeo, above all things 34 The art of harping had his love: 35 And all good harpers were assured 36 Of honoured welcome from that lord. 37 He loved to play the harp himself, 38 And with devoted mind and grace 39 So studied that his harper’s art 40 Was not surpassed in any place. 41 And never a man was born on earth 42 Who sat before Sir Orfeo, 43 Listening to the music’s flow 44 But thought he was in Paradise, 45 Delighting in eternity, 46 His harping made such melody. 47

This king held away in Traciens, 48 A city nobly fortified; 49 That Winchester then had the name 50 Of Traciens is not denied. 51 The king possessed a queen of fame, 52 The Lady Heurodis her name; 53 Of all the women of flesh and blood 54 Not one could be as fair and good, 55 And full of love: none could express 56 In words her perfect loveliness. 57 It so befell in early May, 58 When warm and merry is the day, 59 And gone are all the winter’s showers, 60 And every field is full of flowers, 61 And glorious blossoms gay and fair 62 Put forth on branches everywhere, 63 That this same Lady Heurodis 64 And two fair maids one morning-tide 65 Went out to play in happiness 66 At a pretty orchard-side; 67 To see the flowers spread and spring 68 And to hear the song-birds sing. 69 There they sat them down all three 70 Beneath a lovely orchard-tree, 71 And straight away this comely queen 72 Fell asleep upon the green. 73 The maidens dared not break her sleep, 74 But let her lie in slumber deep, 75 And so she slept till afternoon, 76 When morning-tide was wholly gone. 77 As soon as she awoke, she cried, 78 And fearful clamour filled the place. 79 She wrung her hands and thrashed her feet; 80 And blood ran where she scratched her face. 81 Her sumptuous robe she tore in rents, 82 Deranged, distracted in her sense. 83 The maidens dared no longer stay 84 Beside the queen, but took their flight, 85 And at the palace straight away 86 They cried aloud to squire and knight 87 That Heurodis was mad or ill 88 And told them they must hold her still. 89 Then out went knights, and ladies too, 90 sixty maids in retinue. 91 And coming to the orchard found 92 The queen and raised her from the ground, 93 And brought her home to be at last, 94

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And there restrained her, held her fast. 95 But still she cried in great dismay, 96 And tried to rise and run away. 97 When Orfeo heard, it grieved him more 98 Than any other thing before. 99 To the chamber with ten knights he went, 100 And there he looked upon his wife, 101 And spoke in pitiful lament: 102 “What ails you, my beloved life, 103 That you, ever so calm and still, 104 Now cry aloud in accents shrill? 105 Your body, white and excellent, 106 Is by your nails all torn and rent. 107 Alas! Your loving eyes now show 108 As those of one who sees his foe. 109 Ah Lady! Mercy, pity me, 110 And cease these cries of misery. 111 What ails you and whence came it? How 112 can cure be found to help you now?” 113 And then all quiet she lay at last 114 and as she wept, her tears fell fast 115 And to the king she said these words: 116 “Alas! Sir Orfeo my lord, 117 Since we came together first 118 We never crossed each other in strife, 119 For I have loved you as my life 120 Always, just as you loved me. 121 But now our lives must separate be: 122 Fare you well, for I must go.” 123 “Alas!” said he. “You seal my doom: 124 Where will you go, and then to whom? 125 Wherever you go, there shall I go, 126 And where I go, there you shall go.” 127 “No, no, sir, that cannot be so: 128 Now let me, leaving nothing out, 129 Tell you how it came about. 130 As I lay this morning-tide 131 Sleeping by our orchard side, 132 There came to me a troop of knights, 133 Fine to see and armed to rights, 134 Who told me to come hurrying 135 To audience with their lord the king. 136 To this I boldly answered no, 137 I neither dared nor wished to go. 138 So back they spurred with utmost speed, 139 And then their king came straight away 140 With a host on snow-white steeds, 141 At least a hundred knights, or more, 142 And damsels too, above five score. 143 Their lovely clothes were milky white, 144 And never yet there struck my sight 145 Beings so excellently bright. 146

