This bower was near my pleasant arbour placed, That I could hear and see whatever pa.s.s'd: The ladies sat with each a knight between, Distinguish'd by their colours, white and green; 430 The vanquish'd party with the victors join'd, Nor wanted sweet discourse, the banquet of the mind.

Meantime the minstrels play'd on either side, Vain of their art, and for the mastery vied: The sweet contention lasted for an hour, And reach'd my secret arbour from the bower.

The sun was set; and Vesper, to supply His absent beams, had lighted up the sky.

When Philomel, officious all the day To sing the service of the ensuing May, 440 Fled from her laurel shade, and wing'd her flight Directly to the queen array'd in white: And, hopping, sat familiar on her hand, A new musician, and increased the band.

The goldfinch, who, to shun the scalding heat, Had changed the medlar for a safer seat, And hid in bushes 'scaped the bitter shower, Now perch'd upon the Lady of the Flower; And either songster holding out their throats, And folding up their wings, renew'd their notes: 450 As if all day, precluding to the fight, They only had rehea.r.s.ed, to sing by night.

The banquet ended, and the battle done, They danced by star-light and the friendly moon: And when they were to part, the laureate queen Supplied with steeds the lady of the green, Her and her train conducting on the way, The moon to follow, and avoid the day.

This when I saw, inquisitive to know The secret moral of the mystic show, 460 I started from my shade, in hopes to find Some nymph to satisfy my longing mind: And as my fair adventure fell, I found A lady all in white, with laurel crown'd, Who closed the rear, and softly paced along, Repeating to herself the former song.

With due respect my body I inclined, As to some being of superior kind, And made my court according to the day, Wishing her queen and her a happy May. 470 Great thanks, my daughter, with a gracious bow, She said; and I, who much desired to know Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break My mind, adventured humbly thus to speak: Madam, might I presume and not offend, So may the stars and shining moon attend Your nightly sports, as you vouchsafe to tell, What nymphs they were who mortal forms excel, And what the knights who fought in listed fields so well.

To this the dame replied: Fair daughter, know, 480 That what you saw was all a fairy show; And all those airy shapes you now behold, Were human bodies once, and clothed with earthly mould; Our souls, not yet prepared for upper light, Till doomsday wander in the shades of night; This only holiday of all the year, We privileged in sunshine may appear: With songs and dance we celebrate the day, And with due honours usher in the May.

At other times we reign by night alone, 490 And posting through the skies pursue the moon; But when the morn arises, none are found; For cruel Demogorgon walks the round, And if he finds a fairy lag in light, He drives the wretch before, and lashes into night.

All courteous are by kind; and ever proud With friendly offices to help the good.

In every land we have a larger s.p.a.ce Than what is known to you of mortal race; Where we with green adorn our fairy bowers, 500 And even this grove, unseen before, is ours.

Know farther; every lady clothed in white, And, crown'd with oak and laurel every knight, Are servants to the Leaf, by liveries known Of innocence; and I myself am one.

Saw you not her, so graceful to behold, In white attire, and crown'd with radiant gold?

The sovereign lady of our land is she, Diana call'd, the Queen of Chast.i.ty: And, for the spotless name of maid she bears, 510 That Agnus castus in her hand appears; And all her train, with leafy chaplets crown'd, Were for unblamed virginity renown'd; But those the chief and highest in command Who bear those holy branches in their hand: The knights adorn'd with laurel crowns are they, Whom death nor danger ever could dismay, Victorious names, who made the world obey; Who, while they lived, in deeds of arms excell'd, And after death for deities were held. 520 But those who wear the woodbine on their brow, Were knights of love, who never broke their vow; Firm to their plighted faith, and ever free From fears and fickle chance, and jealousy.

The lords and ladies, who the woodbine bear, As true as Tristram and Isotta were.

But what are those, said I, the unconquer'd nine, Who, crown'd with laurel-wreaths, in golden armour shine?

And who the knights in green, and what the train Of ladies dress'd with daisies on the plain? 530 Why both the bands in worship disagree, And some adore the flower, and some the tree?

Just is your suit, fair daughter, said the dame: Those laurell'd chiefs were men of mighty fame; Nine worthies were they call'd of different rites, Three Jews, three Pagans, and three Christian knights.

