Selections from English Poetry

Selections from English Poetry. Imagination: The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,— That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. (Shakespeare, Midsummer Night’s Dream, V, 1.) Poetry of the XVIth and XVIIth Centuries. 1. Old English Ballads. 1. Thomas the Rhymer. TRUE Thomas lay on Huntley bank; A ferlie spied he wi’ his ee; There he saw a lady bright Come riding doun by the Eildon Tree. Her skirt was o’ the grass-green silk, Her mantle o’ the velvet fine; At ilka tett o’ her horse’s mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas he pu’d aff his cap, And louted low doun on his knee: “Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth could never be.” “O no, O no, Thomas,” she said, “That name does not belong to me; I’m but the Queen o’ fair Elfland, That hither have come to visit thee. “Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said; “Harp and carp along wi’ me; And if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your body I shall be.” “Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never daunten me.” Syne he has kiss’d her on the lips, All underneath the Eildon Tree. 4 “Now ye maun go wi’ me,” she said, “Now, Thomas, ye maun go wi’ me; And ye maun serve me seven years, Through weal or woe as may chance to be.” She’s mounted on her milk-white steed, And she’s ta’en Thomas up behind; And aye, whene’er her bridle rang, The steed gaed swifter than the wind. O they rade on, and farther on, The steed gaed swifter than the wind; Until they reach’d a desert wide, And living land was left behind. “Now, Thomas, light doun, light doun,” she said, “And lean your head upon my knee; Abide ye there a little space, And I will show you ferlies three. “O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset wi’ thorns and briars? That is the Path of Righteousness, Though after it but few enquires. “And see ye not yon braid, braid road, That lies across the lily leven? That is the Path of Wickedness, Though some call it the road to Heaven. “And see ye not yon bonny road That winds about the ferny brae? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. 5 “But, Thomas, ye sail baud your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see; For speak ye word in Elfin-land, Ye’ll ne’er win back to your ain countrie.” O they rade on, and further on, And they waded rivers abune the knee; And they saw neither sun nor moon, But they heard the roaring of a sea. It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, They waded through red blude to the knee; For a’ the blude that’s shed on the earth Rins through the springs o’ that countrie. Syne they came to a garden green, And she pu’d an apple frae a tree: “Take this for thy wages, Thomas,” she said; “It will give thee the tongue that can never lee.” “My tongue is my ain,” then Thomas he said; “A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! I neither dought to buy or sell At fair or tryst where I might be. “I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!”— “Now haud thy peace, Thomas,” she said, “For as I say, so must it be.” He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, And a pair o’ shoon of the velvet green; And till seven years were come and gane, True Thomas on earth was never seen. (Ballad Book ed. W. Allingham.) 6 2. The Hunting of the Cheviot. THE Percy out of Northumberland, And a vow to God made he, That he would hunt in the mountains Of Cheviot within days three, In the maugre of doughty Douglas, And all that with him be. The fattest harts in all Cheviot He said he would kill, and carry away; “By my faith,” said the doughty Douglas again, “I will let that hunting if I may.” Then the Percy out of Bamborough came, And with him a mighty meyné, Fifteen hundred archers, of blood and bone, They were chosen out of shires three. This began on a Monanday at morn, In Cheviot the hills so hie; The child may rue it that is unborn; It was the more pitie. The drivers thorough the woodès went, For to raise the deer; Bowmen bicker’d upon the bent With their broad arrows clear. Then the wild thorough the woodès went, On every side shear; Greyhounds thorough the grèves glent For to kill their deer. 7 They began in Cheviot, the hills aboon, Early on Monanday; By that it drew to the hour of noon, A hundred fat hartes dead there lay. They blew a mort upon the bent, They assembled on sides shear; To the quarry then the Percy went, To the brittling of the deer. He said, “It was the Douglas’s promise This day to meet me here: But I wist he would fail, verament,”— A great oath the Percy sware. At last a squire of Northumberland Looked at his hand full nigh; He was ware of the doughty Douglas coming, With him a mighty meyné; Both with spear, bill, and brand; It was a mighty sight to see; Hardier men, both of heart and hand, Were not in Christiantie. They were twenty hundred spearmen good, Withouten any fail; They were born along by the Water of Tweed, In the bounds of Tivydale. “Leave off brittling the deer,” he said, “To your bows look ye take good heed; For since ye were of your mothers born Had ye never so mickle need.” 8 The doughty Douglas on a steed He rode all his men beforne; His armour glittered as a glede; A bolder barne was never born. “Tell me who ye are,” he says, “Or whose men that ye be; Who gave you leave to hunt in this chace In the spite of me?” The first man that ever him answer made, It was the good Lord Percy; “We will not tell thee who we are, Nor whose men that we be; But we will hunt here in this chace, In spite of thine and thee. “The fattest harts in all Cheviot We have kill’d, and cast to carry away.” “By my troth,” said the doughty Douglas again, “Therefor shall one of us die this day.” Then said the doughty Douglas Unto the Lord Percy, “To kill all these guiltless men, Alas, it were great pitie! “But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, And I am earl called in my countrie; Let all our men apart from us stand, And do the battle off thee and me.” “Now, curse on his crown,” said the Lord Percy, “Whosoever thereto says nay!— By my troth, doughty Douglas,” he says, “Thou never shall see that day. 9 “Neither in England, Scotland, nor France, Of woman born there is none, But, an fortune be my chance, I dare meet him, one man for one.” Then spake a squire of Northumberland, Richard Witherington was his name: “It shall never be told in South-England,” he says, “To King Harry the Fourth, for shame! “I wot ye bin great lordès two, I am a poor squire of land; I’ll ne’er see my captain fight on a field, And a looker-on to stand: But while I may my weapon wield I will fail not, heart and hand.” That day, that day, that dreadful day!— The first fytte here I find. An ye will hear more of the Hunting of Cheviot, Yet more there is behind. The second Fytte. THE Englishmen had their bowès bent, Their hearts were good enow; The first [flight] of arrows that they shot off, Seven score spearmen they sloughe. Yet bides Earl Douglas upon the bent, A captain good enow, And that was soon seen, verament, For he wrought [the English wo]. 10 The Douglas parted his host in three, Like a chieftain [full] of pride; With sure spears of mighty tree They came in on every side Thorough our English archery, And gave many a wound full wide; Many a doughty they gar’d to die, Which gained them no [small] pride. The Englishmen let their bowès be, And pull’d out brands that were bright; It was a heavy sight to see Bright swords on basnets light. Thorough rich mail and maniple Stern they struck down straight; Many a freke that was full free, There under-foot did light. At last the Douglas and Percy met, Like two captains of might and main; They swapt together till they both swat, With swords of the fine Milan. These worthy frekes for to fight Thereto they were full fain, Till the blood out of their basnets sprent As ever did hail or rain. “Hold thee, Percy!” said the Douglas, “And i’ faith I shall thee bring Where thou shalt have an earl’s wages Of Jamie our Scottish king.

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