A crown the king wore on his head, 147 Not silver, nor gold that glitters red, 148 But it was of a precious stone, 149 And brightly like the sun, it shone. 150 The moment that he came to me 151 He seized me irresistibly, 152 And force perforce he made me ride 153 Upon a palfrey at his side, 154 And took me to his citadel, 155 A palace equipped and furnished well, 156 And showed castles there, and towers, 157 rivers, forests, woods with flowers, 158 And all the wealth of his domain. 159 And then he brought me home again, 160 And in our orchard said to me: 161 “See, Lady, that tomorrow you be 162 Here beneath this orchard-tree, 163 For then you must come back with me 164 And live with us eternally. 165 If you resist in any degree, 166 You shall be fetched, wherever you are, 167 And limb from limb be torn apart, 168 Till you are past all help and cure. 169 Though torn apart, yet still be sure 170 You shall be fetched away by us.” 171 When Orfeo heard this matter, thus 172 He cried: “Alas! and woe, alas! 173 Better it were I lost my life 174 Than so to lose the queen my wife.” 175 He asked advice of every man, 176 But help King Orfeo, no man can. 177 The morrow morning being come, 178 Orfeo quickly grasped his arms 179 And took ten hundred knights with him, 180 Each stalwart stoutly armed and grim, 181 And with Queen Heurodis went he 182 Right to that same orchard-tree. 183 They made a wall of shields all round, 184 And swore that they would hold that ground 185 And die to a man that very day 186 Before the queen were fetched away. 187 But all the same, from in their midst 188 The queen was spirited away 189 By magic none could know or say 190 What became of her that day. 191 Then they cried and wept their woes. 192 The king into his chamber goes, 193 And sweens upon the floor of stone, 194 Lamenting with such grief and moan 195 That in him life was almost spent; 196 But all this brought no betterment. 197 He called his nobles to the hall, 198

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Earls and barons, famous all, 199 And when they were assembled there, 200 “My lords,” he said, “before you here, 201 My high steward I designate 202 To rule my kingdom from this date: 203 In my place he shall remain 204 To govern my entire domain, 205 For now that I have lost my queen, 206 The fairest Lady ever seen, 207 I’ll never look on woman more, 208 But to the wilderness I’ll go, 209 And with the wild beasts evermore 210 I’ll dwell in forests stark and hoar. 211 And when you hear my life is spent, 212 Summon together a parliament, 213 And elect yourselves a king, 214 And do your best in everything.” 215 Then there was weeping in the hall 216 And mighty outcry from them all; 217 Scarcely could the old or young 218 For grief give utterance with tongue. 219 Then down upon their knees they fell 220

And begged him, if it were his will, 221 To stay with them, and not to go. 222 “Have done!” said he. “It shall be so.” 223 He left his kingdom and was gone, 224 225 With only a pilgrim’s mantle on. 226 All other clothing he forsook; 227 No kirtle, hood, or shirt he took. 228 But yet he had his harp, and straight 229 Barefoot left the city gate. 230 With him then no man night go. 231 Alas! What tears there were and woe, 232 When he that had been king with crown 233 Went so poorly out of town! 234 Through wood, and over heath and down, 235 Into the wilderness he went 236 Nothing he found to bring content, 237 But ever lived in languishment. 238 Once, grey and varied furs he wore, 239 Had purple linen on his bed, 240 Now he lies on the rugged moor 241 With leaves and grass upon him spread. 242 He once the lord of castles, towers, 243 Rivers, forests, woods with flowers, 244 Now, when come the snow and frost, 245 Must make his royal bed of moss. 246 He who had most noble knights 247 And ladies before him kneeling down, 248 Only looks on loathsome sights: 249

Vicious snakes writhe on the ground. 250 He who lived a life of plenty, 251 With meat and drink, and every dainty, 252 Must dig the earth and work all day 253 Before he finds his fill of roots. 254 In summer he lives on wild fruits 255 And berries, little good to him. 256 In winter nothing can he find 257 But grasses, roots, bark, and rind. 258 These rigours were so cruel and hard, 259 His body was all thin and scarred. 260 Lord! Who could pain the suffering 261 Through ten long years of this poor king? 262 All black and shaggy his beard had grown, 263 And to his girdle-place hung down. 264 His harp, in which lay all his glee, 265 He hid within a hollow tree; 266 But when the sky was clear and bright, 267 He went and took it instantly 268 And harped on it for pure delight. 269 Throughout the woods the music thrilled, 270 And all the beasts of forest field 271 For very joy came round him there, 272 And all the birds that ever were 273 Came and sat on branches near 274 To hear his harping to the end, 275 The sound so sweetly filled the air; 276 But when his tuneful harping ceased, 277 Beside him stayed no bird or beast. 278 On burning mornings often there 279 He saw the king of Fairyland 280 Hunting round him with his band 281 With dim crying and blowing sounds 282 Amid the baying of the hounds. 283 They caught no prey, nor could he tell 284 What afterwards to them befell. 285 At other times before his eye 286 A mighty multitude went by, 287 Ten hundred well-accounted knights 288 Each equipped and armed to rights, 289 Came dancing ladies, dancing knights, 290 Elegant in poise and dress, 291 With skilful steps and quiet grace; 292 To trumpet-sound and tabour-beat, 293 All manner of music, moved their feet. 294 And then he saw, one certain day, 295 sixty ladies riding by, 296 As blithe and fair as birds on spray, 297 With not a man in all their band. 298 Each bore a falcon on her hand 299 And hawking rode beside the river, 300 Which many game-birds made their hunt- 301

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Mallard, heron, cormorant. 302 And when they from the water rise, 303 The falcons mark them with their eyes, 304 And each one strikes his victim dead. 305 Orfeo watched and laughing said: 306 “By my faith, most pleasant game! 307 I shall join them, in God’s name! 308 Such things I knew in former days.” 309 He rises, thither makes his way, 310 But then a lady meets his gaze: 311 He clearly understands and sees 312 By every token, that she is 313 His queen, the lady Heurodis. 314 He looks on her, and she on him 315 In longing, but no word is said. 316 Then when she saw the wretched state 317 Of him who had been rich and great, 318 The tears came falling from her eyes. 319 This the other ladies saw, 320 And forced the queen to ride away, 321 And she could stay with him no more. 322 “Alas, my sadness now!” he said. 323 “Why will not death now strike me dead? 324 Alas! How miserable am I 325 To see this sight, and then not die! 326 Alas! Too long my wretched life 327 When I dare not bid my wife 328 To hasten to my side, or speak, 329 Alas! Why does my heart not break? 330

In faith,” said he, “whatever betide, 331 Wheresoever these ladies ride, 332 That self-same way I’ll follow them, 333 For life and death I do contempt.” 334 He girded up his mantle then, 335 And hung his harp upon his back, 336 And sternly followed on their track, 337 Staying for neither stone nor stock. 338 Then rode the ladies in at a rock, 339 And Orfeo followed, pausing not. 340 Three miles or more within the rock 341 He came upon a pleasant plain, 342 As bright as sun on summer’s day, 343 Smooth and level and wholly green, 344 Where neither hill nor dale was seen. 345 And there upon the plain he saw 346 A castle of amazing height, 347 A royal one whose outer wall, 348 Like crystal, glittered clear and bright; 349 And on it stood a hundred towers, 350 Marvellous forts of mighty power. 351 Straight from the moat buttresses flew, 352

Rich gold arches of splendid hue. 353 The vaulting of the roofs was wrought 354 With carved creatures of every sort. 355 Within, the spacious presence-rooms 356 Were built throughout of precious stones. 357 So all that land had endless light, 358 For all the time of dark and night 359 The precious stones with lustre shone 360 As brightly as the noonday sun. 361 The poorest column one might behold 362 Was wholly made of burnished gold. 363 No man could tell or reach with thought 364 The sumptuousness that there was wrought. 365 By every sign one might surmise 366 It was the court of Paradise. 367 Into this castle went the ladies: 368 Wishing to follow if he might, 369 King Orfeo knocked upon the gate. 370 The ready porter came out straight 371 And asked what business brought him there. 372 “I am a minstrel,” he declared. 373 “If it be to his accord, 374 I come to please this castle’s lord 375 With music.” And the porter then 376 Unbarred the gate, and let him in. 377 Once inside, he looked about 378 And saw, disposed within the court, 379 A host of people, thither brought 380 As being dead, though they were not. 381 Some, though headless, stood erect, 382 From some of them the arms were hacked, 383 And some were pierced from front to back, 384 And some lay bound and raging mad. 385