These, as you see, ride foremost in the field, As they the foremost rank of honour held, And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd: Their temples wreathed with leaves, that still renew; 540 For deathless laurel is the victor's due: Who bear the bows were knights in Arthur's reign, Twelve they, and twelve the peers of Charlemagne: For bows the strength of brawny arms imply, Emblems of valour, and of victory.

Behold an order yet of newer date, Doubling their number, equal in their state; Our England's ornament, the crown's defence, In battle brave, protectors of their prince; Unchanged by fortune, to their sovereign true, 550 For which their manly legs are bound with blue.

These, of the Garter call'd, of faith unstain'd, In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd, And well repaid the honours which they gain'd.

The laurel wreaths were first by Cesar worn, And still they Cesar's successors adorn: One leaf of this is immortality, And more of worth than all the world can buy.

One doubt remains, said I, the dames in green, What were their qualities, and who their queen? 560 Flora commands, said she, those nymphs and knights, Who lived in slothful ease and loose delights; Who never acts of honour durst pursue, The men inglorious knights, the ladies all untrue: Who, nursed in idleness, and train'd in courts, Pa.s.s'd all their precious hours in plays, and sports, Till death behind came stalking on, unseen, And wither'd (like the storm) the freshness of their green.

These, and their mates, enjoy their present hour, And therefore pay their homage to the Flower: 570 But knights in knightly deeds should persevere, And still continue what at first they were; Continue, and proceed in honour's fair career.

No room for cowardice, or dull delay; From good to better they should urge their way.

For this with golden spurs the chiefs are graced, With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste; For this with lasting leaves their brows are bound; For laurel is the sign of labour crown'd, Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls to ground: 580 From winter winds it suffers no decay, For ever fresh and fair, and every month is May.

Even when the vital sap retreats below, Even when the h.o.a.ry head is hid in snow, The life is in the Leaf, and still between The fits of falling snow appears the streaky green.

Not so the Flower, which lasts for little s.p.a.ce, A short-lived good, and an uncertain grace; This way, and that, the feeble stem is driven, Weak to sustain the storms and injuries of heaven. 590 Propp'd by the spring, it lifts aloft the head, But of a sickly beauty, soon to shed; In summer living, and in winter dead.

For things of tender kind, for pleasure made, Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden are decay'd.

With humble words, the wisest I could frame, And proffer'd service, I repaid the dame; That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know The secret meaning of this moral show.

And she, to prove what profit I had made 600 Of mystic truth, in fables first convey'd, Demanded, till the next returning May, Whether the Leaf or Flower I would obey?

I chose the Leaf; she smiled with sober cheer, And wish'd me fair adventure for the year, And gave me charms and sigils, for defence Against ill tongues that scandal innocence: But I, said she, my fellows must pursue, Already past the plain, and out of view.

We parted thus; I homeward sped my way, 610 Bewilder'd in the wood till dawn of day; And met the merry crew who danced about the May.

Then late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write The visionary vigils of the night.

Blush, as thou may'st, my little book, with shame, Nor hope with homely verse to purchase fame; For such thy maker chose; and so design'd Thy simple style to suit thy lowly kind.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 74: This poem is intended to describe, in those who honour the "Flower," the votaries of perishable beauty; and in those who honour the "Leaf," the votaries of virtue.]

[Footnote 75: 'Agnus castus:' a flower representing chast.i.ty.]

[Footnote 76: 'Cerrial-oak:' Cerrus, bitter oak.]

[Footnote 77: 'Molucca:' one of the Spice Islands.]

[Footnote 78: 'Virelay:' a poem with recurring rhymes.]

THE WIFE OF BATH, HER TALE.

In days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throne, Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown; The king of elves and little fairy queen Gamboll'd on heaths, and danced on every green; And where the jolly troop had led the round, The gra.s.s unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground: Nor darkling did they dance, the silver light Of Phoebe served to guide their steps aright, And with their tripping pleased, prolong the night.

Her beams they follow'd, where at full she play'd, 10 Nor longer than she shed her horns they stay'd; From thence with airy flight to foreign lands convey'd Above the rest our Britain held they dear, More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here, And made more s.p.a.cious rings, and revell'd half the year.

