 | English Lyrics of the XIIIth Century |  |
54. A Springtide Song of the Redemption.
Somer is comen & winter gon,
þis day biginniþ to longe,
& þis foules euerichon
Ioye hem wit songe.
So stronge kare me bint,
al wit Ioye þat is funde
in londe,
Al for a child
þat is so milde
of honde.
þis day biginniþ to longe,
& þis foules euerichon
Ioye hem wit songe.
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al wit Ioye þat is funde
in londe,
Al for a child
þat is so milde
of honde.
Þat child, þat is so milde & wlong
& eke of grete munde,
boþe in boskes & in bank
isout me hauet a-stunde.
Ifunde he heuede me,
for an appel of a tre
ibunde;
He brac þe bond
þat was so strong
wit wunde.
& eke of grete munde,
boþe in boskes & in bank
isout me hauet a-stunde.
Ifunde he heuede me,
for an appel of a tre
ibunde;
He brac þe bond
þat was so strong
wit wunde.
Þat child þat was so wilde & wlong
to me a-lute lowe,
fram me to giwes he was sold
ne cuþen hey him nout cnowe.
‘do we’, sayden he,
‘naile we him opon a tre
a lowe,
Ac arst we sullen
scumi him
a þrowe.’
to me a-lute lowe,
fram me to giwes he was sold
ne cuþen hey him nout cnowe.
‘do we’, sayden he,
‘naile we him opon a tre
a lowe,
Ac arst we sullen
scumi him
a þrowe.’
Ihesu is þe childes name,
king of al londe;
of þe king he meden game
& smiten him wit honde
to fonden him, opon a tre
he ȝeuen him wundes to & þre
mi[d] honden,
of bitter drinck
he senden him
a sonde.
king of al londe;
of þe king he meden game
& smiten him wit honde
110
he ȝeuen him wundes to & þre
mi[d] honden,
of bitter drinck
he senden him
a sonde.
det he nom ho rode-tre,
þe lif of vs alle,
ne [miit]te it nowtt oþer be
bote we scolden walle
& wallen in helle dep
nere neuere so swet
wit alle.
ne miitte us saui
castel, tur,
ne halle.
þe lif of vs alle,
ne [miit]te it nowtt oþer be
bote we scolden walle
& wallen in helle dep
nere neuere so swet
wit alle.
ne miitte us saui
castel, tur,
ne halle.
Mayde & Moder þar astod,
marie ful of grace,
An[d of here eyen heo] let blod
uallen in þe place.
þe trace ran of here blod,
changed [h]ere fles & blod
& face.
he was to-drawe,
so dur islawe
in chace.
marie ful of grace,
An[d of here eyen heo] let blod
uallen in þe place.
þe trace ran of here blod,
changed [h]ere fles & blod
& face.
he was to-drawe,
so dur islawe
in chace.
det he nam, þe suete man,
wel heye opon þe rode;
he wes hure sunnes euerichon
mid is swete blode.
mid flode he lute adun
& brac þe ȝates of þat prisun
þat stode,
& ches here
out þat þere
were gode.
wel heye opon þe rode;
he wes hure sunnes euerichon
mid is swete blode.
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& brac þe ȝates of þat prisun
þat stode,
& ches here
out þat þere
were gode.
he ros him ene þe þridde day,
& sette him on is trone;
he wule come a domes-day,
to dem us euerich one.
grone he may & wepen ay,
þe man þat deiet wit-oute lay
alone
grante ous, crist,
wit þin uprist
to gone.
& sette him on is trone;
he wule come a domes-day,
to dem us euerich one.
grone he may & wepen ay,
þe man þat deiet wit-oute lay
alone
grante ous, crist,
wit þin uprist
to gone.
AmeN.
| English Lyrics of the XIIIth Century | |