 | Songs of a Stranger |  |
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CHAUCER'S TALE OF THE FALCON, TO CANACE.
SQUIRE'S TALE.
My birth was happy, and in joy I grew,
My early hours no fear, no sorrow knew;
My bed was in a rock of marble grey,
And tranquilly and sweetly pass'd each day;
Till my broad wing had learnt to pierce the sky,
I knew not, even in thought, adversity.
My early hours no fear, no sorrow knew;
My bed was in a rock of marble grey,
And tranquilly and sweetly pass'd each day;
Till my broad wing had learnt to pierce the sky,
I knew not, even in thought, adversity.
Near my untroubled home a Tercelet dwelt,
Whose specious worth my heart too deeply felt:
His faults were veil'd from my deluded eyes,
For he was fraught with falsehood and disguise.
His mien was gentle, humble was his look,
And truth I heard in every word he spoke:
Whose specious worth my heart too deeply felt:
His faults were veil'd from my deluded eyes,
For he was fraught with falsehood and disguise.
His mien was gentle, humble was his look,
And truth I heard in every word he spoke:
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So full of tender care, so fair, so plain—
Oh! who that heard would deem that he could feign!
But, as beneath bright flow'rs the serpent lies
With ready spring his victim to surprise;
Or as a costly tomb, with glittering show,
Conceals the ghastly, livid, form below:
Thus was he clothed in virtue's brightest hue—
The truest seeming—and the most untrue!
Oh! who that heard would deem that he could feign!
But, as beneath bright flow'rs the serpent lies
With ready spring his victim to surprise;
Or as a costly tomb, with glittering show,
Conceals the ghastly, livid, form below:
Thus was he clothed in virtue's brightest hue—
The truest seeming—and the most untrue!
In deep deceit, so potent was his skill,
None knew his purpose, save the powers of ill!
And many a year with prayers and vows he strove,
Ere yet I listened to his feigning love;
Until my heart, where too much pity dwelt,
Thoughtless of evil it had never felt,
Trembling with tender fear to see him die—
Betray'd, alas! by fond simplicity,
At length, its coldness and its pride resigned,
For one as fickle as the summer wind;
For one whose loss I live but to deplore—
Too soon who wandered to return no more!
None knew his purpose, save the powers of ill!
And many a year with prayers and vows he strove,
Ere yet I listened to his feigning love;
Until my heart, where too much pity dwelt,
Thoughtless of evil it had never felt,
Trembling with tender fear to see him die—
Betray'd, alas! by fond simplicity,
At length, its coldness and its pride resigned,
For one as fickle as the summer wind;
For one whose loss I live but to deplore—
Too soon who wandered to return no more!
Oh! how may truth perceive the depths of guile?
Or see destruction in a lover's smile,
Whose pleading sadness one brief word might cheer—
Who seem'd so constant, and who was so dear!
Or see destruction in a lover's smile,
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Who seem'd so constant, and who was so dear!
Not gentle Troilus, who for Cressid sigh'd,
Not he of Troy for Menelaus' bride,—
Not Jason seem'd more true!
Not he of Troy for Menelaus' bride,—
Not Jason seem'd more true!
Ah me! yet never
Since Lamech—he in love the first deceiver:
Oh! not from earliest time might ever be
One so forsworn—so deeply false as he!
'Twas Heaven to listen to that magic tone
That made the charmed, willing, soul his own;
To see, to hear, to cherish him as true,
And dream of virtues that he never knew!
I wander'd in that vision, and so far
He was my light, my only guiding star.
The smallest pain that to his breast was known,
My bosom felt more keenly than his own:
My firm, unwav'ring truth no change could move,
Nor ought that e'er was mine, except his love.
Since Lamech—he in love the first deceiver:
Oh! not from earliest time might ever be
One so forsworn—so deeply false as he!
'Twas Heaven to listen to that magic tone
That made the charmed, willing, soul his own;
To see, to hear, to cherish him as true,
And dream of virtues that he never knew!
I wander'd in that vision, and so far
He was my light, my only guiding star.
The smallest pain that to his breast was known,
My bosom felt more keenly than his own:
My firm, unwav'ring truth no change could move,
Nor ought that e'er was mine, except his love.
At last hard fortune, envious of my joy,
And watchful all my pleasures to destroy,
Ordain'd that we should part. How shall I find
Words sad enough to speak what grief of mind
That parting gave me?—Death! I know thy power,
And felt its bitterness that wretched hour!
And watchful all my pleasures to destroy,
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Words sad enough to speak what grief of mind
That parting gave me?—Death! I know thy power,
And felt its bitterness that wretched hour!
Oh! when we bade our fatal, fond, adieu;
And when I mark'd his cheek's fast fading hue—
I check'd my tears, and hush'd each struggling sigh,
Lest I should wake anew his misery.
Heaven heard my constant vows, that Death alone
Should claim from him the heart so much his own.
But why should I his tender answer tell?
None can be falser—none can speak so well!
Who meets a fiend and would not be his prey,
Has need of arts and spells to guard his way.
And when I mark'd his cheek's fast fading hue—
I check'd my tears, and hush'd each struggling sigh,
Lest I should wake anew his misery.
Heaven heard my constant vows, that Death alone
Should claim from him the heart so much his own.
But why should I his tender answer tell?
None can be falser—none can speak so well!
Who meets a fiend and would not be his prey,
Has need of arts and spells to guard his way.
He went, amidst the busy world to try
What man seeks evermore—variety.
Ah! why, ungrateful, wretched, human kind,
For distant hopes leave present joys behind?
Even as a captive bird, though fed with care,
Shielded from summer sun and wintry air,
Fostered with all that dotage can bestow,
Amidst these splendours pines with secret woe;
And should the gilded portal open lie,
Speeds swiftly to the woods and liberty:
There toils he for his food, yet sweetly sings,
Nor heeds the labour for the change it brings.
Even so he fled; and from that fatal day
Another charms him from my sight to stay;
Another sways the heart I ruled before—
He loves another, and I hope no more!
What man seeks evermore—variety.
Ah! why, ungrateful, wretched, human kind,
For distant hopes leave present joys behind?
Even as a captive bird, though fed with care,
Shielded from summer sun and wintry air,
Fostered with all that dotage can bestow,
Amidst these splendours pines with secret woe;
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Speeds swiftly to the woods and liberty:
There toils he for his food, yet sweetly sings,
Nor heeds the labour for the change it brings.
Even so he fled; and from that fatal day
Another charms him from my sight to stay;
Another sways the heart I ruled before—
He loves another, and I hope no more!
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