I speak of ancient times, for now the swain Returning late may pa.s.s the woods in vain, And never hope to see the nightly train: In vain the dairy now with mints is dress'd, The dairymaid expects no fairy guest, 20 To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast.

She sighs and shakes her empty shoes in vain, No silver penny to reward her pain: For priests, with prayers, and other G.o.dly gear, Have made the merry goblins disappear; And where they play'd their merry pranks before, Have sprinkled holy water on the floor: And friars, that through the wealthy regions run, Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun, Resort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, 30 And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls: This makes the fairy quires forsake the place, When once 'tis hallow'd with the rites of grace: But in the walks where wicked elves have been, The learning of the parish now is seen, The midnight parson, posting o'er the green, With gown tuck'd up, to wakes, for Sunday next, With humming ale encouraging his text; Nor wants the holy leer to country girl betwixt.

From fiends and imps he sets the village free, 40 There haunts not any incubus but he.

The maids and women need no danger fear To walk by night, and sanct.i.ty so near: For by some hayc.o.c.k, or some shady thorn, He bids his beads both even-song and morn.

It so befell, in this King Arthur's reign, A l.u.s.ty knight was p.r.i.c.king o'er the plain; A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train.

It happen'd, as he rode, a damsel gay, In russet robes, to market took her way. 50 Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye, So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns high: If, seeing her behind, he liked her pace, Now turning short, he better likes her face.

He lights in haste, and, full of youthful fire, By force accomplish'd his obscene desire: This done, away he rode, not unespied, For swarming at his back the country cried: And once in view they never lost the sight, But seized, and pinion'd brought to court the knight, 60

Then courts of kings were held in high renown, Ere made the common brothels of the town: There, virgins honourable vows received, But chaste as maids in monasteries lived: The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave, No bad example to his poets gave: And they, not bad, but in a vicious age, Had not, to please the prince, debauch'd the stage.

Now, what should Arthur do? He loved the knight, But sovereign monarchs are the source of right: 70 Moved by the damsel's tears and common cry, He doom'd the brutal ravisher to die.

But fair Geneura rose in his defence, And pray'd so hard for mercy from the prince, That to his queen the king the offender gave, And left it in her power to kill or save: This gracious act the ladies all approve, Who thought it much a man should die for love; And with their mistress join'd in close debate, (Covering their kindness with dissembled hate) 80 If not to free him, to prolong his fate.

At last agreed, they call him by consent Before the queen and female parliament; And the fair speaker, rising from the chair, Did thus the judgment of the house declare:

Sir knight, though I have ask'd thy life, yet still Thy destiny depends upon my will: Nor hast thou other surety than the grace Not due to thee from our offended race.

But as our kind is of a softer mould, 90 And cannot blood without a sigh behold, I grant thee life; reserving still the power To take the forfeit when I see my hour: Unless thy answer to my next demand Shall set thee free from our avenging hand.

The question, whose solution I require, Is, What the s.e.x of women most desire?

In this dispute thy judges are at strife; Beware; for on thy wit depends thy life.

Yet (lest surprised, unknowing what to say, 100 Thou d.a.m.n thyself) we give thee farther day: A year is thine to wander at thy will, And learn from others, if thou want'st the skill.

But, not to hold our proffer turn'd to scorn, Good sureties will we have for thy return; That at the time prefix'd thou shalt obey, And at thy pledge's peril keep thy day.

Woe was the knight at this severe command; But well he knew 'twas bootless to withstand: The terms accepted, as the fair ordain, 110 He put in bail for his return again, And promised answer at the day a.s.sign'd, The best, with Heaven's a.s.sistance, he could find.

His leave thus taken, on his way he went With heavy heart, and full of discontent, Mis...o...b..ing much, and fearful of the event.

'Twas hard the truth of such a point to find, As was not yet agreed among the kind.

Thus on he went; still anxious more and more, Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at every door; 120 Inquired of men; but made his chief request, To learn from women what they loved the best.

They answer'd each according to her mind, To please herself, not all the female kind.

One was for wealth, another was for place; Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better face: The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed; The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed.