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This attribute controls the content of the description and og:description elements. | THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF
["The Flower and the Leaf" is pre-eminently one of those
poems by which Chaucer may be triumphantly defended against
the charge of licentious coarseness, that, founded upon his
faithful representation of the manners, customs, and daily life
and speech of his own time, in "The Canterbury Tales," are
sweepingly advanced against his works at large. In an allegory --
rendered perhaps somewhat cumbrous by the detail of chivalric
ceremonial, and the heraldic minuteness, which entered so liberally
into poetry, as into the daily life of the classes for whom poetry
was then written -- Chaucer beautifully enforces the lasting
advantages of purity, valour, and faithful love, and the fleeting
and disappointing character of mere idle pleasure, of sloth
and listless retirement from the battle of life. In the
"season sweet" of spring, which the great singer of Middle Age
England loved so well, a gentle woman is supposed to seek
sleep in vain, to rise "about the springing of the gladsome day,"
and, by an unfrequented path in a pleasant grove, to arrive at an
arbour. Beside the arbour stands a medlar-tree, in which a
Goldfinch sings passing sweetly; and the Nightingale answers
from a green laurel tree, with so merry and ravishing a note,
that the lady resolves to proceed no farther, but sit down on the
grass to listen. Suddenly the sound of many voices singing
surprises her; and she sees "a world of ladies" emerge from a
grove, clad in white, and wearing garlands of laurel, of agnus
castus, and woodbind. One, who wears a crown and bears a
branch of agnus castus in her hand, begins a roundel, in honour
of the Leaf, which all the others take up, dancing and singing in
the meadow before the arbour. Soon, to the sound of
thundering trumps, and attended by a splendid and warlike
retinue, enter nine knights, in white, crowned like the ladies;
and after they have jousted an hour and more, they alight and
advance to the ladies. Each dame takes a knight by the hand;
and all incline reverently to the laurel tree, which they
encompass, singing of love, and dancing. Soon, preceded by a
band of minstrels, out of the open field comes a lusty company
of knights and ladies in green, crowned with chaplets of
flowers; and they do reverence to a tuft of flowers in the middle
of the meadow, while one of their number sings a bergerette in
praise of the daisy. But now it is high noon; the sun waxes
fervently hot; the flowers lose their beauty, and wither with the
heat; the ladies in green are scorched, the knights faint for lack
of shade. Then a strong wind beats down all the flowers, save
such as are protected by the leaves of hedges and groves; and a
mighty storm of rain and hail drenches the ladies and knights,
shelterless in the now flowerless meadow. The storm overpast,
the company in white, whom the laurel-tree has safely shielded
from heat and storm, advance to the relief of the others; and
when their clothes have been dried, and their wounds from sun
and storm healed, all go together to sup with the Queen in
white -- on whose hand, as they pass by the arbour, the
Nightingale perches, while the Goldfinch flies to the Lady of the
Flower. The pageant gone, the gentlewoman quits the arbour,
and meets a lady in white, who, at her request, unfolds the
hidden meaning of all that she has seen; "which," says Speght
quaintly, "is this: They which honour the Flower, a thing fading
with every blast, are such as look after beauty and worldly
pleasure. But they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the
root, notwithstanding the frosts and winter storms, are they
which follow Virtue and during qualities, without regard of
worldly respects." Mr Bell, in his edition, has properly noticed
that there is no explanation of the emblematical import of the
medlar-tree, the goldfinch, and the nightingale. "But," he says,
"as the fruit of the medlar, to use Chaucer's own expression (see
Prologue to the Reeve's Tale), is rotten before it is ripe, it may
be the emblem of sensual pleasure, which palls before it confers
real enjoyment. The goldfinch is remarkable for the beauty of its
plumage, the sprightliness of its movements, and its gay,
tinkling song, and may be supposed to represent the showy and
unsubstantial character of frivolous pleasures. The nightingale's
sober outward appearance and impassioned song denote greater
depth of feeling." The poem throughout is marked by the purest
and loftiest moral tone; and it amply deserved Dryden's special
recommendation, "both for the invention and the moral." It is
given without abridgement.]