And some on horse in armour sat, 386 And some were choked while at their food, 387 And some were drowning in a flood, 388 And some were withered up by fire; 389 Wives lay there in labour-bed, 390 Some raving mad, and others dead. 391 And also many others lay 392 As if asleep at height of day; 393 Like that they had been snatched away 394 And taken there by fairy riders. 395 There he saw his own dear life, 396 The Lady Heurodis his wife, 397 Asleep beneath an orchard-tree. 398 He knew by her clothes that it was she. 399 And having seen these marvels all, 400 He went into the royal hall. 401 And there he saw a seemly sight: 402 Upon a dais serenely bright 403

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There sat the king, the master there, 404 And the queen, most sweet and fair. 405 Their crowns, their clothing shone so bright 406 His eyes could hardly stand their light. 407 When he had looked on everything, 408 He kneeled down before the king 409 And said, “If, lord, you will it be, 410 You shall hear my minstrelsy”. 411 The king replied, “What man are you, 412 To come here now? For neither I 413 Nor any of my retinue 414 Have ever asked or sent for you. 415 And since the time my reign began, 416 If ever I found a reckless man 417 who dared to visit us, I then 418 Promptly sent for him again.” 419 “My lord, believe me well,” said he, 420 “A poor minstrel is all you see; 421 And, sir, it is the way with us 422 to call at many a noble house, 423 And though unwelcome we may be, 424 Yet must we offer our minstrelsy.” 425 Then down he sat before the king, 426 And took his tuneful harp in hand, 427 And skilfully he set the strings, 428 And plucked from them such heavenly air, 429 That everybody who was there 430 About the place came to hear, 431 And lay before the harpist’s feet, 432 They thought the melody so sweet. 433 The king, attentive, sitting still, 434 Listened with his utmost will. 435 The music brought enjoyment keen 436 To him and to his gracious queen. 437 Now when his harping reached its end, 438 Then to Orfeo said the king, 439 “Your playing, minstrel, I commend, 440

Now you may ask for anything, 441 And you shall have your whole request: 442 So speak, and put it to the test.” 443 Said he, “Then give me of your grace 444 That lady there, of fairest face, 445 Who sleeps beneath the orchard-tree.” 446 “No,” said the king, “that shall not be, 447 You’d make an ill-assorted pair, 448 For you are lank and beggarly, 449 And she is spotless, bright, and fair. 450 Therefore it would be villainy 451 To see her in your company.” 452 Said Orfeo, “Most noble king, 453 Yet still more villainous a thing 454

to hear your mouth speak a lie; 455 For since you did not specify 456 What I should ask, I must receive, 457 And to your promise you must cleave. 458 Replied the king, “Since that is so, 459 Then take her by the hand and go! 460 Have joy of her in everything.” 461 Orfeo knelt and thanked the king. 462 He took fair Heurodis by the hand 463 And with her swiftly left that land 464 By the self-same road that he had come. 465 Long ways they journeyed from the place 466 And came to Winchester, his home. 467 There no man recognised his face, 468 But fearing that he might be known, 469 He did not dare to make his way 470 Beyond the outskirts of the town, 471 But in a narrow billet lay, 472 took lodgings with a beggar-man 473 Both for himself and for his wife, 474 As minstrel folk of lowly life. 475 He asked what tidings in the land, 476 What ruler held in it his hand, 477 And that poor beggar in his cot 478 Gave all the news and stinted not: 479 How their queen, ten years before, 480 Was snatched away by fairy power, 481 And how the steward ruled as king; 482 And told him many another thing. 483 The morrow, at mid-morning tide, 484 he made his wife remain behind 485 And, borrowing the beggar’s rags, 486 He slung his harp upon his back 487 And went into the city’s ways, 488 Showing himself to people’s gaze. 489 Earls and barons bold and grim, 490 Townsmen and ladies looked on him. 491 “Look! What fellow is that?” they said. 492 “How long his hair hangs from his head! 493 His beard reaches to his knees 494 He is as withered as a tree!” 495 And as he walked about the street 496 His own high steward he chanced to meet, 497 To whom he called with piercing cry, 498 “Have mercy on me, Steward!” I 499 Am a harper of a heathen nation; 500 Help me in my desolation!” 501 The steward said, “Come with me, come: 502 Of what I have, you shall have some. 503 I welcome all good harpers here 504 for Orfeo’s sake, who held them dear.” 505 The steward sat at the castle board, 506

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And round him many a noble lord. 507 Trumpeters and tabourers, 508 Many harpers, fiddlers were 509 Making music one and all 510 While Orfeo, motionless in hall, 511 Listened. When they all were still, 512 He loudly tuned his harp with skill, 513 And played on it the sweetest air 514 That ever mortal heard with ear: 515 The sound delighted each man there. 516 The steward looked with searching eyes: 517 At once the harp he recognised. 518 “Minstrel, by your life, I vow,” 519 Said he, “that you shall tell me now 520 Where you got this harp, and how.” 521 “My lord,” said he, “in lands unknown 522 Wandering a waste alone, 523 I found there in a dip remains 524 Of one who had been rent by lions, 525 And torn by teeth wolfish and sharp. 526 Beside him there I found this harp; 527 And that is quite ten years ago.” 528 “Oh,” said the steward, “What utter woe! 529 That was my lord Sir Orfeo. 530 Ah wretched me, what shall I do, 531 My lord being lost, and I forlorn? 532 Alas, that ever I was born! 533 That such hard fate should be ordained 534 And such vile death should be his end!” 535 Then down he fell and lay as dead, 536 The barons raised him up and said 537 Such was the course of destiny; 538 For death there is no remedy. 539 King Orfeo could tell by then 540 His steward was a faithful man 541 Who loved him as he ought to do; 542 So standing up for all to view, 543 He said, “Sir Steward, hear this thing! 544 If I were Orfeo the king, 545 And had endured great suffering 546 In barren wastes for many a day, 547 And had won my queen away 548 From Fairyland, and safe and sound 549

Had brought her to the city bounds, 550

And lodged that queen of noble grace 551 In a lowly beggar’s place, 552 And come to court in guile and stealth, 553 Unmarked by royalty or wealth, 554 To put your fealty to the proof, 555 And found, as now I do, such truth, 556 No reason would you have to repent; 557 And certainly, in any event, 558 You should be king, my day being spent. 559 But had you hailed my death, no doubt 560 At once you would have been cast out.” 561 Then all the company perceived 562 That he was Orfeo indeed. 563 The steward gazed at him and knew, 564 Leapt up and overthrew the board 565 And fell before the King and Lord. 566 So did every noble there, 567 And with one voice they all declared, 568 In gladness that his life was spared, 569 “You are our Lord, sir, and our King!” 570 They led him to a room with speed 571 And bathed him there and shaved his beard, 572 And robed him as a king indeed. 573 And afterwards they went and brought 574 The queen with lofty pomp to court, 575 With every kind of minstrelsy. 576 Lord! What mighty melody! 577 For very gladness wept they then 578 To see them come safe home again. 579 Now is Orfeo crowned anew, 580 And Heurodis, his own queen, too. 581 And when their long lives reached their end, 582 The steward was king, and ruled the land. 583 Later, Breton harpers heard 584 How this marvel had occurred, 585 And made of it a pleasing lay, 586 And gave to it the name of the King. 587 So “Orfeo” it is called today; 588 Fine is the lay, and sweet to sing. 589 Thus did Orfeo quit his care: 590 God grant that all of us so fare! 591