(Transcriber's note: Modern scholars believe that Chaucer was
not the author of this poem)
WHEN that Phoebus his car of gold so high
Had whirled up the starry sky aloft,
And in the Bull <1> enter'd certainly;
When showers sweet of rain descended soft,
Causing the grounde, fele* times and oft, *many
Up for to give many a wholesome air,
And every plain was y-clothed fair
With newe green, and maketh smalle flow'rs
To springe here and there in field and mead;
So very good and wholesome be the show'rs,
That they renewe what was old and dead
In winter time; and out of ev'ry seed
Springeth the herbe, so that ev'ry wight
Of thilke* season waxeth glad and light. *this
And I, so glad of thilke season sweet,
Was *happed thus* upon a certain night, *thus circumstanced*
As I lay in my bed, sleep full unmeet* *unfit, uncompliant
Was unto me; but why that I not might
Rest, I not wist; for there n'as* earthly wight, *was not
As I suppose, had more hearte's ease
Than I, for I n'had* sickness nor disease.** *had not **distress
Wherefore I marvel greatly of myself,
That I so long withoute sleepe lay;
And up I rose three houres after twelf,
About the springing of the [gladsome] day;
And on I put my gear* and mine array, *garments
And to a pleasant grove I gan to pass,
Long ere the brighte sun uprisen was;
In which were oakes great, straight as a line,
Under the which the grass, so fresh of hue,
Was newly sprung; and an eight foot or nine
Every tree well from his fellow grew,
With branches broad, laden with leaves new,
That sprangen out against the sunne sheen;
Some very red;<2> and some a glad light green;
Which, as me thought, was right a pleasant sight.
And eke the birdes' songes for to hear
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight;
And I, that could not yet, in no mannere,
Heare the nightingale of* all the year,<3> *during
Full busy hearkened with heart and ear,
If I her voice perceive could anywhere.
And at the last a path of little brede* *breadth
I found, that greatly had not used be;
For it forgrowen* was with grass and weed, *overgrown
That well unneth* a wight mighte see: *scarcely
Thought I, "This path some whither goes, pardie!"* *of a surety
And so I follow'd [it], till it me brought
To a right pleasant arbour, well y-wrought,
That benched was, and [all] with turfes new
Freshly y-turf'd, <4> whereof the greene grass,
So small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hue,
That most like to green wool, I wot, it was;
The hedge also, that *yeden in compass,* *went all around <5>*
And closed in all the greene herbere,* *arbour
With sycamore was set and eglatere,* *eglantine, sweet-briar
Wreathed *in fere* so well and cunningly, *together*
That ev'ry branch and leaf grew *by measure,* *regularly*
Plain as a board, of *a height by and by:* *the same height side
I saw never a thing, I you ensure, by side*
So well y-done; for he that took the cure* *pains, care
To maken it, I trow did all his pain
To make it pass all those that men have seen.
And shapen was this arbour, roof and all,
As is a pretty parlour; and also
The hedge as thick was as a castle wall,
That whoso list without to stand or go,
Though he would all day pryen to and fro,
He should not see if there were any wight
Within or no; but one within well might
Perceive all those that wente there without
Into the field, that was on ev'ry side
Cover'd with corn and grass; that out of doubt,
Though one would seeken all the worlde wide,
So rich a fielde could not be espied
Upon no coast, *as of the quantity;* *for its abundance
For of all goode thing there was plenty. or fertility*
And I, that all this pleasant sight [did] see,
Thought suddenly I felt so sweet an air
Of the eglentere, that certainly
There is no heart, I deem, in such despair,
Nor yet with thoughtes froward and contrair
So overlaid, but it should soon have boot,* *remedy, relief*
If it had ones felt this *savour swoot.* *sweet smell*
And as I stood, and cast aside mine eye,
I was ware of the fairest medlar tree
That ever yet in all my life I seye,* *saw
As full of blossoms as it mighte be;
Therein a goldfinch leaping prettily
From bough to bough; and as him list he eat
Here and there of the buds and flowers sweet.
And to the arbour side was adjoining
This fairest tree, of which I have you told;
And at the last the bird began to sing
(When he had eaten what he eate wo'ld)
So passing sweetly, that by many fold
It was more pleasant than I could devise;* *tell, describe
And, when his song was ended in this wise,
The nightingale with so merry a note
Answered him, that all the woode rung,
So suddenly, that, *as it were a sote,* *like a fool <6>*
I stood astound'; so was I with the song
Thorough ravished, that, *till late and long,* *for a long time*
I wist not in what place I was, nor where;
Again, me thought, she sung e'en by mine ear.
Wherefore I waited about busily
On ev'ry side, if that I might her see;
And at the last I gan full well espy
Where she sat in a fresh green laurel tree,
On the further side, even right by me,
That gave so passing a delicious smell, |